STRIKE

(#10 THE BEAT AND THE PULSE)

AMITY CROSS

Strike (#10 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross

Copyright © 2017 by Amity Cross

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All song titles, song lyrics, products, networks and brand names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

1

CALLIE

After years of saving and planning, my dream was days away from fruition.

The Fitzroy Cake Company was the culmination of years of baking, experimenting, studying, and saving. Not to mention, the competitions at the annual show, building my social media following with clever pictures, the dead-end jobs baking bland finger buns out of standard premix flours, and the ruthless cutthroat determination of building a business from the ground up at the expense of having a life. You know, the life where I had lots of friends, went out dancing, and got laid.

Cake or sex? Dick or chocolate ganache? Marzipan sculpted penis cupcakes for hen’s parties didn’t really count.

Rolling my eyes at the thought of my cock-starved vagina, I surveyed the disarray in the stockroom. Callie Winslow, you’re finally going places…right after you paint this shithole blue.

The tiny storefront on Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, Melbourne, Australia, wasn’t the most spacious, but it was mine. The moment I signed the lease and the keys were in my hand, I’d come here and sat in the middle of the kitchen in a complete haze. To think it had once been a kebab shop!

It sat on a corner lot, so the front was open with lots of windows, and the wall across the cobblestones was full of vibrant graffiti. The kitchen was behind the counter, but I’d had builders in to put in some walls to separate it, and beyond, was a dark little storeroom with a door on the left that swung out onto the lane.

Tonight, the last of the painting was happening. Tomorrow, the last of the contractors were coming through to install the display cabinets. The day after that, the furniture was arriving, and then the baking for opening day would commence. Mini cupcakes showered on passersby galore!

The sun had dipped low, the doors were locked, my earphones were stuck in my ears, and my phone was set to play a rotation of all my favorite songs. I was ready. Placing my hands on my hips, I stared at the wall. Okay, Callie, no time like the present.

Wedging the lid off the can of paint, I peered at the pale blue hue inside and wrinkled my nose. I hadn’t thought about the fumes. The back door was wedged shut. The lock was jammed, and until the locksmith came, there was no getting out the back. There wasn’t even a window out here. The only exit was back through the little kitchen and out onto the shop floor.

I hoped I didn’t pass out before I got the first lick of paint on the wall.

To save a bit of money, I’d opted to do the painting myself, but all those years of watching home renovation reality TV shows hadn’t prepared me for how big a job it actually was. Sanding back plaster, cutting in around all the edges, and rolling on three separate coats to achieve a perfect finish. My first attempts had looked like someone projectile vomited on the wall there’d been that many streaks and drips. No one ever told you how difficult it was to paint a wall a solid color.

Was I that uncoordinated with a brush? I should stick to baking and decorating cakes. Fiddly and intricate were my things. Oh, and tweaking recipes to achieve the richest, most flavorsome cake and icing you could put in your mouth. That was my forte.

Dipping the brush into the pot, I carefully applied paint along the corner of the wall. It was a perfect powder blue, a shade between white and full-blown color, it was perfect for the space. It brightened up the dingy stockroom and matched precisely with the kitchen.

Singing along to my playlist, I worked my way around the edges of the walls, and when I was done cutting in, I tipped some paint into a tray and dipped a roller into the powder blue. Slapping the roller onto the wall, I began applying the first coat, my heart soaring, and I wiggled my round hips and ass to the music.

I wasn’t exactly overweight or anything, but I wasn’t thin, either. How was I supposed to keep my thighs firm when I had to sample all my recipes? More sugar! More spice! More chocolate! More crème patissière! Spun sugar, butter cream icing, marzipan, lemon meringue… Trying to keep your stomach completely flat when all you wanted to do was lick the batter from every spoon was impossible.

My nose wrinkled, and I sneezed as an unfamiliar smell tickled my nostrils. Size fourteen wasn’t exactly in the overweight category, but it wasn’t in the realm of borrowing clothes from my super slender housemate, either. Macy had that gap between her thighs and everything.

Turning, I went to lower the roller into the tray, but I gasped at the sight of billowing smoke and the flicker of flames through the doorway. My fingers went numb, and the roller fell to the floor with a thud, leaving streaks of powder blue paint on the toes of my sneakers.

The kitchen was on fire.

