Then a slight smile tilts his lips.
The fighter coming at him drives a fist right toward his face, and Boone shifts his attention from me to the guy, quickly dodging and delivering a powerful punch to the guy’s ribs. Without pause, he nails his opponent again in the same spot. Then with his other fist, lands a blow to the guy’s temple.
Wobbling on his feet, the fighter blinks and then sways left, unable to keep his fists raised.
I’m sure the fight is over. That whoever is in charge is about to call the end of the round, or the fight, ding the bell, whatever. But the crowd’s cheers rise around me, muffling the sounds in the ring. They stomp and chant, “Finish him! Finish him!”
Boone wipes the sweat from his brow, turning his gaze to mine once more before he stares down his opponent. He hauls back and sends an uppercut to the fighter’s chin.
The guy is through. He hits the mat with a solid thud, his head bouncing a couple of times before he blacks out. Everyone is screaming, and cheering, and money goes up in the air, gripped in fists and passed to others. It’s chaos.
And the whole time, my gaze is on Boone. Good Guy Boone. What. The. Hell?
Boone
For who should feel the swift assault
SON OF A BITCH.
I duck under the rope, then half sit, half fall to the edge of the mat. After flexing my hand, I peel away the tape. Back propped against the corner post, I swear under my breath. My knuckles are a bloody mess. Some of it mine—most of it the other guy’s in the ring.
I reach for the towel draped over the chair next to Turner and wipe my face and hands, then toss it over my bare shoulder.
How the hell did Melody wind up here?
“I haven’t seen you lay someone down like that in weeks, man. What was that?” Turner asks, chuckling. He hands me a water bottle, and I nod my thanks.
“Don’t know,” I say, shrugging and immediately wincing as white pain slices through my shoulder blade. Duregger got a few good hits in. “Just didn’t feel like dragging it out.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Well next time, do try to add a little show, man. I’m going to have to round up Jacob quicker than I thought and toss him in the ring before the crowd eats me alive.” Then he’s off. But before he disappears into the crowd, he calls back, “Killer!”
The pain throbbing beneath my skin explodes into a roaring fire. I’m off the mat, storming through the mass of people chanting Hunter’s name, ignoring their congratulations for making them money, and on my way to Turner’s house in seconds flat.
That word should be imprinted on my soul by now, a part of me; it shouldn’t have any effect—but I let it tear me down in one unguarded moment. I’m not prepared to deal with this shit while I’m trying to figure out what to say to Mel. If I should even bother saying anything.
Someone hurriedly steps aside so I can enter the house. I head straight to the small room with the fish tank, where my clothes and stuff to clean up are stashed. I’m almost to the door when I hear her deep, throaty voice.
“The Hunter?”
The air leaps from my chest. My lungs expand and contract as I concentrate on breathing. Giving myself time before I have to face her. I wrap my shame around me like a security blanket, guarding myself from the judgment I know I’ll see in her deep brown eyes, then turn. “It’s a stage name.”
Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a skimpy tank top and j
ean shorts that are rolled just above her knee-high boots. It’s hotter than hell outside, even in the evening, and her hair is tied up into a loose ponytail with her pink bandana. I take all this in, admiring every inch of her, slowly working my way to her face—trying to avoid her gaze.
But when I finally meet her eyes, it’s not anger or resentment there; it’s confusion. Maybe some hurt. “I never lied to you,” I say quickly, attempting to quash the hurt. “This isn’t something I like to brag about. Hell, tell anyone about. It’s—” I break off, not knowing how to explain, since I can’t really admit to my own damn self what I’m doing here.
Melody nods, repeatedly. “You never owed me the truth. As I remember, we went out of our way not to talk about real shit. So it’s all good, Hunter.”
That searing pain fires a bolt of lightning into my chest. She thinks I lied to her about my real name. Only the realization of that comes a little too slowly, and my defenses shoot up before I can reel in my anger. “Don’t call me that.”
More confusion spreads across her face, flushing her skin. “Anyway,” she says. “I just wanted to thank you. You just made me a shit load of money.”
I release a heavy breath. Notice we’re starting to attract too much attention. “Come on.” I open the door and move into the room, hoping Melody follows. For whatever reason, I worry about what she thinks of me. I want the chance to explain—to not be the guy who misled her.
She hovers in the doorway, her gaze scanning the room, the fish tank, me. Then with a forced show of bravado, she steps inside. I close the door behind her and nod to one of the two chairs backed against the wall.
“No thanks,” she says, choosing instead to anchor one booted foot to the wall and lean there, not touching the griminess of this place. I don’t blame her. “Haven’t had a tetanus shot in a good ten years. Plus, I’m not a fan of other people’s blood—not that kind of junkie.” She cuts her eyes at me.