Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) (12 page)

We pulled up to his house, and both got out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and there was something there.

I couldn’t tell what it was at first. It was hanging from the doorknob. Then I saw it more clearly. It was a chicken. Or a grouse or something. All of its feathers plucked, like it had been purchased at a butcher.

It hung from the doorknob on a blue bandana, tied around its neck. Malcolm lifted it up, and something fell from its mouth and clattered to the ground. Something metal.

He knelt down and picked it up to inspect it. It was clear, suddenly, what it was. A bullet.

He’d just found a dead bird hanging from his door with a bullet in his mouth. And how does he react?

“Huh,” he said, and then he went inside. He placed the chicken down on the counter, and then carried on into the bathroom.

I followed him. “What is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What does it mean?”

“Not sure.”

“Because it sure seems like death to me,” I said. “Hanging. Bullet.
Dead
chicken.”

“Well they couldn’t exactly have used a live one now, could they?”

“I guess not, but that’s not the point.”

He pulled off his shirt. The bruise ran halfway down his torso and spread almost halfway around him. It was a dark purple in the center, as if the flesh was rotting, and a sickening yellow near the edges.

He turned and I saw that the round cut in his back was scabbed up mostly, but several of those scabs had been torn off when he took off the shirt. He got into the tub and grabbed the rubbing alcohol. I guess this was going to become a routine of ours now as well.

Lunch at Joe’s, afternoon treating horrible wounds.

I leaned against the counter and tried to relax a bit. “Okay,” I said. “So the golf club I get. You needed to get close to him, he was going to hit you, so you decided to take it on the torso instead of to the skull.”

He nodded while a splash of alcohol ran over his bleeding wound.

“But the beer bottles. Why did you run at him? Seemed like you could have done that one without getting so hurt.”

“I didn’t get that hurt,” he said. “I stopped the guy before it was deep enough. A bit deeper and he would have cut a full circle of my skin out. Didn’t want that.”

“You
did
want some of it?”

“Yes,” he said. “It was a show. No one wanted the show to be over without any blood being drawn.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“This bit of blood, maybe a scar, that’ll earn me my next bunch of gigs at that place. I bet they’ll have me back at the start of every term. Something like that.”

“And you want to go back?”

“Of course I do!” he said. “That was a blast. Did you see me take down three guys at the same time?”

“Yes,” I said. “I saw.”

He turned to look at me. “I told you that my job was dangerous. I told you that I might be killed. You knew this already.”

“I know,” I said. “But watching it almost happen is different than hearing that it might happen.”

“I guess so,” he said. “But there really isn’t anything I can do about it. What do you think I should do about it?”

My mind whirled, looking for a good response. If he gave up fighting, he’d need something else. Like becoming a busboy or something. And I could not see any other job working for him. Not even in the short term.

I guess I’d thought for long enough. “Exactly,” he said. “There’s nothing for me to do. This is my life. I love it. I think you’ll learn to love it too.”

I wasn’t so sure. “But what will I do if you actually get killed in a fight?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But do you really think that’ll happen?”

“No,” I said. “I guess not. You’re a good fighter.”

“And now I even have someone worth fighting for in my life.”

“Did that help?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

“Were you thinking of me while you fought? Trying to stay safe for my sake?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But it sure was nice having someone to be next to right when I was done. Someone in the audience who I knew was rooting for me.”

“Because they didn’t want you to be dead,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Because they didn’t want me to be dead.”

The rest of the evening kept that same tone. When he was heading to bed, I knew I was invited. But I just wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t want to lie next to him, worrying about him. Hoping that he wasn’t going to die in the night from some internal injury.

So I said goodbye and gave him a kiss and drove back to my place.

I wasn’t
mad
at him, exactly. He hadn’t done anything to make me angry. But I think it was just finally sinking in. All those things he’d said were true. His life was dangerous. He could die. And I couldn’t stop thinking about that thug at the dinner. Them following him home.

And the chicken on the doorknob. Malcolm acted as if that wasn’t anything, but I didn’t believe him. That meant something bad, although I had no idea what.