Wrenching out my earphones, I grabbed my bag and slung the strap over my head. There was no sound, other than the crackling of flames. Why wasn’t the alarm going off? Why hadn’t the sprinkler system engaged? The fuck…

Covering my nose and mouth with my sleeve, I ducked low and stepped into the kitchen but was instantly pushed back by a wall of heat. Beginning to panic, my heart sped up, and I tried again.

Boom!

An explosion tore through one of the appliances, and I was thrown back against the wall, my head cracking on the brickwork. My arm crashed against the tin of paint, knocking it over. Powder blue pooled over the drop sheet as I cradled my aching head in my hands.

Moaning, I pushed to my knees as smoke began filling the tiny room. The kitchen was an inferno, the explosion only adding more fuel to the already raging fire. It had gone up so quickly. Just…poof. I hadn’t even smelled any smoke until it was well alight. Now…it looked like I was completely fucked.

Kicking helplessly at the back door, I began screaming.

“Help!” I kicked again, but the door was stuck. “Help! Anybody?! Help!”

I kicked and kicked, my body covered in sweat and my lungs filling with smoke. Coughing, I screamed again before falling to my side.

Was this where that saying came from? The one where your dreams went up in smoke? I bet some other poor bitch’s life savings exploded in a wall of flame, and they made a saying out of it. All those things came from somewhere. Like a warning for overconfident pastry chefs who couldn’t even cut it in the selection process for MasterChef. I could have a cookbook by now. A really good one with an embossed hardcover and everything.

“Help!” I screeched with the last of my strength. “I’m stuck! Help!”

There was a crash and the sound of splintering glass from someplace far away. Pressing my cheek to the floor, my eyes drooped. The smoke was getting to me, and soon, I would be out cold. If I died now, it would be a real pain the ass. I wondered if my insurance covered mysterious fires? Was I liable for the faulty sprinkler system, or could I sue the shit out of my landlord? Bah, I would sue the fucker anyway!

“Help…” I said with a rasp, my voice straining as I kicked lamely at the door. “Help…”

“Fuck,” a male voice cursed, and suddenly, I realized I wasn’t alone. Either that or I was hallucinating.

He was wearing big black boots with sloppy laces he hadn’t bothered to tie. The trailing ends had been tucked inside, as well as his jeans. I peered closer. The toes were all scuffed.

He knelt, and I felt his fingers press against my neck, checking for a pulse.

“I’m stuck…” I muttered, my eyes rolling. “The thing… The fire was…too hot…”

“I’ve got you,” the man said, lifting me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Flopping in his grasp like a rag doll, my gaze met his, and my mouth fell open. I didn’t know if I was delirious or I’d already reached the point where the smoke inhalation was beginning to eat away at my brain, but he was handsome as hell. Hot as sin…and considering my current predicament, it wasn’t a fire related pun.

Tall, dark, brooding, chiseled out of marble…his eyes bore into mine. He wasn’t underwear model good-looking or anything, but there was something about him that made all my bits tingle. His eyes were full of sadness, pain, and depth I’d never seen in anyone before. They reminded me of those mysterious pools scientists had found in the middle of the wilderness that went down, down, down into the earth with no bottom. The deeper they went, the darker it became, and still, it stretched on. What mysteries lay within? Was there an end? Was there meaning?

I was completely and utterly delirious. Wasn’t I? Felt like it.

“The door’s stuck,” I managed to croak.

The man glanced at it and grimaced, then like we were in an action blockbuster at the movies, he kicked. I felt his muscles tense as his heel collided with the door. Once, then twice, then cool air rushed into the storeroom, and he was leaping out into the lane like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2.

Red and blue flashing lights and a wail of sirens greeted us as the mysterious stranger carried me to safety. I clung to his shirt, the stench of smoke still thick in my nostrils.

“Oh, God,” I muttered, the gravity of what had just happened beginning to crash down on me. “Oh, fuck…”

“You’re okay,” the man said, his grip tightening on me as we approached the fire trucks lined up on the street. Water was already pouring from hoses, dousing the flames inside my little shop of dreams. “You’re safe now.”

“Sir… Miss…” A firefighter had approached us, and the man set me down on my shaking feet.

“She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” the mysterious stranger said.

The firefighter nodded, his gaze turning to me before he took my arm. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on its way.”

