Torn - Part Three (The Torn Series) (10 page)

Surly’s grin was even more unsettling than his glare. He caught the man’s second kick and yanked hard, pulling him off his feet. He slammed to the mat and turned just in time to block Surly’s arm as he sank over him, making a grab for his head.

Fuck
. Surly was out for blood. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him like that. He knelt with one knee to either side of the man’s body and rained blows down on his head and shoulders. Carrick blocked the hits aimed for his face but he was taking a real pounding. He’d have to get away soon or he’d be in real trouble.

The bell rang, ending the round. Surly rose, his dark hair soaked with sweat. He raised his fists to the crowd as he retreated to his corner, swarmed by fellow fighters acting as his attendants.

Carrick was slower to rise. It was obvious already who would be scored higher in this round.

“Riley!” I looked all around me before I realized it was Surly’s voice, shouting at me from inside the cage. He rose and crossed the space, standing against the bars so that I could hear him over the short distance. “The fuck are you doing here?”

The other fighters cursed at him as they rewound the thin layer of tape over his knuckles.

“You here with Mal?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I shouted back, not really sure what to say to him. He didn’t give me much of a chance to speak, though.

“Go home, little girl. This ain’t the place for you.” He spat between the bars. Blood hit the concrete floor below the cage with an audible splat.

Unsure how to respond, I said, “Great fight so far, Surly, good luck!”

“You can do better than this and better than him,” he snarled. “Go. The fuck. Home.”

He turned back. The fighters were flowing back out of the cage, the second round about to start.

Was Surly mad at me about something? I hadn’t wronged him in any way, at least nothing I could think of. Was it just because Jen was angry? It didn’t make much sense. He must have still been upset with Mal.

Maybe I was wrong in thinking they could repair their friendship. They were both so stubborn.

The crowd grew scary during the second round. Two men next to me got into a brief fist-fight, ending with one broken nose and a splatter of blood across my sneakers.

I suddenly wished I’d brought a friend along. Martin or Shawn would have come if I’d asked. They’d teased me about temporarily quitting drinking, but they’d otherwise been supportive. They assured me that weed didn’t count and kept inviting me to all of their after-work gatherings. Vanessa had rolled her eyes and told me to grow up, but Adele had just hugged me.

I would have even taken the eye-rolling Vanessa in that moment. Alone and anxious, I gripped the rail in front of me and focused on the fight. At least I’d been left alone so far.

Surly had Carrick on the ground again and had locked his legs around the blond man’s torso. Carrick twisted, breaking free for only a moment, but he was worn down and Surly was just plain tougher. He locked him in again and landed a kidney punch that made me cringe. Carrick got a few punches in himself, but the blows to the ribs didn’t seem to register at all. Surly was a man possessed.

The twisting, grunting, thrashing battle ended just a moment later. Surly heaved his weight higher, pinning Carrick to the mat. He got one arm around the man’s neck. Carrick tapped out to the jeering of the crowd.

The blond’s face was bleeding and swollen when he rose. Surly was in much better shape, though he staggered where he stood. The winner was clear, and when it was announced, money changed hands over my head.

They were betting right out in the open. Maybe this was why Surly wanted me to leave - there was no pretending that was one bit legal. And where one illegal activity lived, others followed. I was almost afraid to look around and check out the space much. Drugs. Guns? I felt so out of place. I didn’t belong here at all.

But Mallet needs me
. I’d made a promise. So I held the rail and waited for the next fight.
It’s just like a concert. Just hold your spot and enjoy the show.

Mal walked out to wild cheers. My chest grew tight at the sight of him - the dim, flicking lights casting dancing shadows over his rock hard muscles. The man looked immovable. Invincible. He nodded in my direction before focusing on the man that entered behind him.

His opponent was more popular - the crowd’s cheers echoed up through the rafters. Captain, he called himself. I guessed maybe he was - his chest was decorated with what looked like sailor tattoos. Anchors and ships and the like. A sea monster wound up one arm.

Another picture of masculine perfection. I could almost laugh. Why weren’t there more girls in the crowd? The testosterone was so thick in the air that I wondered if I’d grow a beard after being there too long.

Mallet and Captain shook hands. Then the bell rang. They circled each other, like stalking lions ready to pounce. I stood on my toes. Who would swing first?
Please let Mallet get out of this unharmed
. I didn’t think I could stand the sight of him bleeding. Surly’s words rang in my head.
This isn’t the place for you
.

They sprang forward at the same moment. No swings, no kicks - their arms locked together and they grappled, trying to bring each other to the ground.

Mal wasn’t a grappler, he was a hitter. He’d want to knock the guy’s head in, not roll around on the mat. What was he doing? I cheered his name and the sound was swallowed up in the noise of the audience.

Mallet jumped unexpectedly, his movement catlike as he used his forward momentum to knock Captain onto his back, landing with his knees on the man’s shoulders. Captain couldn’t raise his arms high enough to protect his head like that, and Mallet rained one blow after another on the man’s head.

