Stryker Read online

  He knew it as well.

  Sucking in a breath through my nose, I let it out slowly as I paced my hits to my breath but it didn’t work. Each blow filled me with anger and I hit harder…faster. So they thought that by telling me to throw a fight, I would with no questions asked. They could think again.

  The fuck who had decided the loss was going to discover that I didn’t always do as they ordered. And the pissant who’d decided they needed a fight throwing had been too fucking scared to come and tell me to my face.

  Hiding behind Coach.

  Well fuck him!

  With one final punch, the bag came loose and flew into the wall before it dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, narrowly missing Coach.

  The only sound was my heavy breathing, as I clenched my fists to lose the anger that still held me. I screwed my eyes closed, trying to breathe before the headache really knocked me on my ass.

  In…two…three…and out.

  I felt my heart rate gradually slow. I refused to let my anger continue to consume me. They had me on a fucking leash and instead of fighting my way out, I let them keep it around my fucking neck.

  “You got it outta your system?” Coach asked, unmoved from where he’d been watching me beat the shit out of the bag. “Because you need to take a break before the fight.”

  I turned away and slung a towel around my neck before wiping the sweat from my face and out of my eyes. The water Coach passed me felt good going down my throat, and I drank another…ignoring the eyes that were on me. Most guys in the gym gave me a wide berth, but they still watched me…waiting for that weakness to exploit. I hated them…this constant power struggle. I crushed the empty bottle in my hands and tossed it into the trash. I needed something…I needed more.

  I’d never admit that to anyone because then, they’d have more of a hold over me. There was one guy at the gym who would always bring his girl with him. She’d sit on the sidelines and watch while her guy worked out. I’d watched them, and the way she looked at her guy made me crave to have someone look at me that way.

  One thing I’d always refused from them had been women. They’d brought them to me since I was seventeen. That first time, the woman had stripped naked, and I’d briefly gawked at her like any adolescent boy would. Her big tits and bare pussy had caused my dick to punch up in the air before I’d turned my head away. She’d known and had moved into my line of sight before starting to play with her tits and finger herself. I’d come in my sweats; embarrassed as fuck.

  After that first time, I’d switched off and had refused to participate. But then I’d become the man that I am today; older, wiser, full of ripped muscle that they’d found intimidating. They’d stopped for a time, but then it started again when I won fights. Won them money.

  It was my reward.

  I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been tempted. So damn tempted to wet my dick, but I hadn’t. Ever. My hand had had so much use over the years, I was surprised I still had the strength to punch…or that my dick hadn’t fallen off. But, no fucking way was I going to fuck a whore. I certainly never met anyone else, but I dreamt and kept my one and only longing to myself. The longing was my weakness and, in part, I dreaded the day, if ever, that I gave my heart to anyone because then, they’d have the biggest hold over me that they’d ever had.

  I needed to run…

  The words popped into my head the same as they always did at unexpected times.

  If I listened and acted then they’d come after me. They were the only ones to know my real name. They knew everything about me, and even watched every fucking dollar that was spent for my keep, which wasn’t much. In fact, during my whole fighting career, the most I’d insisted be spent and refused to back down from was on my apartment. I’d always dreamed of living high, where I could look out over the city at night, at the sun setting and rising. I’d wanted to watch how the heat would rise during the morning, until it was at its fullest strength around noon. And I had that. I could sit all day on my balcony and just dream of freedom.

  I’d be laughed at by outsiders if they knew how much of my life was controlled by others and the reason why. Considering my strength and ability that I now had, I sometimes wondered why I hadn’t fought for my freedom from their clutches. They’d given me the chance to live alone because I told them that I couldn’t concentrate otherwise. They’d believed me, but I was watched.

  You know why you haven’t run though…they hold you under the threat of kidnapping another boy to replace you if you leave.

  I’d been through hell over the years, and I’d never wish that hell on anyone else.

  Since the night my life changed, I’d never seen the suit again, although I had the feeling that he was the one running the show. I would find him one day. There was no question about that. When I did, it would be his turn to pray.

  “Fuck!”

  I was supposed to be calming down, but I needed the anger for the ring in a few hours.

  Coach jumped at my angry cursing, and when I glanced at him he rubbed the back of his neck. A sure sign he was agitated. “I’m sorry, Stryker.” He glanced at his bright green sneakers before he shook his head, and gave me his back. “I’m calling it. Go home and relax for a bit before you’re picked up.”

  Go home and relax.

  What a joke.

  I was supposed to be a machine. I was no longer the sniveling boy too afraid to ignore the demands on me. After the initial beating, I did everything. I let them lead me by the fucking balls, and still did. Sometimes I think death would have been the better option to have taken when they’d given me the choice.

  But go home and relax—as if that was an option.

  Heading toward the showers, I thought of the one place where I wasn’t known. It was difficult to hide my size, but with a beanie pulled low I could sit in a dark corner while I watched the world around me. I wanted that world…a life away from the ring. I’d been going there for a few weeks, but it had become the only place that I could really think. It was the only place I’d ever managed to disappear and not been found until I was ready to be.