Confused and on the verge of hysterical tears, I let him lead me away, and by the time I turned around to thank the handsome stranger for risking his life…he was gone.

All I saw were the smoke and flames that had engulfed my shop and dreams and the ten firefighters and their three trucks that were hosing it all down.

2

STORM

Rubbing my jaw, I ignored the blooming pain that seared through my bones.

Brunswick Street was oddly quiet tonight. I’d caught a ride with some woman who thought she was getting lucky, and then hopped out at the traffic lights a few blocks from where I was now standing. She’d screamed some obscenity after me, but I’d disappeared before I caught the entirety of her venom-filled spiel.

Once a dick, always a dick, I suppose.

A disgraced cage fighter with nothing left to lose. That was my jam.

I fought three nights a week at The Underground—a criminally run cage fighting league and the source of my aching jaw—not because I wanted things to be that way but because I was forced to.

I’d gone to America to try my luck in the UFC—the Ultimate Fighting Championship—and earn the big bucks. I’d wanted to be showered with the fame and glory I’d so desperately wanted, and I’d fucked over plenty of people to get there. It still shamed me to this day that I’d had a threesome behind my girl Lori’s back. I cheated when I should’ve cherished. What happened next, when I finally reached the US, was karma at its finest.

Accused of a crime I didn’t commit, I was taken for everything I was worth. A UFC ring girl accused me of domestic assault. I mean, I was a dick, but I would never raise my hand to anyone, especially a woman, outside of the octagon. We’d gone out a few times, had some amazing sex, the whole nine yards. She liked it rough and consented…and enjoyed. Thoroughly.

A bunch of photographs, a police report, and a very public arrest later, I was forced to settle out of court or serve jail time.

Completely broke and with a lifetime ban from the UFC, I came home to Australia with my tail between my legs. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I’d immediately gone back to The Underground and tried to pick up where I’d left off. There, I was Storm, a fighter to be reckoned with, not Mark Ryder, disgrace to men everywhere. In that warehouse, I was still somebody.

But life is never that simple. No matter how far you run, your past always catches up eventually, and when it does, it tears everything apart. Everything.

Before, I’d been a dick. An arrogant, selfish, cocksure, asshole who only ever thought about himself.

After my very public fleecing, I was closed, lonely, quiet, and angry. I had very little left to offer the world, so I didn’t offer anything. I was a floater in the only cesspool that would take me, and even then, it was only because I was still profitable.

What a naive bastard I’d been.

Now I fought inside a wall of chain link with a bloodstained concrete floor so I didn’t end up on the street begging for spare change. There was nowhere else for a washed-up prick to earn a living.

“That shop’s on fire!” someone exclaimed. “I’m calling triple zero.”

Glancing up, I forgot about whatever it was I was agonizing over. My gaze was instantly drawn to a plume of smoke trailing out of cracks and vents in the facade of a shop across the street. Inside, it had nowhere to go and had built up, quickly filling the enclosed room. Farther in, I could see the bright orange flicker of flames.

An explosion tore through the little shop, and everyone stumbled back a step. The windows rattled, and the sound echoed over the traffic noise.

“Did you see that?” some guy asked next to me. “Holy shit!”

“It just went up,” someone else said. “It just took seconds…”

“Help!”

I hesitated, listening. No one else standing on the street had noticed anything—they were all on their phones, taking pictures of the chaos. Vultures.

“Help!”

This time, I heard it plain as day. It was faint, but it was there. Someone was inside, and they were trapped.

Glancing up and down the street, I could hear the approaching fire trucks, but they were stuck a few blocks up the street, boxed in by traffic. There was only a split second in this. Whoever was inside might meet their maker before help arrived.

“Fuck it,” I cursed and rushed toward the shop.

“Hey!” one of the bystanders called out. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring everything around me, I dodged cars and bounded toward the fire. I shook the door, but it was locked. The fire hadn’t spread outside of the back room, but the handle was hot, and smoke was billowing into the front section of the store at an unbelievable rate.

“Help!” The cry was louder this time. A woman’s panicked voice filtered from beyond the glass, and my heart rate began to gallop.

Gathering my strength, I kicked with everything I had. My boot bounced back, and with a curse, I tried again.

“Hey, buddy! Buddy!”

I glanced up at the sound of a passerby’s voice. Having seen what I was trying to do, a random guy was brandishing a tire iron, and I snatched it from him and cracked it against the door. Once, twice, three times.

