Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (5 page)

“Perfect,” he said, groaning inwardly as he turned and headed for the sanctity and quiet of the men's locker room. He was such a fucking sap sometimes, but at least it was for a good cause. He tossed his stuff in his locker and then headed back out onto the floor. He jogged up the stairs to the office, looking for Big J.

The big man was sitting at his desk, leaned all the way back in his ancient chair, his reading glasses low on his nose and his mouth slightly open. At some point, he'd dozed off. Tate stood in the doorway for a minute, just watching the man he'd come to know as his father  start to snore. Then he banged on the door, the booming noise echoing through the whole gym. Tate smiled as Big J startled awake, his chair groaning as he jostled it.

“What are you doing, boy? Can't you see I'm trying to work,” Big J said, awake in an instant.

“I want to lodge a complaint,” Tate said.

“What does this look like?” Big J said, with a deep, full body laugh. “Human resources?”

“Hector should have to play the human punching bag every Thursday,” Tate continued, ignoring his father's joke. “He's used to getting hit in the nuts.”

“Well, Gennifer knows not to ask him,” Big J said. “He values his life too much.” Tate stepped into the room and sat on one the vinyl chairs in front of Jimmy's desk, throwing his feet up on one of the piles of old boxing magazines. “I can't say I blame him. They can smell fear and sense weakness, you know.” Tate settled back in the chair and made himself comfortable. He wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as possible.

“So how's life, son?” Big J said, leaning forward on his meaty elbows. “You got a girlfriend for Maria to meet yet?” Tate shrugged, his mind immediately hopping to Leah and how well the date had gone. For the first time in a long time, at least he had a prospect. But he didn't want to tell Big J that. He didn't want to jinx it. “Use your words,” Big J said, gesturing for Tate to reply.

“Everything's fine,” he said, after a moment. And for the first time in a long time, he actually meant it.

***

Shay pushed open the door to the boxing gym, not quite sure what she was expecting. She didn't even really know what she was doing there, exactly. She was being obsessive, but in a way, she didn't care. She didn't have anything better to do, after all. She stopped short in the doorway, the humid scent of sweat hitting her like a wall the minute she entered the building. She'd never been inside a boxing gym, she realized immediately, as her eyes drifted around the room. Two men stood in a ring in the center of the big open space, throwing punches like it was no big deal. Testosterone was just as heavy in the air as the scent of perspiration. Men dotted the room, lifting weights and hitting bags and jumping rope. Big men with muscles and tattoos and angry looks on their faces.

Not much different from prison, in a way, she mused. Too much pent-up energy, finding itself coming out in physical, violent ways. It was also almost sexual in a way, she realized. Physical and sexual and primal. Suddenly, she was wondering if she'd made a mistake in coming to the gym. She was completely in her element, but also completely out of it. As she watched the men in the ring, she found herself wondering what it would be lash out in that way. She had some of her own pent-up aggression, after all. If she didn't, she wouldn't be doing whatever the hell she was doing because of Tate Grayson.

“Are you here for the self-defense class?” a voice said, startling her out of her thoughts. Shay looked toward the voice, surprised to see a woman standing next to her. She was tall and white, with orange-red hair and wide innocent eyes. Shay involuntarily took a step back, annoyed that the woman had crept up on her. The woman cocked her head, her eyes questioning. She was wearing an expensive-looking pink tank yoga top and her arms were toned, like she spent some time punching bags just like the men. She didn't seem to feel out of place in the gritty surroundings, although Shay never would have imagined seeing someone like her in a place like House of Pain.

“Um... yes,” Shay said after a moment, nodding. A self-defense class seemed like as good of an excuse as any to explain her presence there.

“You're early,” the woman said with a light laugh. “It's not for another fifteen minutes.”

“Are you here for the class?” Shay asked, letting her eyes drift around the room again. Two men over by the free weights were staring at them. One was shorter and Hispanic, all tan skin and lean muscles. The other was white, as well as tall and bald and mean-looking.

