Reckless Retribution (West Warriors Book 1) (16 page)

“What…now?” I asked, surprised he would ask me during my shift while Kal was around.

He nodded.

“What about Kal?”

“He left.”

“But I’m working, and my shift ends in thirty minutes.”

“It’s okay. Whoever calls will ring back, you know.”

He was right, but I didn’t know if I was in the mood to train. Plus, my side was still sore. I knew it would release my pent up anger in an appropriate way, and I knew that was his reason for asking me, but I really didn’t want to, and I didn’t understand why he was offering when I did what I did to him. “I can’t leave the desk.” My mind again turned to Kal. He would be pissed if he walked in and no one was manning the desk or the phone, and I was in the cage with Jamie. He was angry last time I trained with him.

“C’mon.” He nodded to the cage.

I knew I wasn’t going to win, so I reluctantly stood up and followed him, wary of the customers being able to watch what we were doing. Thankfully, they were engrossed in their own workouts. He walked to the shelves near the punching bag and picked up two pairs of gloves. I rolled my eyes. How ironic we were going to box.

“Seeing as you like hitting.” He raised the gloves up, smirking.

I shook my head at him. I really wasn’t in the mood for playfulness and jokes. He walked off into the cage and I followed him. He stood in the middle of it and watched me as I walked toward him. I rubbed my fingers together nervously and wondered why he was even bothering being nice to me. Then a dark thought entered my mind. Was he going to take his frustration out on me? I quickly pushed that thought aside, because I knew Jamie; he would never do anything to hurt me. I hoped.

He set the gloves down on the floor. “Show me how you make a fist.”

I really didn’t want to. I’d hit him with my fist, and I felt so ashamed of myself.

“C’mon,” he encouraged, sensing my reluctance.

I made a fist with my right hand and held it up to show him, keeping my head low.

“Here,” he said softly, taking hold of my hand and untucking my thumb. His touch sent shivers through me. “Relax your hand and show me again.”

I did as he said and made a fist the way he’d shown me.

“Good,” he praised. He stared at me for a few seconds then sighed loudly and lifted up his T-shirt to reveal his sculpted stomach. “Look, you didn’t leave a mark, okay?” As he said that, he looked at the fading mark on my face again. I suddenly didn’t know where to look, and I felt myself blushing. I couldn’t believe I was standing here with him lifting up his T-shirt to me. He was right, though. There was no mark where I’d hit him. But I did notice marks and scrapes across his body that were still there from his fight. He let his shirt fall back down. “Now, to throw a punch, your fist should stay this way, up.”

He demonstrated then went into the mechanics of throwing a punch. Reaching down, he picked up the set of gloves and asked me to hold out my hands. One by one, he put them on, strapping them tightly around my wrists. He picked up the sparring pads and put them on. Holding them at either side of his head, he asked me to hit out at them in a sequence. I knew there was no way I would be able to accurately throw punches to those pads and not hit him in the face.

“I don’t want to hit you by accident.” I couldn’t bare it if I hurt him again, accident or not.

“Trust yourself and focus,” he said confidently. Trying to use some of his confidence, I began to throw alternating punches slowly, wary of his face. I was also conscious of the big bruise on my side hurting every time I lifted my left arm up or twisted. His focus shifted from my eyes to my fists. “Faster.” I threw punches with a bit more speed and I focused on the pads rather than missing his head, and soon, the feeling of release was great. “C’mon, you’re hitting like a girl,” he shouted gruffly. So I threw punches harder and faster until I couldn’t punch anymore because of my side. I clutched at it, wincing. “You okay?” he asked, looking down to where I was holding myself.

“Yeah.” I nodded breathlessly.

“It’s probably a stitch.” He gave me a minute to get over the “stitch”, and then he wanted me to punch the pads using an upper cut, which involved me twisting at the waist. I tried doing it, but it hurt my side too much, so I gave up. I was exhausted and felt hot and sweaty, and I was pretty sure I looked a damn mess. He walked out to get us both a drink and when he returned, I gulped mine down while he sipped his and shook his head disapprovingly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement at my desk and snapped my head around to see Marc sitting in my chair. I instantly felt awful he was covering the desk and not training.

