Round 50
ROUND FIFTY
ROSE
“He wants to talk over dinner.” I throw a sloppy left jab.
A second. I follow it up with a hook. And because she’s so damn fast, Eliza scoots to the right and slaps my hand to the side.
“He’s not pressuring me or anything. He just…
” I squeak and shield the side of my face, ducking from Eliza’s fist, only to ram face-first into what would be a nose-destroying knee if she weren’t as in control of her body as she is.
Far more than I am.
“He dropped by the office today and said we could get dinner and talk.”
“Cute. You want me to help you with your makeup for a date with a man who isn’t my brother?” She slips forward and ducks beneath my arm, sliding around behind me and wrapping her arm around my neck. It’s exactly what we practiced the first time I ever set foot in this gym. “What do you do, Rose?”
I lower my weight and buy myself a fraction of an inch of breathing space. “It’s not a date,” I choke out. “It’s talking.”
“It’s a date.” She tightens her grip, crushing my larynx. “What do you do?”
“Stop—”
“Sorry, babe. I’m a horny prick who likes to disrespect women. It turns me on when they cry.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, aching and cruel.
“Bump me back!” She slams the side of her fist to my hip and forces me back.
“If a man grabs you like this, he’s not gonna talk you through it.
He wants you to panic. He wants you to scream and cry and claw at his arms, because when he fucks you anyway, the sting of your nails on his skin will feel like ecstasy. ”
“Get off me!”
“That’s what you’ll say. He won’t listen.
” She locks her choke in, breathing heavily in my ear.
“He won’t have the same training I do, so he probably won’t use the second arm.
Which is good for you—since I’m teaching you how to get out of it.
But he’ll be strong, and he’ll have a free hand to do whatever the hell he wants with it.
Grab your tit,” she snarls. “Grab your pussy.”
“Enough!” I bump her back and whip my elbow up, slamming it against the side of her face and darting out of her hold. I stumble to my hands and knees, scrambling vertically again, then I spin back and heave, tears scorching tracks along my cheeks. “What the hell, Eliza?”
She shrugs, sliding the tip of her finger along a fresh split in her lip. She collects a smudge of blood, staring at it. Cataloging. Then she drops her hand and burns me with her fiery glare. “It’s called teaching. Anyone who grabs you against your will isn’t gonna use their manners.”
“You’re pissed because I mentioned Darcy.
” I look through the octagon walls inside Tommy and Chris’ Love & War gym, where classes are typically held and fighters usually crowd.
But not today. Not right now. Because it’s the middle of the day, school is in, Ollie is on shift—again—the twins decided now would be a good time to go for a run, and I think I might go insane if I spend even another minute alone with my thoughts.
“Information is good, right? Collecting information is how we make educated decisions.”
She prowls. “I’m not mature enough to be your sounding board.
You’re going through some shit right now, and as your friend, I get that.
I understand it. But Ollie’s my brother, and there ain’t a soul in town who would tell you I’m capable of objectivity and kindness.
” She sets her hands on her hips, her fingerless gloves framing abdominal muscles that ripple and flex with every step she takes.
“My parents used all their kindness when they made Ollie. Then they had Raquel and used up the last of the brains. I came in third, and all I got was a sharp right hook and a smart mouth.” She purses her lips, glaring through mean blue eyes.
“It is what it is. You wanna go out on a date with your fiancé, then that’s your prerogative.
Can’t say I’ll lend you a slutty dress for it, though. ”
“It’s not a date! And he’s not my fiancé.
He’s…” That other person’s fiancé. The Rose from before Plainview.
The Rose who used to live in a whole different town, and had a career she apparently loved, and friends she lacked appropriate boundaries with.
God. I’m a mess. “Billy and Ramone said his story is checking out, and every rock they turn over is only confirming everything he has said as true.”
“So you wanna hang out,” she sneers. “Test the grass on the other side?”
“This doesn’t make sense to me, okay!? None of it does, because he’s telling me things I’m supposed to already know, filling in blanks I didn’t even realize I had.
I kept staring at him at the police station, trying to remember.