The rest of the week I didn’t feel so good. I met with Malcolm a couple of times for lunch, and he was nice and charming and handsome like always. And I put up a face of feeling fine around him. We’d discussed my worries, and I don’t think he had anything left to contribute.

I was worried for him; he didn’t care. He wasn’t worried for himself.

Paranoia also started to keep into my mind. I started to worry. Every car that was behind me on the freeway was following me. If it took the same exit as me, my heart started racing. I crossed the street just so that I didn’t have to walk past people. What if they were thugs? Wanting to mess with me because of who I was dating? Using me to get into his head?

Malcolm told me that we should try to spend plenty of time together, but I just couldn’t. Seeing him topless used to be great, but the huge bruise definitely took away from the experience.

But Saturday we spent together, and things felt a bit better. We were just hanging out again. In bed for a while, and on the couch. Eating our meals together. The bruise was fading, and the wound had started to scar. I was feeling okay. Not wonderful, but okay.

And then it was Sunday. Time for another fight. I drove him. I went to the side of the building with him and watched him warm up. That same scene where he’d first turned me on. Watching him work that bag like a wild animal. Destroying it. Seeing his strength and his stamina. I had a good time again.

Then we were inside, for the fight. I stood near the front. The place reeked. A smell that I guessed it had always had, but this time I couldn’t get my mind off of it. The floor was sticky with booze and piss. Everyone standing around me were criminals.

The announcer said that they were doing something special today. The contender going up against Malcolm was young, but buff. He hadn’t had much practice though so they were going to let him fight with a two by four.

I couldn’t stand it. Malcolm had clearly agreed to this. And because it was all so illegal in the first place, even if he hadn’t he probably could have been forced into it anyway.

I looked as the two men stood facing each other. My man, and a man with a two by four. All ready to beat the shit out of each other for money.

The crowd began to count down, but I couldn’t count with them. I was panicking. I had this sickening feeling roll over me. He was going to be beat to death. Right there. Right in front of my eyes. I started tearing up.

The countdown ended, and the two man began circling each other. I watched closely, but it was too much. I walked out of there before the first hit landed. Got away so that I didn’t have to watch anything happen. I wanted to be as far away as possible.

I left the building, past the body guards. I could hear the whooping and hollering from the audience as the fight got started. I could hear the loud cracking noises as I walked to my car.

I sat down, but I didn’t turn the car on. I was just going to wait for him. There. In my car.

I folded down the mirror and looked at myself. “Keep it together,” I said to myself.

My emotions were just running high. Before hand I really thought that I could handle this. I never thought it would be a problem.

A few minutes later, maybe twenty or so, there’s a knock at my window. I jump in my seat, and then look over and see Malcolm standing there. Still alive. For now.

I reached over and unlocked his door. He had a concerned look on his face as he got into the car.

“Rough fight?” I asked.

“It was easy,” he said. “That man knew absolutely nothing about wielding a two by four.”

I laughed. But then I stopped myself. I was scared that if I let the laughter come, I’d be opening the floodgates to all sorts of emotions.

“You didn’t stay and watch?” he said.

“No, I couldn’t. Let’s just go home, okay?”

“Sure,” he said.

We drove in silence for a few minutes. And then he spoke again. “So they told me who I’m fighting next week.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked. Suddenly worried again. Was this why he looked concerned?

“Yeah. A guy from the east coast. Basically as undefeated as me. And he has a reputation for some bad shit.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“He has basically the most narcissistic name out there. He goes by ‘The God’.”

I was about to react when a car jutted out in front of us. I slammed as hard as I could on my breaks. We managed, just barely, to come to a stop before slamming into them, t-boning them.

Then four guys got out of the car. All of them in suits. Two of them went to Malcolm’s side of the car. He didn’t have time to say anything before he was dragged out. He was thrown down to his knees and held there by one guy as the other just punched him in the face again and again.

I locked my door, having no idea what to do. The other two guys circled around the car. One of them tried my door, but gave up when he saw it was locked. Clearly they weren’t coming for me. Not yet.