  The small bar was crowded on the weekends, and where I would normally shy away from crowded areas, I relished being at the bar. No one bothered me there, not even the ladies, which was fine with me. I may have started craving the soft touch of a woman, but I didn’t want anyone right now. No way would I give them the opportunity to use someone else against me.

  Assholes!

  The lot of them.

  Even hours later in the locker room at the arena, I felt my anger simmering.

  The hum of the fans that filled the arena reached me, and the noise helped my concentration. It was a sound so familiar and reassuring that I’d started to crave it a few years ago. It made me feel like I could accomplish anything with my fans…that crowd…behind me.

  Coach had already taped my hands and held my gloves in his. I wouldn’t put my gloves on until the last minute before entering the ring.

  Ring, cage, it didn’t matter to me which I fought in because I was a cocky sonofabitch and always won.

  Coach moved into my line of sight, which was his way of saying, “Let’s go.”

  I stood and let Coach fasten the robe around me. I hated the feel of the silk against my skin, but the size of it swallowed me in fabric. It kept my eyes focused on the ground as I moved down the tunnel, past the fans, until I was at my corner.

  Coach shoved my gloves on and held my gaze. “You’ve got this, Stryker. You win and show those assholes.”

  I knew I had this, just like I’d known at every fight. I also knew that I’d win regardless of what they wanted.

  Climbing into the ring, I shoved the hood free and ignored my opponent. They hated to be ignored, which made the fight more difficult. I’d still win, but I’d feel like I’d won fairly, instead of being pissed around by an opponent who was scared shitless of me.

  Coach grabbed the robe from around me as I took in all the shouting and frenzy that sur
rounded these fights.

  I slowly started to turn and stared out at the crowd, the fans…and felt like my stomach had dropped to my toes.

  All I saw were a pair of emerald colored eyes alight with passion. Heat pulsed in them and I found myself taking a step toward her before I caught myself…my hands itched to keep moving toward those eyes but I fought the urge.

  Her gaze burned into me and I felt that craving again…for something I couldn’t have and the bitterness was like oil on the flame of my anger.

  I’d win tonight.

  Not for me.

  Not for them.

  But for the beauty with the emerald eyes.

  Evie

  I SAT WITH A bottle of warm water in my hand, surrounded with people who I was supposed to call friends. I didn’t know them. Well, not really. My fiancé, Patrick, knew them, but me, not so much. I’d tried so hard to join in with their conversation, but they were really all a group that didn’t want me included. Patrick laughed when I told him how I felt and commented that they didn’t know how to hang with a senator’s daughter. I’d found that damn weird and hadn’t bothered again. My father might hob nob with the president, but I didn’t.

  Since we’d arrived for the fight, Patrick had ignored me. I was stuck with a total stranger on one side, and one of his friends on the other. Patrick was at the end of the row, his head leaning toward another guy, Oliver, who he was deep in conversation with.

  I knew that he ignored me because I’d badgered him about getting me a ticket for the fight when he’d rather keep me away. I’d pointed out that I needed to do research for the book I planned on writing. He’d laughed until he realized I was serious. That hadn’t gone down too well with me.

  I should have gotten myself a ticket and gotten my best friend, Millie to tag along with me, but I knew Patrick went to all the fights so he’d have seen me in the crowd. It would have been easy for him to spot me as my red hair stuck out like a sore thumb.

  So, anyway, here I was, effectively surrounded by strangers, waiting for two guys to come out and kick the hell out of each other…all for research.

  The crowd hummed with a restless energy that was hard to ignore. I felt it pulsing inside of me and then the hum stopped as the lights went out and a hush fell over the arena.

  My belly quivered with nervous energy.

  A booming voice crackled over the sound system as they announced the first fighter, Damien “Rockman” Kelly. The crowd grew rabid as they booed their displeasure.

  My heart started to pound and my ears buzzed as blood rushed around my head. I wasn’t sure if it was through fear or excitement as an air of danger spread throughout the place.

  And then, I was sure my heart stopped altogether as “Stryker” appeared following his announcement.

  I couldn’t see him clearly because he kept his head dipped and he was wrapped in a long black robe. So my reaction to him was odd to say the least.

  My seat was close to his corner and I had no trouble seeing him as he prepared to climb into the ring.

  He towered over the other men by inches, and when he removed the hood, his unruly black hair gleamed in the lights. The crowd, on hearing his name went wild but it was nothing compared to the cacophony that erupted when he climbed into the ring. But I was frozen in my seat as the crowd cheered and writhed around me in their excitement.

  Muscles rippled under his silk robe, quickening my pulse, and when he shucked the robe, I was sure I whimpered out loud. His stance emphasized the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips.

  His whole body rippled with tension as he slowly turned in a circle to greet his fans. Facing his corner, he stood there, devilishly handsome.

  My eyes refused to leave his beautiful face. The set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak and his lips looked firm but sensual. His dark eyes didn’t miss anything and when they met my unwavering gaze, my heart stopped altogether. He carried on past me, but, seconds later, his gaze returned to me and held.