“Kill him!” the crowd screamed.

But Mal’s position couldn’t hold, he couldn’t balance on top of the guy like that for long. Captain wrenched an arm free and landed a hard punch on Mallet’s side.

I heard the snap from where I stood. My stomach flipped over.
His ribs
. Surly had cracked them how long ago? Were they still fragile? Had they even fully healed?

Mallet rolled aside and onto his feet in one swift motion, but his face was gray. He dodged away from Captain, backing up around the cage. Soon he’d have his back against the bars; soon he’d be trapped if he didn’t do something about it. I gripped the railing until my knuckles turned white. He was obviously injured, why weren’t they ending it?

I screamed his name but the sound was drowned by the fans.

Mallet attacked first. He gave no warning sign to his opponent. One moment he was circling back, his face pained, gripping his side. The next he’d launched forward and landed a kick to Captain’s thigh, nearly knocking the man off-balance. They blocked each other’s punches as they kicked at each other’s legs.

Captain backed away first, but Mallet wasn’t having it. He moved after him, landing a punch on the man’s chin. It wasn’t hard enough to knock him out, but he bounced back against the cage’s bars.

He pushed himself off of the metal and right at Mal, but Mallet was ready. He dodged and caught Captain around the shoulders. He slammed them back to the mat together, planting a knee on the man’s back and locking an arm around his neck.

That was it, he was going to tap out. Mallet snarled down at his opponent, tightening his grip, and Captain raised a hand-

Doors banged open on all sides of the large room. The whole space was bathed in blinding white light. “Police! Everybody hands up!”

My heart seized up. I met Mallet’s eyes in the cage as he slowly stood, chest heaving, holding his side. He looked as surprised as I felt.

Cops swarmed around us. I was jostled roughly away from the rail. “Line up along the wall!” they were barking. The cage doors were thrown open and two stepped inside, shouting orders at Mallet and Captain. They both put their hands behind their heads.

I wanted to scream as I watched them handcuff Mallet. He gasped and bent nearly double as the officer yanked his arms behind him.
He’s hurt!
I wanted to tell them, but there was too much shouting, too much noise and chaos.

I was instructed to keep my hands on my head and stand in a line near the door. Some people bolted out, apparently deciding to make a run for it. Whether they got away or not, I couldn’t tell.

The officers walked Captain past me, followed by Mallet - the first to be cuffed and taken away. “Mallet!” I called, “Wait! Where are you taking him?!”

No one answered. He glanced at me over his shoulder - then they were out the door and gone.

I wanted to cry.

I very nearly did when we were led outside. Cop cars lined the street, the blue and red lights flashing. Some people were being allowed to leave. Others were shoved inside a van, arrested for who knew what. Gambling, fighting, drugs. How had I gotten mixed up in this?

“I was just here for the fight,” I said as an officer patted me down. A dog sniffed through my purse. “Where are they taking everybody?”

“94th precinct for processing,” one of the officers told me. A woman who didn’t seem the least bit sympathetic. If anything she just seemed tired. “Nothing on her,” she said to another officer, presumably her partner. “Write her up for trespassing and let her go.”

“Trespassing?”

But she didn’t answer. I was already being led aside as she moved onto the next person.

I kept the tears at bay until I was sent away. I’d never gotten into trouble with the law before. Not so much as a parking ticket. Now I carried a misdemeanor ticket in my pocket. And what about Mallet? The image of him being led away in cuffs was plastered behind my eyelids. I couldn’t stop seeing him like that, injured, arrested, but giving me worried glances over his shoulder. He had to know that I was okay.

But would he be? I asked another officer and he told me to go home - it would be hours before Mallet would be processed, before he could make a phone call or see anyone. There was nothing I could do for him until the morning.

Sirens screamed behind me as I walked into the night, directionless; people being taken away, rushed off to jail. Was Mallet in one of those cars? Where was he?

Was he hurting? Was he alone in a jail cell? I didn’t know how this worked, I had no experience with it.

As one of the police cars blew by me in a storm of lights and wailing sirens, the tears finally broke free. I hated myself for it. I leaned against the building next to me and sobbed into my arms. I was naive; I was so stupid. And I’d never felt so lost and helpless.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Hello, readers and romance fans! Thank you so much for checking out my book - I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!

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The rest of the series is available on Amazon and on Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited:

Torn Part 1

Torn Part 2

Torn Part 4

Keep an eye out for this author’s future released on her
Amazon Author
page!

About the Author

Independent author Ellen Callahan reads and writes edgy contemporary romances. She is also enthusiastic about baking cookies and loves rock music - the louder, the better. When she isn’t writing, she’s spending her time with her three rambunctious nephews.

Ellen can be found in New York City, chugging coffee and walking too fast while forgetting where she was supposed to be going in the first place. If she look confused, it’s okay, she’s just working on a plot point. Please point her towards the nearest subway station.

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