“Don't mind them,” the woman said. “They don't bite.”

“What if I asked them to?” Shay said without thinking, turning back to the woman. The woman's eyes widened and her smile broadened.

“Well, the scary-looking Russian is married, so you might want to avoid him or his wife may challenge you to a duel,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed a bit. “The other one is Hector,” she trailed off, raising her freckled shoulders nonchalantly. “He's free to the highest bidder.” Shay glanced back at the Hispanic guy and then back to the woman, sensing some definite animosity there. She wasn't going to step into that minefield so she just nodded vaguely and didn't respond. “I'm Erica, by the way,” the woman said, her mood lightening again.

“I'm Shay,” Shay said, before she could even consider giving a fake name. She really wished she'd come to the gym with a plan. But then again, this was much more interesting. “Do you teach the self-defense class?” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“Oh, no,” Erica said, shaking her head like it was the funniest thing she'd ever head. “That would be Gennifer. She ran to the juice bar across the street, but she'll be back in a bit. She'll be happy to have another body in the class.” Shay nodded again, casting her eyes around the room again. She didn't want to admit it, but she was looking for Tate. She was wondering where he was. The whole reason that she'd even come there was for him. Not that she knew what she was going to do when she saw him. “Did you bring clothes?”

“Hmm?” Shay murmured, turning her attention back to Erica.

“Gym clothes,” Erica explained, raising her eyebrows. “It's not really a work out, but you might get a little sweaty.”

“Oh, I'm fine,” Shay said waving her hand. Erica grabbed her hand and Shay froze at the unexpected contact.

“Your nails!” Erica said. “Wow. Those are impressive.” Shay resisted the urge to yank her hand back because she didn't want to make a scene. Besides, Erica was obviously harmless. But Shay wasn't used to strangers touching her and getting all up in her personal space. She didn't know when she was going to get used to it, even though being jumpy about personal space was detrimental in a city as crowded as New York. “I used to get my nails done, before I started coming here,” Erica was saying. She dropped Shay's hand and held up her own, revealing short, black-painted nails. “But Gennifer's rubbed off on me. Can't have nails and be a bad-ass boxer.”

“Oh, well,” Shay said, mostly to herself, her eyes returning to the ring. Too bad she loved her long nails too much to get rid of them.

“Maybe after class, Gennifer could show you some moves. She's the one that got me into the ring,” Erica said. “Come on. Let's get your stuff in a locker.” Shay followed Erica to the back of the gym because she didn't have anything else to do. She kept an eye out, but didn't see Tate. She didn't know if she expected to see him, or what she would do if she did. Again, she wondered if she should have come up with a plan before she went to the gym.

As she was beginning to think she should slip out the back, the door to the men's locker room opened and a hulking figure stepped out in a sleeveless black shirt and a loose-fitting pair of gym pants. Her heart stopped in her chest as she realized it was him but she didn't drop her eyes. She wanted him to see her. She wanted to see the recognition on his face when he remembered her. She wanted him to feel like shit and get down on his knees and apologize for what she'd had to go through. But he didn't bother. He didn't even look at them as he passed, even though she stared right at him. She watched as he jogged up the metal stairs in the back of the gym, like he didn't have a care in the world.

The asshole.

She turned her head, her eyes never leaving him even as he ignored her. She felt her anger rising, her heart returning to action with a fury, beating in her ears. For a long moment all she could do was stand there, watching him walk away. He was almost as close to her as he'd been all those years ago, when he acted like he actually cared about what happened to her. It wasn't quite as much of a shock to her system as seeing him on the street the other day, but it was close.

