Thorn: Carter Kids #2 (18 page)

Ugh. He made so damn angry… but as much as I tried, I
couldn’t
shake him off.

I just couldn’t seem to get over the bastard.

So I kept him a secret in the back of my heart, forced into my nighttime thinking capsule. At night was the only time I allowed myself to think of Noah – because I had needs and he sated them like a fucking porn-star.

My iPod switched onto Maroon 5’s
One More Night
and I almost flung the bloody thing in the nearest wheelie bin.

That bloody song…

How pathetic was it that one song had my stomach twisting in knots and my nerves in tatters?

I knew why of course.

It was because of the fight.

He
was fighting Horacio Vaughan for number one contender of the heavyweight title this weekend – in approximately one hour and thirty-eight minutes to be exact.

MY BACK WAS ACHING
so bad I wasn’t sure I how was going to scrape up the energy to climb out of the bathtub.

Those extra shifts I was pulling in the gym lately were really kicking my butt. I knew I was overexerting myself, but Liam and I were up to our eyeballs in debt. We were barely making the rent each month, and needed to bring in as much money as we could. As it stood, we weren’t covering our overheads – hadn’t been for eight months. If things didn’t start improving fast, the gym would go under.

Twisting the faucet with my toes, I stopped the flow of water and slowly pulled myself out of the tub. As I dried and dressed myself, I let my mind wander.

Tonight was huge for Noah’s career.

If he defeated Vaughn, he would be granted a title shot against the current holder, Anthony Cole, in Vegas in December.

Hope was out tonight with some friends she had met at a book seminar last summer, and I was glad. I couldn’t watch Noah’s fights when anyone was around because my emotions overwhelmed me.

When I was dressed, I grabbed my duvet off the bed, rushed into the lounge, and turned on channel 401 just in time for the main event of the night. Curling up on the couch, I covered myself with my blanket and held my breath, waiting to catch a glimpse of my ex boyfriend.

Horacio Vaughn was introduced first and I rolled my eyes in disgust when I heard him talk trash into the camera.

“Cocky much,” I growled in disgust. Vaughn would be lucky if he made it out of the cage walking. Noah was going to annihilate that douchebag.

There was silence for a moment and when Roy Jone’s
Can’t be Touched
sounded through the speakers of my television, the crowd erupted in cheers and high-pitched screams.

Noah came into view then and my toes curled up in anticipation.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

The breath in my lungs evaporated in a sharp gasp.

The same as always, I found myself drinking Noah in. Soaking in his beauty. His raw masculine appeal and the way he captured every single person in the room’s attention with his presence alone.

Noah had fuck me hair. He had honest to god, drag your nails through his scalp, mess up the sheets, fuck me now kind of hair. It was black and shiny with just enough length to grab onto when he was giving you the ride of your life.

His lips were the permanently swollen kind, like someone had just kissed the hell out of them, and the scruff on his jaw only added to the appeal.

His body was ribbed harder than when he was seventeen. The abdominal muscles on his stomach were ridged, deep and masculine – a stark warning of the dominance and strength inside of him. Like back when we were teenagers, both of Noah’s arms were covered in sleeves of intricately designed swivels and loops, and he still had that sexy wolf tattoo on his left calf, but he had added to his collection of body art since then.

Covering his broad back was a huge crucifix with wings sprouting from each side. His hipbone was inked with some Celtic scribe, and he had a red rose tattooed on the side of his ribcage, with a lone jagged thorn on its stem.

Twisting his neck from side to side, Noah jabbed his fists in front of his face, unfazed by the hoard of screaming fans around him, as he made his way towards the cage.

A wave of supremacy wafted from him.

He stared into the cameras as he made his way out to the ring. His eyes were so intense, dark, hard and heated. I felt his gaze right down to my toes.

Anger raged through me when a scantily clad woman jumped out from behind the barriers and threw her arms around his neck.

Security removed her immediately but not before she had a good feel of my ex. When Noah reached the base of the cage, a blonde-haired man, covered in tattoos dabbed Vaseline on his eyebrows before giving him a quick hug. Noah smiled warmly at the man before climbing into the cage and envy churned inside of me.

“I expect a clean fight, men,” the referee called out, “touch gloves.”

And then the bell rang out, signaling the start of the first round.

Noah and Vaughn circled each other like lions, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Vaughn was the first one to attack and I swear to god I felt every blow Noah took as he tried mercilessly to put him away in the first round.

I screamed at the television, cheering Noah on when he blocked Vaughn’s right hook and began a counterattack. Noah’s fists were a blur, as he executed blow after deafening blow to Vaughn’s face.

“That’s it,” I hissed, when Noah hit him with a sidekick to the ribs. “Knock his fucking head off, Noah!”

Vaughn narrowly avoided a left hook, deflecting at the last minute and escaping from the corner of the cage he had been beaten into.

