Hooked (The Submission Fighter Book 1) (8 page)

The day of work flew by in a blur of empty tables and chatty customers. Alice could hardly stand given the excitement and lack of sleep from the night before and the early morning. For once, she was almost thankful that Pete punished her with the morning shift, as at least she had the opportunity to sit down and rest while the diner remained relatively empty.

When her shift finished, she checked her phone. Two missed calls and voicemails—one from Caroline and the other from Micah. She listened to Caroline’s first:

Alice, it’s me. Listen, we have to talk. Pete is mad. Real mad. He left a ton of angry texts on Jace’s phone this morning after he left about you. If you can, get out of work before he gets there or there will be trouble. I’ll see you after my shift.

Alice’s mind raced as she tried to figure out any justification for Pete being so angry that he would resort to terrorizing Jace and Caroline over her returning late. But she heeded Caroline’s warning and ran outside the diner’s back exit, hoping to make a clean getaway before Pete pulled in at his usual time.

As she walked a roundabout way to get home, she continued to listen to her messages with Micah’s next:

I realized that I never got to take you out for a real dinner last night. Mussels and champagne may be good enough for a girl like you, but I need something more. I’ll be at your place at 4 p.m. I have to train for a couple hours afterwards, but then I’ll make you something special at my place. I’ll see you then…

Alice’s pace quickened, as she rounded the corner to her apartment and ran up the stairs. Caroline had already left for her shift, leaving an empty apartment just for her to enjoy for a few hours. It was a rare treat, and she was excited to make the most of it.

She turned on her stereo and blasted her favorite rock song, as she danced around the kitchen and her living room. Her long hair moved wildly along with the rocks of her body. The house almost echoed with the sound of her voice singing brightly. Everything about the day, despite her being exhausted and a bit upset about Pete’s implications, had revived her.

As she finished eating a quick lunch, a stroke of inspiration struck her. She ran to her bedroom and pulled out her easel and paint set. The blank canvas had caught dust for so many long months of being unused. The bristles had already dried and crusted over. Yet, she didn’t care. Instead, she pulled out her acrylic paints and dabbed them on to her paint palette. Squirts of red, black, white, and gold intermingled as an image came to her.

Fully focused and immersed in her art, she only partially registered the bangs on the living room door. Frustrated with the interruption, she ran to answer, her gray t-shirt and jeans covered in splotches of paint and brush cleaner. Her hair was a mess, damp from the sweat she had worked up from painting.

“Caroline, really, girl, you have got to get yourself a key.”

“Maybe I should get one too…” She squealed as she turned to face Micah, leaning against the crook of the door.

He walked inside, taking a look at the completely different version of Alice than the night before. Her tattered clothes, the lack of makeup, and the bits of paint flecks in her hair did nothing to tarnish her beauty. In fact, he was even more turned on by the way her jeans curved her legs and how her t-shirt engulfed her breasts.

“I’m so sorry.” Alice was quickly throwing her hair up, running to the closet to find something more Micah-style to wear. “I totally lost track of time.”

“I can see that. Forget changing. We’re headed to the gym anyways. You’d look totally out of place in a miniskirt and heels. Plus, I’ve always loved girls who can rock a pair of sneakers.” Micah grabbed Alice by the waist, as she passed towards him, bringing her in for a long, deep kiss. She pushed away and tossed off her t-shirt, as she walked to her bedroom. His eyes followed her, as she quickly picked out a new, blue tank top and followed him out the door and into the waiting car. For him, she’d keep the jeans and shoes on.

Micah’s gym had transformed in the daylight from the vast empty space to a factory of bodies and bronze. The workout machines and practice rings were full of sweaty men and women, pushing themselves way past the limits. No one paid any attention to Alice as she walked in. All eyes were square on Micah as if they were in the presence of a new God.