Jamie followed my gaze. “He’s fine. C’mon, last part now.” He took his pads off, then mine and tossed them to the side, and I saw him glance toward the club entrance then back to me. He moved a few yards back and stood with his feet apart, beckoning me. “Take me down.”

I let out a frustrated groan. Although he looked extremely hot standing there, gesturing me towards him, I knew it was a lost cause. I couldn’t take him down; I wasn’t strong enough, and it frustrated me that he kept on asking. I wanted the training over. My side was getting worse the more we did it.

“C’mon.” He lifted his arms out a little.

Not wanting to draw attention to where I hurt, I tried to remember what he taught me last time: hooking my ankle around the back of his and swinging him back and down. I walked up to him, and he watched me with humor in his eyes. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I gave a pathetic pull, and obviously he didn’t budge.

“You’re hugging me again,” he whispered huskily into my ear, sending shivers through me. Within a nanosecond, he had me on my back, and I let out a shriek mid-fall. This time, he was down on the floor with me, lying on his side and grinning like an idiot. My side stung from the impact, but I ignored it. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, regaining my breath from the shock. When I looked over at him, he was watching me, and his amused expression slowly disappeared. His eyes left mine and glanced down to my mouth before he met my eyes again, making my insides squirm. Mirroring him, I looked at his lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him because I was getting an overwhelming urge to do so. I was beginning to find him more and more irresistible, and with the looks he gave me sometimes, it felt like my feelings were returned, only I couldn’t be too sure, because I couldn’t exactly ask him.

Breaking the moment, he swiftly moved on top of me, holding his weight on his hands and toes, his face inches from mine. “Fight me off.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

I thought about the times he’d given me those gorgeous grins and flirted with me, and I also remembered our hug after he’d won the fight. Did he like me, or was I just imagining it? What I did know was that I didn’t want to fight him off me; it was the total opposite of what I wanted, whether that was appropriate or not. I had to restrain myself really hard not to grab his T-shirt and pull him on top of me. I gave him his answer by gently shaking my head at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

There was a long pause of silence between us.

“I don’t want to,” I whispered.

“Tell me why,” he prompted again, adjusting his weight. I swore his face was inching closer. He narrowed his eyes at me again, and I could see he was silently questioning me.

But I couldn’t tell him. I don’t think I could deal with the rejection of being the silly girl who fell for the unobtainable golden boy.

“Do you like me?” he asked. His expression was serious, and there was no trace of a playful smile to indicate he was teasing me. I couldn’t believe how brazen and direct he was being. Despite being a person who hated being put on the spot, him asking me that outright was a major turn-on. I reached up and clenched the bottom of his T-shirt in my hand, and my heartbeat started thumping in my ears. He looked down at my hand then back at me and swallowed deeply. I willed my hand to drop his shirt, but it wouldn’t let it go. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head like he knew the answer without me even saying it. “You don’t want me,” he breathed. When he opened his eyes, there was certainty in them.

“Why?” I asked him, curious about his statement. I needed to hear it from him, that I couldn’t have him because girls like me don’t get guys like him. I wanted him to tell me now so I could put a stop to my silly crush.

“Are you saying that you do?” he asked, pushing himself farther away from me with his arms. I stared at him, still unable to admit the truth. He bowed his head slightly, and I knew the rejection was coming. “What the fuck?” he hissed suddenly.

When I had time to register what he was cursing at, I batted his hand away from where he was lifting up my shirt, revealing the huge bruise on my side. “Get off,” I snapped, pulling it back down. I tried to get up, but he placed his other hand back at the side of my head and was staring down at me in horror.

“He did this, didn’t he? That’s why you were upset this morning.” Anger laced through his voice.

Needing to get away from him, I struggled against his arms. “Let me go. Please,” I begged. I felt distraught and ashamed that he knew.