The glass shattered in one big sheet, splintering into thousands of tiny granules. Kicking it out of the frame, it smashed to the floor, and smoke streamed out onto the footpath.

“You’re going in there?” the stranger asked.

I raised my eyebrows as smoke poured out of the opening. “Sure. Why not?”

I didn’t know why I went into that building. I didn’t even know what the hell I was supposed to do, but I could hear the roar of flames and a woman’s cry for help, and that was it. I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and dived headfirst into the maelstrom.

I crossed the first room with no trouble. Smoke was the only obstacle here, but it was hot as hell, and sweat erupted across my forehead. Passing by a bunch of stacked tables and chairs, I forged into the next room and was immediately pushed back by the flames. A quick glance at the scene gave me an idea.

A table sat in the center of the space. The explosion had set it alight, along with the walls and the roof, but if I could push it to where the flames were at their worst, maybe…

Grabbing the table, I flipped it onto its side and kicked it across the room, forcing the flames back. I’d managed to carve a tiny path, but I would have to be quick. I bolted across the room, heat from the fire burning against my exposed face.

In the room beyond, I stumbled. A woman was lying on the floor, her cheeks smeared with dirt and what looked like paint. Beside her, a can had been knocked over, and it had spread across the floor. She’d been painting in here when the fire broke out.

There was no more shop to explore. This was it. She was the only person trapped in here.

“Help… Help…” she cried, her eyes attempting to focus on me. Then she went limp, her cheek returning to the floor.

“Fuck,” I cursed, kneeling beside her. Had she suffocated? Was I too late?

Pressing my fingers against her neck, I felt a faint pulse.

“I’m stuck…” the woman said with a raspy voice, stirring at my touch. “The thing… The fire was…too hot…”

“I’ve got you,” I said. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Shoving my arms underneath her, I lifted her clear off the ground and cradled her against my chest. She was completely out of it, her limbs limp and her eyes glassy.

Meeting her gaze, I hesitated. Her eyes were green like…like I don’t know what. Moss, grass…a rainforest. Her ash-blonde hair was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Her skin was pale and perfect, and her lips were pink. She looked like a china doll. Delicate. Feminine.

“The door’s stuck,” she said.

I glanced up and saw the door through the smoke, and immediately, I saw the problem. Someone had painted it closed, and that was why it wouldn’t open. Morons.

Holding her tight, I kicked, my boot colliding with the wood. It splintered a little, and then I kicked it again. It burst open, letting in a rush of cool, clean air, and I hurried through into the lane beyond.

Outside, the fire trucks had arrived, their sirens and lights flashing. Hoses had been deployed, and men in their bright yellow uniforms were hurrying around, trying to get the blaze under control.

“Oh, God,” the woman muttered, shock beginning to set in. “Oh, fuck…”

“You’re okay,” I murmured against her hair as we moved up the lane. “You’re safe now.”

Striding toward the closest rig, I caught the attention of a firefighter.

“Sir… Miss…” he began, his eyes wide with shock as he saw us approach.

“She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” I said, setting the woman on her feet.

The guy nodded, wrapping his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on the way.”

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I watched him lead her away and retrieve a first aid kit from the truck. A moment later, he took out a small tank of oxygen and eased a mask over her beautiful blonde hair. Her slender fingers wrapped around the apparatus and held it over her nose and mouth as the firefighter wrapped her in a blanket.

He glanced at me, and I held up my hand. I was fine. A little insane, but I was fine.

Why the fuck did I just run into that building and drag a woman out of a raging inferno? Because she would’ve died if I didn’t take a risk. It was that simple. There was no other reason.

She was safe now. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. It was time to walk away before I got embroiled in a situation that would wind up spread all over the newspapers. I could see the headlines now. Disgraced UFC fighter, Mark Ryder, spotted saving a woman from a burning building. No one would give a shit anyway. They would all accuse me of staging it as a publicity stunt to repair my reputation.

I wasn’t the kind of guy who stood up on a stage and had a medal handed to him. I wasn’t the kind of guy who went out of his way to be a hero for kicks. I didn’t want points or accolades. I was the kind of guy who just disappeared.

I didn’t want fame or fortune anymore. I wanted obscurity.

So, I disappeared.