As they passed by, more than a few members approached him in congratulations, outstretching their hands or attempting to pat him on his back. He would growl a polite but terse retort and move on as quickly as they had come. Instead, he headed straight for the center ring once more. Showing Alice where to sit, he tossed his gym bag to the side and slid out of his t-shirt and his long shorts, revealing his famous black pants underneath. Alice couldn’t help but let out a quick woosh of air from the sight of the man before her.

As he walked towards the cardio equipment, his coach, Dean, approached him holding several folders of paperwork. “You’re late,” he said in a low, irritated voice. “How could you be fucking late on a day like this? Do you know how many scouts and sponsors came here today to meet with you? This is your life, and you’re throwing it all away by being careless.”

“Come on, Dean. I’m just running a half hour late for it. If they wanted to meet with me, they could have called.”

“They did call, you stupid fuck!” Dean exploded. “They called the fuckin’ gym looking for you! It’s your job to be
here
—not emptyin’ your load into piece-o-shit ring whore.” He reached out his arm, clearly gesturing to Alice who sat on the brown benches, watching the action of the other fighters in the ring.

Micah towered over his coach, coming face to face with the man. His chest heaved with disgust. “You listen to me, and you listen good, you smug son of a bitch,” Micah seethed, his voice practically a whisper. “You will respect that woman. Do you understand me? You will
never
speak of her like that again.”

Dean didn’t back down. “You can’t be fucking serious,” he said, almost laughing. “You’re gonna defend some fucking groupie just ‘cause, what, she spread her legs?” Dean smacked Micah upside his head with the folders. “You’re supposed to be training! You’ve got a match in two days. You wanna go pro? You gotta fucking
concentrate
on the ring
and not the first piece of ass that comes your way!”

The blood boiled in Micah’s veins as he marched to the treadmill and began to run. Each step took him farther away from his choice. The last two weeks of Alice both on and off had made his performance inside the ring and in training sporadic. But wasn’t she the reason why he had won the knockout? Wasn’t that why he was here? He turned up the speed as Dean’s voice played in his memories.

By the time it was time to spar with his trainer, Micah was entirely out of it. Again, he missed his combinations, had a hard time with the wrestling maneuvers, and could barely register a clean kick. Alice could see him struggle. She watched as with each mistake, his coach would run out, slam his foot on the ground, and beat him down with his words. For his part, Micah just took it—despite her catching the vein in his neck bulge with each hard swallow of instructions shouted at him.

“That’s enough,” Dean said angrily, throwing his hands up in the air. “We’re fucking
done
here. I’ve got better things to do with my life than watch you fuck up your big break.” He got out of the ring in a huff and started toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back on Micah. “Be here at seven tomorrow. You got one day to turn this shit around ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ my time with a talent who doesn’t fucking care.” With that, Dean stormed out of the gym, slamming the glass door behind him.

Micah too quickly deserted the ring, as he paced back and forth in front of a stunned Alice. He walked up to a hanging boxing ball and slammed it with a jab so hard that it snapped and rocked out of place. He let out a primal yell, as he moved towards her spot on the bench, grabbing his clothes and towel.

Without a second glance at her, Micah walked out of the gym, leaving her sitting there wondering what would come next or what her move should be. She sat there still as she could be, as the rest of the gym continued to push forward with their workouts. The ring was once again occupied by another set of fighters and coaches. The overhead speakers blasted high energy music. But inside Alice’s head, there were no words.

She watched the door for any signs that he would return. When she spotted his coach saunter in, she sat up a bit straighter, hoping he would follow. Instead, it was the coach himself who approached her. Taking a seat next to her, he peered at her through his beady brown eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Dean’s voice was calm, almost saccharine sweet. “You’ve seen him fight, right? He’s a killer in the octagon. But whatever has happened to him over the last two weeks… I don’t know.” He waited for her to respond. Instead, she just swallowed and continued to look forward towards the door.

