Totally Tormented (3 page)

So even though I knew it had the chance of being a total and complete disaster, I gave him a smile. “Of course I’ll go with you.”

JUSTIN

We took the train out to Brookline, then got off and headed for the address Quarry had texted me. I was kind of shocked that he lived in one of the most expensive areas of Boston. Brookline was the top of the food chain, and even the snootiest snobs with the richest families didn’t necessarily have the funds to live there. It was mansions and Mercedes and BMWs and rich Europeans with their fancy clothes and their stuck-up kids.

At least, that’s how I’d always thought of it.

The good side of being in Brookline was that Lindsay would probably feel a little more comfortable than if I was taking her to some dump in East Boston.

Finally, we got to the address Quarry had sent. The house was on the smaller side and didn’t qualify as a mansion by any means—but it was still Brookline, which meant it was probably worth millions anyway.

There were a bunch of cars parked in the driveway and on the street out front and I could hear the music coming from inside the house.

We walked up and the door opened for us before we even rang the doorbell or anything. There was Z, dressed in a yellow button-down shirt with a few buttons open, his expression turning welcoming as he looked me over. “Here’s the man of the hour,” Z

said, chuckling. “You look like you got into a fight with the marines. I mean, all of them.”

“I feel like I was, too.” We shook hands, and his enveloped mine almost completely, but he was gentle as a bear cub. Then he looked at Lindsay.

“And you are?”

“Hi, I’m Lindsay,” she said.

“What a beautiful name,” Z almost purred. “The party could use a little more class.” They shook hands.

I wanted to growl out,
back off Z
--
she’s with me
. But then I remembered she actually wasn’t with me. We were just friends. And besides, Z wasn’t doing anything but being gentlemanly, if a little flirty.

“You two go inside and make yourselves comfortable. I know Quarry will be happy as hell that you made it, JB.”

As we went inside, I tried to take in the atmosphere of the house without being overwhelmed by it all. There were people everywhere, many of which I didn’t recognize.

Of course, most of the guys were in the fight game. That much was obvious, from their scarred faces, tattoos, piercings, and generally mean looks.

At the same time, people had tried to dress up a little bit, because this was in a swanky part of town and Quarry probably demanded that sort of respect from his guests.

There were two floors, but definitely less people on the first floor. The second floor was where the music was coming from, a thumping pulse of hard rock that started to slowly envelope us as we got closer to the living room.

It wasn’t just a bunch of guys, either. There were plenty of women, and many of them had what I thought of as the “fight groupie” look to them. Dressed in short skirts and low cut tops, they showed off their goods unabashedly. They gave you a look as you walked by that indicated they were up for anything, as long as you were in the MMA world—they were interested.

I wanted to pull Lindsay close to me, wanted people to see that she was with me.

I didn’t have any desire to hang with these boring skanks who liked to run through fighters like we were baseball cards that they could collect and then sell someday for cash.

Soon, it seemed as though we were getting to the heart of the party, the center of it all. Quarry was holding court in the living room, and he was surrounded by his team—

my team. I recognized many of the same guys that had been in the cage with me yesterday. As they noticed me, the room started to quiet down.

Finally, someone whispered in Quarry’s ear and he turned and saw me. His normally intense expression grew instantaneously more so. And then he grinned. “Look at his guy. The legend has graced us with his presence, boys. Justin The Barbarian Brown has arrived!” He came towards me, laughing. “Somebody get this man a drink,”

Quarry called out.

I glanced at Lindsay to see how she was doing. She whispered to me under her breath. “Did he just refer to you as The Barbarian?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

Quarry came and wrapped his strong arm across my shoulder, ignoring Lindsay.

“Do you realize what you did last night?” he asked me, almost confidentially.

“I barely remember last night.”

“Well let me refresh your memory, JB. You put on a first-class display of guts and heart and even more importantly, talent and technique. It gives me the fucking chills when I think about it.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“That’s what I like about you. No fuss, no ego. You just go out there and do what comes naturally, and you’re a damn killer. We are going to make you even better.”