  I couldn’t look away as my face heated with arousal, although it should have been embarrassment. Even when his coach spoke to him, I felt like he struggled to move his attention away from me. When he finally did, I felt bereft, sad even, though my eyes stayed on him.

  And then it was like he had switched off in the ring. Everything that had caught his attention was gone and he was focused solely on his opponent. I gasped as the bell rang and the two men closed the distance between them. His fists flew like lightening and I clung to my seat unable to tear my eyes from the bloody scene as the two men grappled around the ring. I wanted to stop it but a part of me wanted to watch as the excitement of the crowd beat through me.

  I cried out when Stryker took a strong cross to his chin, his head reeling to the side before he planted his feet and swung back. The crack could be heard over the crowd and Stryker’s opponent swayed on his feet before he toppled to the mat.

  Throughout the fight he held my attention and when the announcer held his arm up in the air to state that he was the winner, Stryker’s eyes scanned the crowd until he found mine.

  Our gaze was only broken when Patrick stood in front of me. “Let’s go.” He took my arm and led me out of the arena, much to my disappointment.

  I had so many questions but knew I couldn’t ask them of Patrick. He kept glancing my way, but I refused to acknowledge him for now. My mind and body was in turmoil as I wondered about the larger than life fighter.

  I certainly knew whom I would be researching when I was alone. First though, I’d have to sit through drinks with Patrick and his friends. I shuddered and stared longingly down the street at my escape. All I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts and I sighed as we headed into their favorite wine bar. For some reason, tonight’s drink felt wrong being in this place with piano music softly playing as affluent men and women sat on the plush couches and chatted. After the violence of the fight, and with how raw I felt, loud music in a bar with others from the arena would have felt right.

  Then again my head probably wouldn’t have held up under that, because it now throbbed with just the piano music.

  I rubbed at my brow and tried to catch Patrick’s eye, but his back was toward me, which I was sure he’d done deliberately.

  Sighing, I leaned back and watched the group around Patrick. He threw his head back and laughed at something someone said…clearly he was in his element. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. It was a bone of contention between us and I was never as social as Patrick would like me to be with his friends. It always took a lot of persuading on his part to get me to go out as a group. I had no interest but I’d discovered that it was so much easier just agreeing. I mean it was only a few hours, and half the time I wasn’t even sure Patrick wanted to be with them, or me.

  Tonight had been different though as I’d practically begged to go to the fight. I’d never been included on fight nights before so I’d probably thrown a wrench into Patrick’s usual plans.

  With a heavy sigh, I glanced around and realized that although I was in the group, it was like I was on the outside looking in. At least that was how I felt…alone in a sea of people. What made me sad was that the one person I should be able to talk to, was the last person I wanted to.

  I glanced at Patrick again and smiled when he acknowledged me, he didn’t come over. My smile slipped. He knew that I wanted to leave, which was why he stalled by pretending to be interested in the conversation he was currently having. The asshole. He just didn’t want to leave and possibly miss something.

  I couldn’t remember the last time he actually showed some concern for my welfare, and I knew that sounded self-centered, but it was true. We were supposed to be getting married in a few weeks and both of us had left the planning to our parents. More specifically my parents. And that right there told me we shouldn’t be getting married, at least to each other.

  It all started a month ago when I thought to hell with it and gave in to my mom’s constant phone calls. I’d had enough and told he
r to do what she wanted and just send me a schedule so we’d know when to be where. What I’d really wanted to say was, “The weddings off.” If only it had been that easy I could have moved on with my life. But the thought of ending things made me sad. I did care for Patrick but I wasn’t in love with him…I wasn’t sure if I ever was. I read and write about love all the time, but I’d never felt that all-consuming passion. The one that made me ache for a person or where I couldn’t imagine life without him. I stared at Patrick. The problem was I could imagine my life without Patrick and most of the times, it looked a lot better than life with him.

  Neither of us had used the ‘love’ word, which made me wonder why Patrick would ask me to marry him. We enjoyed each other’s company, at least when we were alone. Once we added anyone else, especially his friends, it was like that familiarity we had just shut off. I always felt unwelcome even when they smiled and invited me to sit and chat with them.

  His mother, Rosemarie, would make me feel welcome, but it always felt ‘strange’ as though there was something that underlined our being together.

  Millie had a lot to say about Patrick’s parents, and she was the one holding me together because I felt close to shattering.

  Patrick talked about our future whenever we were alone and he had it all planned out. How many children, what I would be doing when the babies came, what he wanted for his career, and even where we would live at each stage of our marriage. I would find myself close to hyperventilating when he went on…I didn’t want my life planned right down to the minute. He never asked what I wanted, never even asked if I agreed with him. Everything was about his five-year plan and knowing how fucking anal he was, he wouldn’t be willing to change them for anyone.

  My mother loved Patrick, and she hadn’t stopped telling me what a catch he was. The only reason she thought that was because she was thinking about grandchildren and how handsome or beautiful they’d turn out because of Patrick’s good fortune in the look’s department.