“You gotta understand,” he continued, “this match means everything to him. I’ve been coaching him since he was seven and getting beat up by the kids down his block. I was there for every scar, every bruise. And let me tell ya, that kid knows his stuff.” Hearing Dean speak about Micah’s background was actually refreshing. She wanted to know more, about why he started and why he continued with such devotion to the sport.

“I didn’t know that about him.” Alice pretended to sound mildly interested as to not give away her wanting more information.

“Yeah, well, there’s a shit-ton you don’t know, little girl. He fights to keep his grandma out of the shelters. She depends on him. It’s a shame to think that he’s going to blow it because he cannot concentrate.”

“But, it’s just one fight…”

“Jesus! How fucking stupid are you?” He wasn’t even attempting to hold in his disgust anymore. “Monday is a
title
fight. If he wins this, these sponsors are locked for good. If he wins, he could move on to the next level. And if he loses, well, there won’t be much more MMA left for him.”

“Is he really that distracted?” Alice had no way to gage if this man was lying to her or if what she saw was just part of the coach and athlete struggle. If it was, she truly felt for Micah for dealing with this man for so long. And if he was sincerely distracted, she knew that she was to blame.

Dean saw the wheels turning in her head and softened a bit. He knew he had to get through to her, and blunt force wasn’t working. Changing tactics, he explained, “I’ve never seen him like this. He can’t throw a combo. He can’t nail a kick. His takedowns and mounts are so beneath him. His head isn’t in the game. And he’s going to lose it all for everyone that counts on him.” Dean turned to face Alice. Her dewy skin had become flushed, as her eyes darted to and from the door to the ring. Her hands rang.

In her head, she could see her and Micah back in that ring, fighting for and against one another. She could taste his skin in her mouth and feel the way that he brought her in for comfort and warmth. But now, it was tarnished, tainted by the idea that this life was his only life. And her being a part of it was going to take away all that he had worked for.

Dean knew his job was done. “Anyways, take care of yourself…”

“Alice. I’m Alice.” She whispered, still lost in her own thoughts.

“Alice. Right. It’s…uh…it’s been…something.” He stood slowly from the bench and turned towards the gym offices, shutting the door quietly behind him. From the glass windows, he watched as Alice quietly moved to the exit door, her head lowered and her body looking like it had gone the three rounds in the ring as well.

Micah was outside, sitting in the grassy area near the parking lot. She sat next to him and leaned her head onto his shoulder. Neither of them wanted to speak of what had just happened and the change they both realized had to be made. Instead, the two soaked in their moment, hoping to hold on to the remainder of what they had.

“Do you know what you are doing? I mean, really? Because I can help you. I’m pretty good at this sort of thing.” Alice peaked her head into the smoky kitchen, unsure of what she would find.

“Are you going to trust me or what?” Micah held up a metal spatula, pointing it at Alice. She took another step further in, curious to see what he was attempting to prepare. He ran towards her, swiping her butt with the flat end. “Get out! Get out!”

Alice went back to the plush leather couch of his living room. His entire home was decked out in dark colors and leather accents. Even his throw pillows were ruby reds and blacks. But despite the bleak atmosphere, she would give Micah this: he had great taste. Expensive, to be more specific. Every bit of his place would put her dingy old apartment to shame. Even the carpet felt more akin to clouds, and his kitchen alone engulfed half of the condo itself.

Pictures lined his mantle place. Most of them were him in the ring or surrounded by his staff or of him standing in a ring with his arm raised in victory. However, at the very end of the row, stood a small, black frame with a picture of an older woman. Her hair was gray and thin, but her skin was still fresh and tan, just like Micah’s.

Alice’s mind raced as she remember Dean’s warnings about Micah’s situation. Was this the grandmother he was helping out? Was she sacrificing this woman’s happiness and wellbeing just for a fling? She placed the picture frame back in its place, delicately, as if not to disturb the order.

Micah watched from the doorway, as he held two red plates worth of dinner, “My grandma. I need a better picture of her. That one was taken a couple years ago.”