Ten minutes later, she was climbing into a boxing ring for the first time in her life to join the rag-tag group of enthusiastic women who looked like they couldn't wait to kick a little ass. There was Erica, of course, and her tall, pale string bean of a sister, Joanna. Then there was a beautiful girl with long micro-braids and smooth dark skin who spoke shyly in sign language to the short Mexican woman at her side. There were a few more women as well, ranging in age from 20s to 50s, which made the group about eleven in total. Shay kept to the outskirts as they all chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the buff guys working out on the weights and bags around the ring. The guys weren't ignoring them, though. Shay couldn't help but notice how a lot of the mens' attention was focused squarely on the women, even as they pretended to be immersed in pumping iron. Tate, however, wasn't one of them. He'd been mysteriously M.I.A. since Shay and Erica had returned from dropping their stuff off in the locker room.

“Genny! It's seven o'clock!” Erica called out, suddenly, pointing up to a room that looked out over the gym on the second floor. It was probably an office of some sort, Shay guessed, as the door opened and a pretty woman with brown skin and dark hair stepped out.

“I'm coming!” the woman said as she bound down the metal stairs, followed slowly by a big black man wearing an ancient NY Mets T-shirt that stretched over his belly. “Blame Big J for having to have his carrot juice.”

“Girl, you trippin',” the big man behind her said, waving her off even as a smile brightened up his intimidating face. Surely enough, he had a plastic cup of full of a neon-orange beverage in his hand. “And it's time for me to go home, but you got my wife in the ring so I'm going home to an empty house.”

“When is that house ever empty?” Gennifer asked with a laugh as she hauled herself up into the ring. The little Mexican woman in the ring beside Shay waved her hand at him, shooing him away.

“He just want his dinner,” she said in broken English.

“No, Maria. I want my hugs and kisses,” he said with a big belly laugh. The Mexican woman ducked her head and blushed, waving him away again.

“Go on, get out of here. You're distracting my girls,” Gennifer said, tossing her long curly ponytail over her shoulder. She plopped her hands on her hips and Shay immediately noticed that the other woman had ridiculously toned physique. Her arms were lean, but her muscles were well-defined. She had tight abs as well, her perfect body shown off in a blue sports bra and yoga pants. She looked like she could definitely kick some ass.

“See? This is what happens when I let all these women in here. I get kicked out of my own gym,” he said, still laughing. “Now, y'all don't go easy on Tate. He can take whatever you can throw at him,” he continued on his way to the door. Shay's ears pricked up at the mention of Tate's name and she cast her eyes around the big gym, looking for him again. That's when she saw him, jogging down the metal steps from the office where Gennifer and the big man had come from. Time seemed to slow as he reached the bottom of the stairs and dragged his gaze over to the ring. His eyes skimmed over everybody, including her.

“Thanks a lot, J,” he said, his voice barely audible as he moved toward the ring. It was then that the information seemed to make sense. He was going to be in the ring with them. He was going to be the punching bag. There was some irony in there, but she couldn't seem to find the humor in it as she watched him stop at the side of the ring and pick up the black padding that was sitting there.

“Everybody, this is my lovely brother Tate,” Gennifer said, leaning on the ropes and smiling wide. “He's graciously offered to let you guys beat on him for the next hour.”

“I'm only your brother when you want something,” Tate said, glancing up at her and smiling a quick smile that Shay would have missed if she wasn't watching his every move. She furrowed her brow, wondering how it was possible that Gennifer and Tate were related. They didn't look anything alike. Gennifer was obviously a Latina, and Tate was pale as driven snow. Another man strolled over, rubbing his hands together and laughing like he was enjoying Tate's predicament as well. He was white, too, and blond, but he was more of a pretty boy than Tate would ever be.

“Let me help with that,” the man said to Tate, chuckling to himself. Tate glared at him, but let him help him fasten the Velcro on the single piece of padding that covered Tate's chest and down his thighs. When the padding was on, he looked puffy like a marshmallow, but his arms were still bare, revealing his big biceps to anybody who cared to look. Next to Shay, the deaf girl with the braids giggled lightly as Tate hopped up into the ring, the pads making him move more awkwardly. Tate's friend glanced up at her from outside the ring and moved his hands, seemingly signing something. The girl smiled wider and signed something back. Their quick, silent conversation didn't escape Gennifer's attention and she clapped her hands to get the man's attention.