There was nothing for me to do. Nothing that I
could
do. It’s not like I could get out and scare them away. I could try calling the cops, but I knew what Malcolm did was illegal in the first place so they probably wouldn’t help him.

Of course, the first day I left a fight of his because I didn’t want to watch, I have to watch him getting beat up the street. Just my luck.

The two men circled my car a few times and then got back into theirs. Once Malcolm was sufficiently destroyed, they tossed him down on the road and took off. I tried to see their license plate but it was obstructed. Not that it would have been any help anyway.

I looked over and saw Malcolm lying on the ground. I thought he was dead for a second, but then my eyes observed the steady rhythm of his breathing. A moment later, his arms moved. He pushed himself up the with them, and then stood up. He got back in the car.

He face was already starting to swell. I don’t know how you can tell if a face has broken bones, but if I had to guess I’d say his cheeks were quite probably broken.

“Back to my place?” he said.

“Sure.”

We drove in silence for a while. Then I had to ask. “The God?”

“Basically,” said Malcolm threw swollen lips, “he is to New York City what I am to Los Angeles. When it comes to his fighting record. Never knocked out. Never lost a fight.”

“And he’s coming here?” I asked.

“That’s what they told me. We’ll be fighting next Sunday. A week from tonight.”

I paused. Then I asked that all important question. “Do you think that you can beat him?”

Then it was his turn to pause. “I have no idea. But he does use one tactic that I’ve never resorted to.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That kind of thing that just happened. Those were probably his guys. Harassment. Designed to make his opponents feel weak and paranoid.”

“Is it working?”

“It might just be.”

I didn’t have anything to say to him.

“These are the kind of guys,” said Malcolm, “that might kidnap a fighter’s girlfriend just to make him lose.”

My mind drifted. This was just too much for me to deal with.

“So we’ll need to find a way to keep that from happening. Your safety is my first priority right now.”

“Isn’t that what they want?” I asked. “They want you to be focussed on something other than the fight?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s an excellent tactic. I’m hoping that it’s the thing he’s best at, and that when we get in the ring he isn’t ready to actually take me down.”

“Do you think that will happen?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“How are we going to keep me safe?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

We pulled to the side of the road at his place. We both stepped out of the car. I could see a couple of other cars parked down the block in both directions. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe those men wanted to ruin our lives. There was no way for us to know.

“So what are we going to do?” I asked when the door was shut behind us.

He spun around and looked at me. Then he pushed me into the door, arms around me. Our lips touched. I could taste a bit of blood on his, I knew that it must have split during one of the punches.

Tears were running down both of my cheeks. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t overjoyed. It was just too much. All of these emotions. Trying to keep them all in check. No crying. No laughing. The tears were starting to leak out anyway.

He held me close to him as he kissed me, and it felt good. He felt warm against me. Warm and strong. I sure I felt warm and soft against him.

Slowly the kissing migrated from the front hall to the bedroom. He took off his bloody shirt and got on top of me, kissing me passionately and rocking my back and forth.

Our tongues got involved, and we played. We pretended that nothing was wrong. That we were going to be okay. And that there wasn’t anything more important. There was nothing else that needed our attention. All we needed was each other. And so that’s what we focused on as we lay in bed together.

I became wet, and he became hard. At some points the pants came down, and then we were as close as we could possibly be. Making each other feel amazing. The overwhelming emotions themselves were overwhelmed by the physical sensations. The sharp breaths catching the cool air. The look on his face exposing his innermost thoughts.

And we stayed there, as close as possible, moving slowly, for a long time. Not so long that it got boring. As time passed we only got wetter and harder. But long enough that it felt very deep. I almost got used to it. As if it was the new normal. This was going to be my life from now on. Getting fucked gently by the man I’d come to love.

We stared into each other’s eyes as it built up and neither of us dared blink when it culminated. It left us both breathing heavily, and satisfied. It was over. We had to get back to real life. Neither of us wanted it, but both of us knew it was the only option. Just having sex for the rest of our lives wasn’t really an option, and never had been. It was only a fantasy - the kind that will never come true.

And so our bodies parted. I felt empty. I felt alone. But I still felt love. And I hoped that he felt it as well.

* * *