Trying to bring it all back. It’s right there, Eliza, hiding on the other side of the dirty glass in my brain, but it’s like a jumbled jigsaw and the pieces he’s handing me don’t fit quite right. ”
“So you wanna get dinner and chat. Reignite some of the old sparks.” Her lips peel back, snide and scornful. “I don’t have it in me to cheer you on. Not when my brother’s heart is on the line.”
“I’m not trying to hurt him! I’m not trying to hurt anyone. And just so you know, I called him first, after Darcy came by the office. He said I should go. He said I should hear him out.”
“Of course he did! He’s selfless like that.
But, ya know what? I’m not interested in this little gossip session.
I come to the gym to work. To train. If I wanted girly chit-chat, I’d open a bottle of wine.
” She darts forward, slamming one knee to the canvas and wrapping her arms around my hips.
Shoving me back and throwing me to the floor, she climbs over top while stars flash in my eyes.
“This is called mount position. You’re completely under me, defenseless and unable to escape.
Luckily for you, a man can’t fuck you like this. He’s gotta get his legs under yours.”
“You’re an asshole.” I ball my fists, flexing my arms. But she presses her weight to my wrists and pins them to the floor. “This isn’t training. This is brutality labeled differently.”
“Yep.” She releases my wrist, only to press her hand to my throat instead.
“But if you’re ever in a position like this and it’s not inside a gym, labels won’t really matter, will they?
You’re in a world of trouble at that point, and calling the person on top of you an asshole isn’t gonna change things.
Hate me if you want.” Her face is hard. Her words, harder.
“People have been hating me their whole lives. They think ‘cos I fight, my feelings don’t get hurt. I’m still gonna teach you how to get out of this position.
” She grabs my free hand and wraps it around her wrist. “You need to buckle my arm. These are my foundations, and right now, they’re strong.
My elbow was created to bend, so use it, bend it, snap it if you have to.
Then, when I’m falling, you buck me forward. ”
She slaps my hip, the loud crack of her palm echoing throughout the gym.
“It’s not much.” She falls forward. “You’re still under, and I still have my hooks in.
But it’s better than what you had a minute ago.
In competition, you could drag me into an arm bar.
If you’re quick, you could even get me into a headlock.
But since you’re not competing and there’s no championship belt in it for you—” She grabs my hand and presses my palm to her face.
“You dig your fingers into my eye socket and tear.”
My stomach whirls, sickening and painful.
“There’s no referee in the real world, Rose, calling you out on an illegal move.
There’s just life or death, and even if I’m pissed at you, I still want you to live if something goes bad.
” She lowers over me, jamming her elbow and forearm across the side of my face.
“What do you do?” Infuriatingly, she claps my cheek. “What do you do, Rose?”
What do you do, Rose? What the hell do you do?
“This feels…” I exhale a huffing breath and stare at myself in the mirror in my room, running my hands over my top. My jeans. My long hair, left to hang loose.
If I puke on the dinner table, that’s reasonable, right? It’s normal?
Ollie shifts in my peripherals, his broad form taking up most of the doorway, his thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans, and his jaw clenched impossibly tight.
His eyes are hard. His glare, unkind.
For the first time since knowing him, he looks at me like I don’t matter.
“I don’t like how this feels.” I press my hand to my belly and turn from the mirror to face him. Tell me not to go, you coward! “Maybe I should cancel?”
“You look beautiful.” He spins into the hall and leaves me behind.
Scowling, I stalk into the hall and turn toward the kitchen, the anxiety in my belly momentarily replaced with anger. With hurt. “Ollie—”
He swings the fridge open, burying his face in the cool all so he can avoid looking at me. “I might make an omelet for dinner, since you’re going out.” He snags a carton of eggs. Milk. Butter. “You’ve got your phone, right? If you need me to come pick you up, I can. Doesn’t matter what time.”
“Darcy’s coming here to get me.” I sniffle and draw back the emotion intent on making me look like a fool. Straightening my spine, I wait for him to turn… and wait… and wait… and wait. “Why are you mad, Oliver?”
“I’m not mad.” He sets ingredients on the counter and goes back to the fridge for vegetables. Peppers. Tomato. Onion. Finally, he closes the fridge and comes around, looking me up and down that way he does that makes me feel beautiful… or like a specimen in a jar. “I’m never mad at you. I promise.”