Chapter 3
Jinx
Leaning against the wall, knees drawn to my chest and arms hanging loosely, I watch as Raven swings at the punching bag dangling from a support beam.
When the next twack fills the room, I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking as her knuckles meet the bag.
She’s thinking of my handsome face, I’m sure.
“You know there are gloves so you don’t injure yourself, right?” Calling out to her, I’m easily ignored. Sighing under my breath, I drag my eyes away from her and take in the empty room.
While I get that people wouldn’t want to tire themselves out before the big day tomorrow, I wouldn’t turn down even a talking buddy. Kansas is too busy playing bodyguard to Diesel and Ruby. I miss my best friend, man.
With the sweep of her leg, she kicks the bag next. She wasn’t kidding about releasing her anger.
By now, she’s collected a thin layer of sweat clinging to her cheeks and throat.
Sighing under my breath, I’m forced to watch her move. Not like there’s anything more interesting to take in. She hears my boredom and sends a frown in my direction. After throwing a few more punches and hearing me sigh again, she pauses to face me.
“Tired of watching? You can always find something better to do with your time. Or… we can fight.” All too serious, she jerks her chin toward the gloves. “If you want.”
Well, now that’s more interesting. But she’s not actually serious, is she?
“I’m serious. Come on.” Reading my mind, she frowns at my confusion. “Not the first time someone has looked at me like that. Hitting a moving target is more fun than a punching bag.”
Challenging me with a curl of her hands, I realize just how badly she wants to hit me. Even under the disguise of a spar, she wants to swing.
I suppose the feeling is mutual. However, I’ll feel bad if I kick her ass. Maybe then, she’ll stop being such a pain.
Leaving the wall, I nod, thinking nothing of it. Though, there is a glaring problem that needs to be dealt with first.
There aren’t any windows in here, so I’m pretty sure she won’t get very far if she tries.
She scoffs, the mind reader she is. “I won’t leave. Trust me, if you’re serious, I’m not going anywhere. I want to kick your ass.”
I grunt, easily not believing her. But if I keep sitting here, I’m going to die of boredom. Playing with her sounds more entertaining.
“Snag me a water while you’re out, will you?” Panting softly under her breath, she takes in my grimace before catching me off guard with something that almost looks like a smile. Lots of teeth, like a wolfish grin. “I’ll go easy on you if you do.”
Huh. She might be baring her teeth at me, but she looks… Different.
“We’ve got bottles behind the bar.” Shooing me with a flick of her hand, she turns away, pulling me out of my trance as she continues to throw punches.
When I laugh at that, I realize she’s serious. She really thinks she can kick my ass?
While I’m helping the club when it comes to dealers trying to dirty this town, she’s pouring people drinks.
Okay, yeah, sure.
Rolling my eyes, I leave her behind, moving swiftly before she gets any ideas.
Making a pit stop in the laundry room, I’m shameless when it comes to picking through others’ belongings. There’s no way in hell I’m going to take her on with jeans.
Spotting some of Killer’s clothing, I find a pair of shorts that will work perfectly. Knowing the guy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, I’ll have to promise an IOU. Getting changed and abandoning my jeans, I hunt down some water for her.
“Go easy on me?” I laugh and shake my head. This is the perfect opportunity to knock her off her high horse. Maybe she’ll soften up a bit while she’s at it.
When I return, I’m relieved to see she’s obediently waiting.
Offering her the bottle, she mutters a thanks.
While she inhales the liquid, I grab a pair of gloves.
The leather smells of old sweat and effort as I strap them on, knuckles tightening inside the worn padding.
I can’t help but wonder if this is a good idea or not.
Diesel will kick my ass if I hurt her, won’t he? Hell, Judge might skin me if she ends up with even a bruise. Bye-bye, patch.
I haven’t fought anyone without the intent to kill. Sparring isn’t really my thing, especially with a woman half my size.
Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I wonder if I’ll get to finally see this woman nervous. She’s only ever been angry. I don’t think anyone has ever seen her not pissed.
Bouncing from one foot to the other, she takes me in like she’s assessing her opponent. I hate to say it, but she doesn’t look worried. Even worse, she doesn’t even look impressed.
“I’ve killed men before,” I warn her, hoping she’ll catch even a hint of sense. My voice sounds hollow in the empty gym. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
The last thing I expect to see is those void eyes fill with something haunting. A spark, sharp and eager. Is she really enjoying herself? “Super scary. I almost shot a dude’s dick off before. Lucky for you, my fists are my only weapon. And trust me, those aren’t going anywhere near… that thing.”
What in the hell is wrong with this woman?
“I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” Side to side, she continues to bounce.
She’s put on a pair of gloves herself, patting them both together.
Her bare feet whisper on the mat, a soft, rhythmic threat as she doesn’t even try to hide her excitement like a kid about to walk into a candy store.
“I’ve taken a few hits from the others. I think Hammer is more terrifying than you are, no offense. ”
Hammer? What the fuck?
Wait, she’s done this before?
The wolfish grin is back at my realization.
Seeing my gloves are on, she takes it as a green light flashing and explodes toward me.
No warning. Her first punch is a fast, tight jab aimed at my chest. I jerk my torso back, feeling the displaced air whoosh past my stomach.
She really wants to hit me. The next swing catches my cheekbone, but it’s barely a graze as I’m forced to step back.
Despite having already hit the punching bag many times over, she’s burning hot. Swinging left and right, it’s impossible to tell which of her hands is the dominant one. I hiss when her glove hits my forearms as I’m forced to protect my face. The sting is immediate.
What in the hell did I do to her to make her hate me so much? Even if she doesn’t like my behavior, I’m not a bad guy.
“Stop dodging and just swing.” She barks the order as I bounce back once more, and I realize she’s already flushed, a faint pink under her pale skin.
At this rate, she should tire out, right?
But then I see it. Her pupils are blown black, her smile wicked.
This chick was born to be violent. She’s crazy, too.
I side-step a wild hook, the glove blurring past my temple. I duck under a follow-up cross, the momentum of her swing making her twist. My heart hammers against my ribs. At this rate, I’m going to run out of steam just avoiding her.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Panting, I weave left as another fist sails past my cheekbone, close enough to feel the breeze. “You’re just a chick—”
Her next hit doesn’t miss. A solid right hook crashes into my left cheekbone.
The impact is a bright, shocking crunch of leather on bone.
My head snaps sideways, vision swimming with white stars.
Just as I sway, I hear her snarl. Wrong choice of words.
Got it. Ouch, dude. My face is the best part of me, and a hot, throbbing ache is already spreading under my eye.
Running out of patience myself, I finally swing. A right hook that hits her dead on in the face. The connection sends a jarring vibration up my arm. Immediately, I regret it, especially when I see her stagger, the force clearly rocking her slight frame.
“Fuck, Raven.” Watching her collapse onto one knee, I don’t think twice about clawing at the velcro on my gloves to try to help her. I knew I shouldn’t have let it get this far. “I’m so—”
Before I can even finish my sentence, I barely hear her growl—a low, feral sound—before her glove moves in a blur, catching the underside of my jaw. It’s an uppercut from hell. My teeth slam together with a sickening click, my head snaps back so hard my neck screams. The world tilts.
Stumbling back, vision blurred, I’m left with no choice. As she’s immediately back on her feet, surging forward, I throw a desperate, blind swing to the side. It glances off her arm.
“All it takes is a moment of weakness to lower your guard?” She laughs, but it lacks any amusement. It’s a cold, mocking scrape of sound.
Reeling back, I hope it’s because she’s ready to call this stupid spar to an end. Instead, she spins, a whirl of deadly grace, and sends a kick toward me. It’s not a roundhouse; it’s a piston-straight front kick aimed at my center.
