37 - Ripley
RIPLEY
The snow made everything more quiet. Even out here on the lava fields, with the wind blowing drifts in thin ribbons, everything was muffled, almost silent.
“You ready?”
Peyton nodded once, briskly.
“Don’t nod. Just answer.”
Her pretty face screwed tighter with determination.
“I’m ready.”
I circled her slowly; the icy crust crunching beneath my boots. Peyton’s eyes tracked me carefully, waiting for my first move. There was no panic in them, though. Only resolve.
“That guy who came through our window, back in Belize?”
“The one that grabbed me?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “You did good, but you got lucky.”
Peyton’s smirk was borderline evil. “Oh?”
“Yeah. You tried pulling away at first, but you couldn’t. And if that bottle of rum hadn’t been there, things would’ve gotten ugly.”
I feinted a move. She flinched, but didn’t commit.
“So you’re going to teach me the rules of fighting?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t wait,” she quipped.
In one swift movement I kicked forward, driving a clod of snow directly into her face. As her arms went up to block it, I rushed past her, and thumped her hard on the ass.
“Rule number one,” I grinned, “is that there are no rules.”
Peyton reached back with one hand and rubbed at her ass. But she nodded anyway.
“What’s rule number two? You grab my tits?”
“Close.”
I looked directly over her shoulder, my expression turning to pure, horrified shock. Peyton’s eyes opened wide in alarm, her head whipping around to see what I was looking at.
By the time she realized her mistake, I had both arms wrapped around her from behind.
“That was a dirty trick,” she spat, still struggling.
“Sure was.”
She stomped at my foot, but I moved. She tried throwing an elbow, but I squeezed her even tighter.
“Rule number two,” I grunted. “See rule number one.”
Eventually I let go and stepped back. Peyton whirled to face me, her face flush with frustration. With the snow blanketing us on all sides, creating our own little arena, she looked even more beautiful than before.
“There are no fair fights,” I told her. “Got it?”
A tiny drop of blood had formed where she must’ve bit her lip. She wiped it with the back of a forearm and nodded anyway.
“You’re always going to be smaller than your attackers. Lighter. Slower.”
“Come see how slow I am,” she beckoned.
“So you cheat.”
I saw her pause for a moment, before smiling slyly.
“If someone grabs you from the back, don’t try to fight against it,” I went on. “You roll your arms forward, then drop down. You have to make yourself as small as possible. That’s how you slip away.”
“And what if they grab me from the front?” she asked.
“Then you go in.”
“In?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “They’re not going to give you enough credit, so they’ll underestimate you. They’ll let you get too close.”
I demonstrated by grabbing her from the front. The scent of her was, as usual, distracting.
Especially after last night.
“And that’s when you head-butt them right in the fucking face.”
She moved to do it, but stopped just short of my chin. The point was made, though.
“See? Nothing’s off limits,” I added, unnecessarily. “Eyes. Ears. Mouth.”
“Groin stuff?” she smirked, her gaze dropping.
“Yeah. That too.”
Peyton twisted in my grasp, dropped low, and swung her arm out at the elbow. This time though, she stopped short of nailing me in the balls.
“Let me show you some basic escapes,” I told her. “Then we’ll talk about your ground game.”
“Ground game?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” she challenged.
I threw another handful of snow, grabbed her by the ankles, and yanked them out from under her. She hit the ground like a sack of oranges.
“Because every single fight,” I smiled down, “ends up on the ground.”
Twenty minutes later we’d gone over a variety of unfortunate scenarios she could find herself in, and how to incapacitate her attacker in each. Peyton was breathing hard, in little puffs of white smoke. Her ponytail was disheveled, but in the cutest way.
“Now, lay down. I’m going to get on top of you.”
“Been there, done that,” she smirked.
“Do it again,” I instructed. “But this time, try your best to get up.”
After hesitating for a moment, Peyton dropped onto her back. I climbed over her slender waist and clamped down tightly, pinning her wrists to the frozen earth. Then I leaned forward, chest to chest, letting my weight settle onto her.
Her breath was sweet. Her lips full, plump, and pink, as they hovered near mine.
Out of nowhere, she craned her neck forward and kissed me.
The kiss was slow. Deep. Meaningful. The touch of her tongue came with a sexy whimper, stealing all the air from my lungs.
“I—I’m sorry,” she eventually apologized. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Staring up at me, Peyton shrugged coyly.
“I had a sudden urge to kiss my boyfriend.”
God, she was so fucking beautiful! So soft, and yet tough. So seemingly helpless, and yet—
The knee connected with my balls, just as my brain was registering what happened. Twisting her body like a cat being forced into a bathtub, Peyton reversed positions, and was on me in less than a second.
“Fuck…” I hissed. Wincing hard, I braced for the delayed, but inevitable pain
“Relax, I barely grazed them.”
She was the one straddling me now, flexing those wicked thighs as she pinned my wrists. Her expression was pure, unbridled triumph.
“No fair fights, right?” she winked.
The pain didn’t come. Maybe she did graze them.