3

CALLIE

I sat up in a bed in the emergency department at St. Vincent’s hospital, my mind swirling.

Chestnut eyes. Sad, pained, chestnut-colored eyes.

The curtain surrounding the bed swept back, the rings scraping over the metal bar. Outside my little safe zone, the emergency department was running at full steam. Crying babies, broken limbs, blood, coughing, and frazzled hospital staff.

Glancing at the woman who’d appeared, I saw she was a doctor. A glamorous, six-foot, modelesque doctor. She had flawless olive skin, silky coffee-colored hair, and big hazel eyes. And she was a doctor. Life so wasn’t fair.

“I’m Dr. Gunner in case you don’t remember,” she said, smiling with her perfect teeth. “You were a little out of it when you were brought in. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” And inadequate.

“You inhaled a great deal of smoke,” she said, taking the stethoscope from around her neck and sliding the earpieces into her ears. “Now you’ve had time to rest, let me just check your lungs again.” Gesturing for me to lean forward, she slid the end under the hospital gown, the cold disc making me shiver. “Deep breaths. Good…”

“Excuse me,” I said, tugging at the doctor’s sleeve. “Has he come? The man who pulled me out of the building?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, removing her stethoscope. “I can have someone check if you like.”

“Please.”

“Well, your lungs are clearing, which is what we want. Any headaches?”

I shook my head.

“Dizziness? Lethargy?”

“No.”

“I would like to keep you for a little while longer just to make sure that bump on your head doesn’t flare up. Is that okay?”

Great, another hour or so stuck reeking like smoke and ash. “I suppose.”

She smiled and swept the curtain closed, leaving me in peace.

Resting my aching head against the pillow, I breathed in oxygen through my mask and attempted to filter out the latest round of screaming children. The man in the bed next to me was busy hawking up a ball of snot stuck in the back of his throat, and I gagged.

Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts…

Imagining being lifted into the arms of my handsome stranger once more, I sighed. I hoped he’d come. He looked so sad even when he was leaping headfirst into danger to save me, a stranger. Why was he so sad?

Bloody hell, I was fantasizing about some random guy off the street. Was that normal? It wasn’t normal. He did risk his life to save me, after all. Could you get high from too much oxygen?

I hoped he was here. Then I could thank him. That would be a start.

The curtain swung open abruptly, revealing my housemate and best friend, Macy. She was hastily put together, her sun-kissed strawberry-blonde hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, her face was devoid of her usual flawless foundation and eye shadow—not that it made any difference to her complexion—and she was wearing her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajama bottoms.

I pulled at the oxygen mask, relieved to see her. “Macy…”

“Bloody hell,” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Callie!”

“It went up so fast,” I cried. “There was nothing I could do.”

She pulled back and tugged my hands away from the oxygen mask. “Leave that on. Get your breath back. The shop can be rebuilt, but you can’t.”

“Oh, fuck, the shop. It’s ruined! All that work…”

“It can be fixed, Callie.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “What happened exactly?”

“I…” I frowned and took off the mask. “I was painting and smelled smoke… When I turned around, the kitchen was on fire. I tried to get out, but there was an explosion. Oh, Macy, it went up so fast…” I buried my face in my hands, trembling. Tears were burning the back of my throat, and I was suddenly exhausted.

“Shh,” Macy crooned, wrapping her arms around me.

“I was trapped. I couldn’t… I was going to die, but then a man appeared and dragged me out.”

“A firefighter?”

“No,” I replied, an image of the mystery man appearing in my mind’s eye. “Just a random guy. He…”

“Miss Winslow?” A nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. “You asked about the gentleman who assisted you at the scene?”

“Did you find him?” I asked, straightening up. “Is he here?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you were the only person brought in from the fire. No one else has asked about you.”

My heart sank like a ton of bricks, and I smiled weakly. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway.”

“Maybe he wants to remain anonymous,” Macy offered as the nurse left us in peace.

“Maybe.”

“Are you feeling okay? Do you want to go home?” She fussed with my blankets. “I can ask if you like.”

Trying to hide my disappointment over the no-show of my mysterious stranger, I shrugged. “I guess. I really need a shower.”

“Good. I’ll be right back.” Macy flashed a smile and slipped through the curtain, a woman on a mission.