He shook his head and I looked away from him. Grabbing my chin, he turned me to face him. “Hey, I’m here if you need anything. You know where I live. I got you, okay?”

Giving him a nod so he would drop his hand, he did just that and I turned away from him. I didn’t need his sympathy or his heroism. I wriggled out of his hold and walked out of the cage as quickly as I could toward the staff break room.

“That was intense. Thought you were gonna make out with her right there,” Marc shouted as I approached the desk. I shot a quizzical glance to him then realized it wasn’t me he was talking to. Jamie was hot on my heels. I walked past the desk and to my locker, opening it to get my things.

“Don’t run,” he pleaded, standing beside me.

“Leave it, please,” I quietly begged him.

“Not when he’s hurting you.”

“You don’t know anything, leave it.” I was mentally drained and had no fight left in me.

He rubbed his hands over his face in anguish. “Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. Why do you care so much?” I slammed my locker door shut.

He let out a laugh, stunned that I was questioning why he cared that Dad was hitting me. I didn’t bother giving him the time for the ‘we’re friends; I care about you’ crap and walked out past the desk.

“Thanks for covering.” I forced a smiled to Marc.

“Anytime,” he shouted after me.

My shift was over, and I had never been more relieved.

As I sat waiting in Math class, Taylor was a no show.
Where are you?
I texted her. She was never late, and I started to get the feeling that something was wrong. Thirty minutes after class began, she walked in looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were red. I knew that look too well; she’d been crying. She slumped into the seat next to me.

What’s wrong?
I mouthed, concerned by how upset she looked.

“I had a fight with Jake and he ended it.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue.

I rubbed her arm sympathetically. “What happened?”

“I heard he was cheating on me, so I confronted him. He denied it, but I didn’t believe him. He said he didn’t want to be with me if I didn’t believe him, so he broke up with me.” She sniffed again.

I tried to be sympathetic, but this happened quite a lot in their relationship. They argued, broke up, and then got back together again. “Who told you he was cheating on you?” I asked suspiciously.

“Some skank down where he lives.”

Jake didn’t live in the best of areas, and Taylor refused to go there, which also caused big problems for them.

“I went down there to find him because I’d not seen or heard from him in days, and the skank was hanging out near his house and told me she’d slept with him last week.”

“Why on earth would you believe her?” I asked. It wasn’t like her to be so naïve to believe some random girl she’d never met. And why was I sticking up for Jake? “You need to sit down and have a real talk with him about it,” I suggested. She nodded solemnly. I hated seeing her like this.

When class was over, I tried to cheer her up and bought us lunch at the local deli before I needed to head to the club for my shift. Taylor’s problems aside, I was having my own boy problems and was dreading seeing Jamie after what happened. I didn’t know if he was going to have more to say. I was worried that he thought I was pathetic for allowing Dad to treat me the way he had, but I had no choice and knew it wouldn’t be forever. Jamie and I were starting to have this pattern of arguing every now and then. First, about him coming to my house unannounced, then it was because of the way he treated Taylor and me at his party, then I punched him at the club, and now this. I’d gone from him keeping his distance and not wanting anything to do with me, to being closer to him than I was with the others.

“What’s wrong?” Taylor nudged me.

“Nothing.” I gave her a breezy shrug.

“You looked pretty deep in thought.”

I let out a small sigh. “I just don’t want to go to work, that’s all.”

“I feel ya.”

I looked at her in disbelief and chuckled. Taylor had been fortunate enough to never work a day in her life thanks to her parents. I cocked an eyebrow at her, and she burst out laughing before pulling me into a hug.

“Speaking of the club, when can I come down and see it?”

I widened my eyes at what she was asking. “You are not coming down to the club.” I shook my head at her.

“Why?” She frowned.

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“I’m not having you down there, Taylor, and distracting the guys—and me, for that matter.”

“I promise I won’t. Please, just for a half-hour?”

Unable to resist her childlike pout, I closed my eyes and knew I was going to regret what I was about to say. “I’ll think about it when it’s quiet,” I appeased, although I had little intention on doing so.