A startled Alice turned, attempting to brush the bewildered expression off of her face. Instead, she swept her mouth into a smile and changed the subject quickly. “What did you make me?”

She followed him into his dining room, as he placed the plates on the gold table cloth between the centerpiece of white, long-stemmed candles. As the two ate, she couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you doing all this for me?”

She was sincere. No man she had ever known had put this much time, thought, or effort into being with her.

He reached across the table and grabbed her hand with a bit of force, as he squeezed her palm against his. “Because I want you.”

“You want me?”

“Yes. I want you. Here. With me.” He put his arm around her. “I don’t know what it is about you. I don’t know why I should even be attracted to you and interested in making this more than what it was last night, but I want to do this for you.”

In the two weeks of knowing her, she had become this fixture in his life; this promise of perfection. His life wasn’t just about what happened inside the ring or at the gym. Instead, it was about the tiny pieces she made up. She was a puzzle, and he wanted to fit himself in. He wanted to learn more, explore more, and be more than he could have ever been before. He was ready.

She remained still in her chair, looking down at the remains of her dinner. His words rang through her, yet she still couldn’t fight what was in her head. She took a sip of her white wine, washing the taste from her mouth. When she dared to look up, he was at her side, kneeling. He spun her chair around to face him. Taking her hands, he placed them to his face, allowing her to feel the grooves and edges. The bandage from the last match was still there as she placed her hands gently to the sides of his face. She wanted no more damage to be done.

Micah edged his body forward, leaning into her. Powerful and imposing, he took what was his, as he kissed her head, her ears, and her lips. Her hands smoothed out the muscles in his neck, as the sensation once again took ahold of her. Without a thought, she bit down on his lip and gently sucked.

His strong arms tucked around her waist as he stood. He carried her to his bedroom, her legs straddled against his hips, locking fiercely with his back. He tossed her effortlessly into the silk black sheets. She squirmed, moving herself forward towards the top of the bed, but he pulled her legs back towards him, his eyes flaming with cherry and cedar embers.

His hands once again grabbed her hips forcefully, as he unbuckled her jeans. She lay there, powerless to what he was about to do, but eager to see what he could. His lips edged their way up her naked calves and thighs, stopping to gently tickle the curve of her knees. Further and further he went, following the map and the lines of her body.

As he hit the top of the fabric of her ivory colored panties, he knelt before her, as she could see a tiny bit of his shaven head peeking at the top of her stomach. He growled as he removed them and then continued tracing her peaks and valleys with his lips. As his lips parted her own, she gasped, feeling his wet, hot air linger inside her. His tongue forced its way inside hitting the soft, tender spot hidden deep within her caverns.

He was unrelenting as she cried out. He could feel every inch of her quiver and shift, as she only went further, longer, and faster. As she built up, arching her hip higher into his mouth and face, he used his fingers to massage and caress, a sweet contrast from his unforgiving kisses.

With one sudden burst, he felt it happening. Every inch of her lit fire, her hands grasping at his head and then falling to the side dramatically. Her entire body slumped back down onto the sheets. Where he rest his head, he could feel her pulse slowly ease back downward with her descent. She was wordless, and his work was done.

He slowly eased himself up to the top of the bed towards her, her hair matted from pushing against the covers. He kissed her gently, as she could taste the juices of her own body mixed with his own. She wasn’t sure what else to say, so she thanked him, kissing his cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath still.

He laughed, almost surprised at the polite gesture. He hooked his hand into her own, and rested on her chest as she fell into a deep sleep.

A man is holding me down, straddling my body. He is reaching towards me, gripping and grasping at what is not his. His breath makes little pools of air clouds before my face. I am moving my body, struggling to push him off. But he’s too strong. He’s too strong. He has it. He has what is mine.

I can see his face. I can see every bit of it staring at me, looking down at me with contempt. Does he smile? I don’t remember. But he looks me into the eye as if he to say, “This is your fault.” And before I can make another attack. He is gone. And I am here, laying in this puddle, broken.