Left alone again, I worried the hem of the blanket. The way the fire had engulfed the shop had terrified me, and I knew I would dream of it when I finally fell asleep, but I couldn’t get the image of the man scooping me up out of my mind. It was like his ghost had clawed its way into my soul and lodged itself there.

He’d saved me and just walked away.

Just like that.

Scuffed boots. Chestnut eyes. Smoke and flame. The man smiled, his lips curving. My heart leapt, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“I’ve got you.”

Waking with a start, I clutched the sheets and blinked the sleep away from my eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks between the curtains, casting long lines over the polished floorboards in my bedroom.

Moaning, I forced my fingers through my unruly hair and fell back onto the pillow. Great, I’d almost died in a horrible fire, and now I was having sex dreams about a stranger. A hot, mysterious stranger who’d saved my life.

Why did he just walk away like that? Why did he save me then disappear? There was shy, and then there was shy. It wasn’t like this was the latest superhero movie where the guy had some secret past he was trying to avenge with his flame retardant superpowers. Right?

Thinking about the firefighter who’d helped me at the scene, an idea began to take shape. Maybe he knew who my mysterious stranger was. Maybe he’d given the firefighter a name.

Rolling out of bed, I dragged myself into the shower and scrubbed my night of fitful sleep from my body. Then I dressed and grabbed my bag and keys from the hook on the back of my bedroom door.

Macy had left for work hours ago, leaving me to wallow in bed all morning, but now I was glad for the alone time. She would call me crazy for trying to track down my rescuer hours after having a near-death experience. She was adamant I shouldn’t worry about it and had convinced herself he wanted to remain anonymous. But that was Macy. Confrontation was not her middle name.

Outside, the sun was shining, and birds were singing, tweeting and screeching like lunatics, none the wiser of the inferno that had trapped me the night before.

I rode the tram to the fire station.

It was quiet when I approached, the roller doors were open, and a truck was parked inside. There were some empty spots, so I assumed everyone had gone out to another emergency. Moving closer, I could see the feet of someone working on the other side of the truck. Before I lost my nerve, I rounded the end of the massive beast and spotted a firefighter checking the equipment at the side of the vehicle. He was wearing a tight navy T-shirt and slacks, his feet shoved into a pair of black boots. He held a clipboard, his pen scratching across the paper.

“Excuse me,” I said, my voice coming out sounding like the squeak of a frightened mouse. “Hello?”

The man turned from his work, and when he saw me, a smile spread across his face. Like a cliché, he was extremely handsome. The clean-cut variety with his clean shave, styled hair, and wafts of cologne.

“Miss,” he began, his head tilting to the side. He seemed to recognize me, but I wasn’t sure. “You’re the woman from the shop fire last night? On Brunswick Street?”

I nodded. “The one and the same.”

He turned to face me fully, his smile widening into a grin. “I was the guy who gave you oxygen.”

“You were?” I perked up, wondering if he’d seen my mystery rescuer or had caught his name.

“Justin,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Oh, I…” I took his proffered hand and shook. “Callie.”

“It’s good to see you up and about.” His gaze raked over me, his smile never fading. “Was it your shop?”

“Yeah, it was. I was, uh…doing the painting myself to save some money, and I didn’t realize the fire…” I trailed off, feeling like a total moron.

“It happens,” Justin said kindly, setting his clipboard down. “Fire is a tricky beast. It gets into all kinds of places unseen. You would be surprised. Do you know the official cause yet?”

“No. I’m going to meet someone from my insurance company in a little bit. I guess they’ve been there looking.”

“Well, in my experience, it looked like an electrical fault. It’s really common. They’ll probably send one of ours down with your insurance guy to check it out if they haven’t already.”

I was dreading dealing with the insurance company, not to mention the police—who’d rocked up last night and taken a statement while Macy had been trying to shoo them away and get me home. Money had already been tight, and if I had to pay out anything, I would sink like a rock into bankruptcy. Everything I had went into that little store, not just my heart and soul but my entire life savings. And here I was looking for a man who might not even want to be found.

Still, I couldn’t let it go, so I asked the question I’d so determinedly wanted to ask.

“The man who pulled me out of there,” I began, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did he… Did he give you a name?”

He frowned and scuffed his toe against the wheel of the truck. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just told me you’d inhaled a lot of smoke. When I looked around, he was gone.”