“That was dirty.”
“Groin stuff. You said it yourself.”
“Good girl,” I grinned.
Peyton patted my chest, leapt to her feet, and extended a slender arm. She had to lean all her weight into it, but she was able to pull me up.
“So… who taught you how to fight?”
“Life,” I grunted.
“No, seriously. You weren’t in the military, like Colson. But when it comes to something like this...”
“I’ve been fighting most of my life,” I told her. “One day I did something… to someone who seriously deserved it. I hurt him bad, though. Real bad.”
I thought briefly back to the night in the alley. As far as memories went, it wasn’t a place I liked to go.
“After that I realized I might have a problem,” I admitted slowly. “It wasn’t just anger, it was pent-up rage. Bad shit. It fucked with my head; so much, that I started going for long walks through bad neighborhoods. Just hoping someone would give me a reason to let off some steam.”
Peyton stood there quietly, as the wind played with her hair. Not talking or judging, just listening.
My respect for her deepened.
“One night I looked up and realized I was standing in front of an MMA studio,” I went on. “I wandered inside, and two guys were beating the shit out of each other. But they were doing it legally, and they shook hands afterward. I realized right then and there, that was my calling.”
More memories flooded back; the workouts, the training, the cathartic joy of being able to vent my anger in constructive, positive directions. The exultation I felt, every time I won. The excitement of just being a part of something.
“My win rate was good,” I told her. “Better than most. I didn’t exactly have the finesse of the higher-level fighters, but what I lacked in technical ability I made up with brute force and sheer ferocity.”
I paused, bitterly. “That ended up being a problem, though. I fought too hard, too often. Lost myself in the moment, and went past the bell. I got blacklisted from all the bigger circuits as being too violent. My reputation ruined me, and put me back to square one.”
I looked down and sighed. “The MMA thing dead-ended. But I still fought. Turns out, if you can hit hard enough, and stay on your feet? People will pay to watch you fight.”
“And that’s where Donovan came in,” sighed Peyton.
“Yup.”
She nodded sympathetically. “I know he ran fights. He used to talk about them all the time. Back rooms, industrial parks, anywhere underground. He wanted to take me once, but it wasn’t my thing.”
“It shouldn’t be anyone’s thing,” I said, the words tasting sour. “It’s barbaric.”
“But you fought.”
My jaw went grudgingly tight. “The money was good.”
“Was it?”
“Compared to nothing? It sure as shit was.”
The wind died, momentarily. In that short span of silence, she studied me carefully.
“You bet on yourself, didn’t you? That’s how you became indebted to him.”
“More or less,” I admitted. “Not directly, though.”
Peyton stared back at me like I’d skipped a step.
“I won a whole bunch in a row,” I explained, “before Donovan finally asked me to throw a fight. Well, he didn’t ask, really.
He just ordered me to, and assumed I would.
” I scratched at the back of my neck. “There was a lot of money at stake, of course. But it wasn’t about the money for him. Never was.”
“It was about the pride,” declared Peyton.
“Yes.”
“And I’m guessing you didn’t throw it,” she theorized. “You tried to, but something inside you took over.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Shit, it’s like you know me or something.”
“Guess your pride was more important than Donovan’s.”
“Eighty grand more important, or thereabouts.”
She laughed, but there was no merriment in it. “That must’ve pissed him off.”
“Ya think?”
“So he kept you around after that,” she guessed. “To work it off.”
“Bingo.”
A sudden breeze swirled the powder around us. The mist settled against her face, melting into droplets that ran down over her smooth, feminine mouth.
“You never would’ve worked it off, you know,” she huffed, softly. “Donovan wouldn’t have let you. He collects assets, remember? He’s not in the habit of giving them up.”
I answered with a nod. “By the time I figured that out, it was already too late.”
“It’s never too late,” Peyton replied smoothly. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
I let my eyes wander the mountain-flanked plain of ice and snow. Sure as shit, I was here.
All thanks to her.
“That’s why you beat that guy so badly,” Peyton murmured. “Back at the fishing shack.”
I inched closer, shortening the space between us. The droplets of snow melting against her cheeks looked like tears. I wasn’t sure whether that made me angry, or sad. Probably a bit of both.
“That man touched you,” I said with a growl. “He wanted to drag you back to Donovan. He wanted to hurt you…”
Rage welled up in my throat, like acid bile. Somehow I forced it back.
“I’ll die before that ever happens,” I seethed.
Peyton’s eyes crawled over me admiringly, for a moment. The look caused my body to go warm all over.
“But you can’t always be there,” she muttered, at last. “Your protection can only go so far.”
“True. Which is why I’m going to show you how to fight, and fight hard,” I told her. “For those times when I can’t be there.”
I saw the moment where her heart actually melted a little. She stood on her toes, leaned in, and planted a warm, wonderful kiss on my cold lips.
Then she stepped back into a fighting stance, her eyes gleaming with a warrior’s ferocity.
“Then show me,” she purred, through clenched teeth. “And don’t hold back.”