The other guys from the team seemed to be watching us interact with a mix of wariness, respect, and perhaps envy as well. I wasn’t sure I liked all the attention I was receiving. It would have been one thing if I’d won a big fight or gotten a belt in the UFF.

But all I’d really done was had a “moment” during practice, essentially. It didn’t matter in the scheme of things, and I didn’t want to be celebrated for something that didn’t count.

Still, it was better to have earned my respect early. Now, hopefully the other guys would back off a little bit and allow me to have my place in the gym. It could be a rough atmosphere if the other team members were constantly testing you during practice, and I’d made a big enough statement to keep that from happening.

Jimbo, the short guy with the goatee who I’d fought first, handed me an open beer. “Glad to have you on the team,” he said as he gave it to me. “You hit like a Mack truck, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said, sniffing the beer. “Should I trust this isn’t poisoned?”

Jimbo laughed. “I don’t poison drinks, bro. Maybe I would piss in it, but I’m not drunk enough to pull that kind of stunt tonight. Besides, you hit too hard.” He winked.

“What about one for his friend?” Quarry asked.

“Yeah, of course.” Jimbo handed Lindsay the beer he’d been holding in his other hand. “I was going to drink it, but ladies first.”

I glanced at Lindsay. She looked like she’d been handed Drain-o. She smiled like a good sport, though. “Thanks.”

“Well, you two just enjoy the party,” Quarry said. “Socialize. Drink. There’s some food in the kitchen, as long as these vultures haven’t picked it all over.”

“I think there’s some pizza left,” Jimbo said.

“We’ll talk more later,” Quarry told me, giving my shoulder a squeeze for good measure, then moving out of the room. A small coterie of fighters followed after him, including the three professionals that fought in the UFF. All of whom I’d fought and embarrassed last night—and one of whom I’d even knocked unconscious. They didn’t appear as friendly to me as everyone else had been so far. Not a smile in the bunch, but some baleful looks as they left the room.

Jimbo noticed the tension. When they were gone, he raised his eyebrows in silent acknowledgment. “Like I said,
I’m
glad to have you on the team.”

“Not everyone feels the way you do, apparently.” I sipped my beer and noticed it didn’t even taste remotely like piss, which was comforting.

Jimbo shrugged. “You know how it is, JB. There’s always a pecking order, a hierarchy if you will.”

“You’re pretty well spoken for a dude who breaks people’s faces for a living,” I said.

“I don’t fight for a living, yet.” He sighed. “I’m actually a manager at Costco. It pays the bills.”

I grinned, trying to picture a guy like Jimbo doing a normal nine-to-five. He must have cleaned up pretty good to snag a managerial type job.

“Sorry if we’re boring you,” Jimbo said to Lindsay.

“Not at all,” she told him, taking a reluctant sip from her drink. “I’m just…taking it all in.”

Meanwhile, I looked around and noticed the way guys were checking Lindsay out. Apparently she wasn’t the only one “taking it all in.” Pretty much every man in the room—and even some of the ladies—were stealing appreciative—or in the girls’ cases, jealous—glances at her.

Why was it that my stomach immediately tightened into knots and I wanted to put my arm around Lindsay? I moved a step closer to her, knowing that I couldn’t truly behave how my instincts wanted me to. I couldn’t act like she was my girl because she wasn’t. And she never could be.

So then why did you bring her here? And why did you beg her to sleep in bed
with you last night, and why are hoping she’ll stay over again? What is wrong with you?

Jimbo got distracted by a fight being shown on the giant flat screen TV in the other room, and wandered over to check it out.

I took another, longer, drink from my beer. I didn’t have any real answers and I didn’t want to have to admit it. I felt confused and somehow angry. I wanted to throttle the guys that were eyeballing her, and I wanted to throttle myself for the way I was feeling about her.

She’s a friend. That’s it. A friend.

But I knew it wasn’t that simple, and I hated that it couldn’t be. I hated knowing that someday soon, I was going to have to deal with the situation and it was going to hurt.

Because there was only one way this whole thing could end, and that was with Lindsay and me going our separate ways.

Not yet, though. Just enjoy being with her while you still can.

I glanced over at Lindsay and offered an apologetic smile. “I know it’s not exactly your scene.”