“Oh…” I glanced away, my heart sinking. “I just wanted to thank him, is all. I suppose he doesn’t need it…” I laughed nervously. “But thank you, to you and the other guys, too.” Lame.

“All in a day’s work.” He flashed a dashing smile and threw in a wink for good measure.

“So they say.”

“Are you going down to your shop now?” he asked, changing the subject. “I can give you a ride. It’s no trouble.”

“No. It’s okay. It’s not far…” I trailed off, disappointment still flaring. Maybe my mysterious stranger really did want to remain anonymous. What an anticlimax.

Justin shrugged and picked up his clipboard. “Well, okay. If you ever need anything, we’re always happy to help.”

I backed away, trying to keep a good-humored smile on my face. “Thanks,” I said, offering him a little wave. “For everything.”

I could feel his gaze locked on me as I walked away—I mean, his flirting hadn’t escaped unnoticed—but all I could think about were chestnut-colored eyes.

“The official cause is faulty wiring.”

I glanced at the representative from the insurance company—a middle-aged balding man in a suit, whose name I’d already forgotten—and heaved a sigh of relief. “So I’m covered?”

The stench of smoke was lingering, and when the wind flared up, it filled my nostrils making me want to puke. Turning, I stared at the charcoaled remains of my shop. All that money and time wasted. I would have to start all over again.

In the cold, hard light of day, seeing the remains of my dream blackened, smashed to pieces, and wrapped in bright yellow caution tape was upsetting. I wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and cry, but I stood in silence, waiting for the verdict from my insurance company. Bankruptcy or billionaire? Well, maybe not the second option, but compensation would be nice since the premiums were a mint and a half.

“Totally,” he replied, putting my bank account at ease.

“So what now?” I brushed a rogue strand of hair behind my ear.

“We’ll have to wait for the official report to be filed with the fire department and the police. Then we need to liaise with the building owner for repairs to the electrical. When that comes through, and we can certify the work with our contractors, we can begin the rebuilding process.”

I groaned. “How long is that going to take?”

“It’s surprisingly quick in these kinds of cases. We can’t leave a building in this kind of condition.”

“Do I have to do anything?”

“No. We’ll take care of it all. Have you given your statement to the police?”

“Yes.” What a joyous occasion that had been.

“I would strongly suggest you seek legal representation,” the representative went on. “The police will be in touch, but there are signs of misconduct.”

“Misconduct?” I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Great, another problem to add to the pile.

“The back door was painted shut…”

“But I hadn’t started painting that room yet,” I argued. “That’s what I was going to do last night. I didn’t even get to finish the first coat before the kitchen exploded.”

“I’ve noted it in my report,” he assured me. “And the wiring was patched pretty bad. Looks like a DIY job. In my professional opinion, you have grounds to sue, Miss Winslow.”

Sighing, I turned back to the burned-out shell of The Fitzroy Cake Company and scowled. Grounds to sue? I just wanted to bake cakes and create some joy with my tasty creations.

Thinking about the mystery man, my shoulders sank.

“So I just go home?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around the strap of my bag.

“There’s nothing you need to do right now but wait,” he replied. “Everything’s in motion, Miss Winslow. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He held out his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

Smiling weakly, I shook his hand.

Once he was gone, I threw a glance back at the burned-out shell of my hopes and dreams. At least they were going to be repaired, right? The Fitzroy Cake Company would still open, just a little later than I’d expected.

There was a silver lining on the cloud that had dumped its guts on me last night, but there was something else still hovering up there. Something I couldn’t shake. Something that haunted me every time I closed my eyes.

Chestnut eyes and scruffy boots.

4

STORM

I was a point of silence in the chaos of The Underground. I was the eye of the motherfucking storm.

Sitting at the bar, I downed the last of my beer and slammed the empty bottle down with a thud. Behind me, people were shouting and laughing, music was blaring, the bookies to my left were running full tilt taking bets for the night, and a fight had just wrapped up in the cage. It was business as usual, but I didn’t hear any of it.

All I could see were green eyes and flame. Whoever the woman from last night was, I couldn’t shake her image. Maybe it was just the life or death situation that had lodged her in my brain. A moment of high intensity had forged an obsession with a mystery. Fuck, that was some deep shit right there.

“Storm,” a female bartender said. “For a fighter with a name like that, you sure blow in on the quiet side.”