“Get up,” I screamed, when a nasty uppercut from Vaughn knocked Noah off his feet. Throwing the duvet off, I bobbed around on the couch, jabbing and jolting. “Get off that mat, Noah!”

When I noticed the blood trickling from Noah’s eyebrow, a wave of unease rippled through me. “Get your ass back up, Noah,” I screeched, frantic. “Come on, baby.”

I grinned when Vaughn climbed on top of Noah, clearly thinking he was going to capitalize on him because he was on his back.

What Vaughn obviously didn’t seem to understand was that Noah was a grappler – a backstreet fighter. He was brought up on street fighting. It had been drip fed into his bloodstream from infancy. Going hand-to-hand on the mat with Noah was suicide.

Proving me right, I watched with pride as Noah overpowered Vaughn, countering his arm bar and gaining the advantage. Tossing Vaughn onto his back, Noah let loose with a ground and pound, finishing him off with hammer fist after hammer fist into the head.

Curled up like a bitch on the mat, Vaughn tried to protect his head with his hands against Noah’s unforgiving blows until finally the ref called the fight, declaring Noah the winner.

I watched with a huge swell of pride and an even bigger smile as Noah climbed to his feet and the official raised his hand in victory. Seconds later, he was surrounded by his background team and a few stragglers as they all attempted to hug and congratulate him on his victory.

“Noah, you just defeated the number one contender for the heavyweight belt in under four minutes,” the official declared as he thrust a microphone into Noah’s face. “Tell us, how are you feeling right now at the prospect of fighting Cole in December for the belt?”

Noah, breathless, inhaled a few deep breaths before taking the microphone. “I’m ready,” he husked. “I’ve been ready since March. Cole knows I’m coming for his belt. I’d take it right fucking now if he was man enough to take me on….”

Noah paused mid-sentence when a woman walked straight up to him and stuck her tongue down his throat.

I watched in pure horror as Noah let that woman kiss him, and worse, he dropped the microphone on the mat and kissed her back. It was a good thing I was on my own right now, because tearing up over that big bastard was something I didn’t want anyone seeing me do.

“You’re my thorn, if you leave me I’ll bleed out.”

His voice played inside of my head as I watched him on my television mauling the large breasted blonde.

The crowd erupted in wolf whistles and cheers.

Meanwhile, a piece of my heart shriveled up and died inside of my chest.

Why was I torturing myself like this and letting him break my heart over and over again?

Watching that man parade around on my television brought to the surface all the pain, betrayal, and love I had spent so many years trying to block out.

If I were a stronger woman, I wouldn’t let him affect me like this. I wouldn’t spend every Friday night locked in the apartment with channel 401 on the television and my heart in my mouth. I wished I were a stronger woman – one who didn’t get fazed at the mention of her ex boyfriend. But I wasn’t a stronger woman. I was just me, Teagan Connolly – a fucking idiot.

Noah was like an echo inside of me; repeating over and over until I felt like I was broken inside and I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t let Noah make me
feel
like this.

I
needed
to move on from him.

I
would
move on from him, and I would do it tonight.

Leaping off my couch, I stalked into my bedroom and dressed my ass in the sexiest dress, which just so happened to be a red, sparkly, boob tube little number, before slipping into the highest pair of black stilettos I owned.

Then I smeared on a generous dollop of lip-gloss and proceeded to grab the almost full bottle of Jack Daniels that Hope kept in the cupboard over the fridge for when her dad visited. Unscrewing the cap off the bottle, I swallowed a huge mouthful of whiskey, followed by another and another until I couldn’t feel my toes.

When the bottle was drained dry, I staggered out of my apartment and out onto the street in the direction of Reilly’s, our local pub, knowing full well he would be there on a Friday night.

DANCING IN THE DARK,
with neon lights streaming above me, and the alcohol turning to liquid in my veins, I found myself forgetting all about Noah and his big-racked blonde.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the atmosphere, but I was feeling incredibly drawn to the man dancing behind me with his hands clamped on my hips.

Usually I would shove Liam’s hands off, but tonight I didn’t.

Tonight, I let myself feel for the first time in years.

Tonight I was moving on from Noah.

Permanently.

Twisting around until we were chest to chest, I stretched up and wrapped my arms around Liam’s neck. “Kiss me,” I heard myself slur.

“You’re drunk,” Liam, who was equally as drunk but sobering quickly, told me.

“I don’t care.” Shaking my head, I tipped my chin up towards him. “Just kiss me.”

Closing the gap between our mouths, Liam did as I asked.

Pulling me closer, he pressed his lips to mine, gently at first, as if he was afraid I would break. But then he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked. A pool of heat settled in my lower belly and I was quickly reminded why I enjoyed his kisses so much when I was a teenager.

He released my lip with a loud pop before thrusting his tongue in my mouth. I fell into it, kissing him back, massaging his tongue with mine. His kiss didn’t set me on fire or make my toes curl like Noah always did, but it was sweet and gentle and familiar.