I try to catch her leg, but I’m too slow, too rattled. The top of her foot connects just below my ribs with a force that blasts the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh. Agony erupts in my gut.
Stumbling backwards, I grunt as my back hits the ground, the mat doing little to cushion the blow. I lie there gasping, fish-like, for my next breath. I’m willing to bet she’s bruised my gut, maybe cracked a rib. Groaning, I have no choice but to take in her bright, victorious expression.
How can someone so pretty be so fucking terrible? Christ.
Why doesn’t Judge just send her to the Crimson Road clubhouse? She’s got enough fire burning inside her that I don’t think anyone would be able to take her down.
“I’ve wanted that for a long time, pretty boy.”
She thinks I’m pretty?
Groaning, I’m ready to call an end to this thing myself. Knowing I won’t survive another kick, I watch as she sweeps a foot over my body. Instead of stepping on me, she settles both heels against my hips—a claiming, dominant stance—before she flops down right where I’m sore.
Settling on top so comfortably, she tilts her head as she takes in the view of the damage.
“This is normally the part where I’d pummel you.
But honestly? You went down so easily, I feel bad.
” Sniffing, she wipes her nose with the back of her arm, revealing a smudge of bright red blood.
She doesn’t flinch or grimace at the sight.
No, she’s too busy looking down at me with a look of pure pity in her eyes.
Fuck, yeah, rub salt in the wound. And here I thought I enjoyed being saddled by women. When Raven does it, I feel smaller.
“Who in the hell taught you to fight?” Afraid to touch her, my eyes pinch shut when she doesn’t budge. Damn, can’t she just take the win?
Hearing velcro unpeel, one of her gloves hits my chest with a soft thud. “You’d be surprised what a few volunteers and some videos online can teach you. Not like I can expect people to protect me when shit hits the fan.”
Opening my eyes, I watch her peel off the other before the second glove bounces off my chin. Her brows are pinched together, a frown back on her lips. “People like me?”
A small twitch happens to that frown. “Yeah. People like you.” She sighs and leans back, using my thighs as a backrest when my knees bend out of instinct. “Judge really thought you could protect me, huh?”
Normally, I’d get pissed, but it’s kind of hard when she just kicked my ass. “At least I’m good company.”
Now that makes her laugh. It’s a sound that catches me off guard. Eyes twinkling, she slaps my chest and moves to stand. Instead of leaving me on the ground, she offers a hand, expecting to be able to pull me up.
Peeling off my glove and freeing my hand, I wrap my hand around hers. Looking at her fingers, I realize just how small they are compared to mine. Everything about her is small.
Makes me wonder why she needed to learn to fight. Sure, she might have a loose tongue, but going out of her way for all this… I can’t help but wonder who this woman really is.
Everyone who comes to Steelwood has a story to tell, but the twins have been with the club longer than most. They’re the most mysterious. Wouldn’t it be fun to find out something no one else does?
Raven pulls my wrist, grunting when I don’t budge. “This is the part where you’re supposed to—”
A simple tug is enough, and she gasps, falling back onto me. She slides over my sore body, her touch just right, leaving a trail of heat and sweat. When she’s not expecting it, she folds beautifully. While I enjoy her falling back onto my lap, she does not.
Cursing me with every foul word she has in that dictionary of hers, her nails catch my skin as she yanks herself away. Giving me the middle finger, I don’t miss the flush clinging to her skin as she stomps toward the exit, calling an end to this anger management session.
Funny enough, only one thing pops up in my mind at that flustered blush of hers. Cute.
“You lowered your guard! I couldn’t help myself!” Calling after her, I struggle to stand. Yanking off my other glove, I’m forced to jog after her. Only a few steps in, I realize I’m smiling like a fool.
She must’ve hit me too hard. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be enjoying myself so much.
That’s what I’m going to tell myself, anyway.