“I’m not some wilting flower, Justin.”

“I know that.”

She took a quick sip of beer, so quick that I wondered if she was “faking” it.

After Jimbo had joked about pissing in the beer, I couldn’t blame her.

“So,” Lindsay said, “that guy said something about you hitting like a truck. And he had a bruise under his eye. Is he the guy you fought with yesterday?”

“One of them.”

Her eyes widened. “How many were there?”

I took a long pull from my beer and tried to stare down anyone who had the nerve to look over at Lindsay. “I’m not quite sure,” I admitted. “Everything started to blur together after the first three or four.”

“You fought more than three or four people?” Lindsay shook her head. “Don’t you feel weird being at a party with the same guys who beat you up last night?”

“First of all,” I said, turning to her, “I didn’t get beaten up last night. I was in a fight. And I’m used to hanging out with the same dude who I might have to punch in the face next week or next month. It’s just the name of the game.”

“I just don’t really understand it.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I said. It came out sounding a little sharper than I’d meant it, and Lindsay made a face.

“I know you think I’m naïve and ridiculous,” she told me, “but the truth is, I just don’t like the idea of people hurting you.”

I was about to respond to her, when I saw Malcolm Stevens waving me over from the other side of the room. Malcolm “The Pit bull” Stevens was the standout wrestler that had given me hell last night. He looked even bigger and stockier in his long sleeved shirt and jeans. Standing beside him was a young woman, probably around my age. She had long, dark hair, an olive complexion, and pouty lips that quickly turned into a smirk as I looked over.

Was she his girlfriend, a groupie, something else entirely? Did I care?

Not really.

But Malcolm waved me over again and I thought I should attempt to be polite.

“Hey, this guy wants to talk to me,” I said to Lindsay.

Lindsay looked away. “Okay,” she said. “Go talk.”

I couldn’t tell if she was hurt, but I didn’t have time to sort through it, and I was a little aggravated with her for suddenly getting moody on me.

Still, I’d rather have just been alone—Lindsay and I—than hanging out at this party and feeling like she hated me and we had no business being together.

When I crossed the room and reached Malcolm, he held out his beer and we clinked bottles. “Cheers,” Malcolm said. He turned to the dark haired girl next to him.

“This is the new stud at the gym,” he told her.

“Justin Brown?” she said, looking me over with utter confidence.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

She smiled secretively. “No, but I’ve heard a lot about you in the last few hours.

You’re the talk of the town. What are they calling him, The Viking or something?”

“The Barbarian,” Malcolm said. “Personally, I like it. It’s got flair.”

“If you say so,” I replied. I wasn’t altogether sure what I thought of any of this, including my new nickname. JB was fine with me – it was what I’d always been called.

“I’m Brooklyn,” the girl said, flashing her dark eyes at me.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You’re not very inquisitive, are you Mister Barbarian?”

“I wasn’t aware there was something I was supposed to be inquiring about.”

“Well, when you meet someone, it’s polite to ask them a question about themselves. Don’t you want to know anything about me?” She batted her eyelashes playfully.

Malcolm chuckled. “Brooklyn, he doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s going to be a star.” Brooklyn turned and gave him a hard punch in his shoulder.

“Ow,” he said, wincing. “That actually hurt.”

“Nice form,” I said, meaning it. “You hit with good technique, turned your hand over and everything.”

“I’ve been watching people fight my whole life,” she said. “I picked up a few things here and there.”

I was slightly intrigued. She was objectively pretty, kind of reminded me of Katy Perry with the dark hair, full figure, and a bit of attitude. She seemed interested in me, too. In the past I would have been all over her. But for some reason, I just couldn’t make myself get too interested.

Instead, I caught myself trying to steal a glance behind me to see what Lindsay was doing.

My stomach curdled.

Somehow, in the short time that I’d been away from her, she’d been approached by Tim “The Sting” Young and Virgil Jones. Tim was the Heavyweight Champ in the UFF and Virgil was a contender at Light Heavyweight. They were both good-looking guys, slick, charming and confident. Tim was especially worrisome, because although I’d cleaned Virgil’s clock yesterday, Tim had been a different beast entirely.