Glancing up, I saw it was Faye. The blonde haired, blue-eyed stunner that every man would kill to fuck. Every man but me, that was.

She swiped up my empty Corona bottle and dumped it into the bin. It crashed against the pile of glass within, and I thought about getting another. I wasn’t fighting tonight, and I could afford the extra calories…as long as the alcohol gave me a buzz.

“You’re always lurking,” Faye said, leaning on the bar. My gaze fell to her breasts, which she was pushing in my direction. “You never talk, and you never mingle. You just fight.”

Since my disastrous return to The Underground over a year ago, I’d made it my mission to keep clear of drama and entanglements…even friendships had been on the back burner. I didn’t talk, I didn’t confide, and I definitely didn’t let go of my heart.

“So?”

“So what happened? You used to be different.”

“None of your business.”

“No girl?” she asked, ignoring me.

“Nope.” My thoughts settled on the woman from the fire. Ash-blonde hair. It was like some kind of fucked-up metaphor.

“Then what are you doing later?” Faye fluttered her eyelashes and pouted her lips. “Need some cheering up?”

I stared at her, not surprised at her blatant demand for sex. She was the kind of woman who reveled in her sexuality and didn’t mind flaunting it, but it didn’t mean she was easy. She was the one who did the choosing, not the other way around, and it looked like she wanted to take me out for a ride.

I rolled my eyes. “I know you like trawling for dick, Faye, but everyone knows you’ve got an arrangement with Blade.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Corona,” I said, glaring at her.

Pouting, she straightened up and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Coming right up.”

Running my fingers along the edges of the mat on top of the bar, I stared at the television mounted on the wall opposite. Usually, it played a variety of pay TV sports, like live football, UFC bouts, rugby, or car racing, but tonight, someone had left it on the news. I watched absently, my gaze flicking over the closed captions.

I was really beginning to question the point of everything. Life, love, wealth, meaning, giving a fuck. Diving headfirst into that fire had shifted something inside of me, and the life I’d withdrawn into wasn’t serving its purpose anymore. That much was clear. I was fucking miserable.

The blaze erupted in the Brunswick Street store at around ten p.m. last night. Flames engulfed the fledgling business in minutes.

I straightened up, staring at the screen as Faye returned with my beer. Thumping it down on top of the bar, she peered at me.

“What’s up your ass?” she asked, glaring at me.

Not giving a stuff about her bruised ego, I said, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching that.”

She glanced at the television, then back to me, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was too busy waiting for a glimpse of the mystery woman with ashes in her hair. Not to mention waiting for the part referencing the Good Samaritan who risked his life.

The case of the blaze was determined to be a fault with the electrical wiring. The matter is now under police investigation.

Police investigation? I frowned.

The story ended, and another began. There had been no mention of the woman or me. It was probably a good thing considering my need for obscurity, but I couldn’t help the pang of disappointment at not seeing her again. I was seriously whacked.

“A shop fire?” Faye looked me over. “Know something about that?”

“No,” I snapped, pushing to my feet. Slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the bar, I grabbed my beer and walked away.

Pushing through the crowd, I took a sip of alcohol and tried to think of something other than my stupidly heroic actions. Last night seemed a long time ago already. No one had died—otherwise, they would’ve said in the report—but police action?

It may have been my past interactions with con artists posing as beautiful women, but my first thought was an insurance scam. I would like to give people the benefit of the doubt considering I didn’t know the woman from shit, but I’d been burned in the most complete and horrific way. Even if she was legit, it was better this way.

A shoulder smashed into me, and I lost my grip on my bottle of beer. It fell to the concrete, smashing into a million pieces. Alcohol splashed over my jeans and boots, and I allowed the surge of anger I’d been holding onto to burst forth.

“Hey!” I shouted, turning to give the asshole a piece of my mind.

“Watch where you’re walkin’, Storm.”

Great, just my fucking luck. Staring directly into the angry face of Hamish ‘Goblin’ McBride, Irish asshole of the century, I sneered.

The guy hated my guts, and I hated his, but at least it was for a legitimate reason and had nothing to do with the length of our dicks. He was with Lori now. Lori being the woman I cheated on back when I was a steaming pile of shit. Lori, the woman I could’ve found eternal happiness with but had been too arrogant to slow the fuck down and appreciate what I had.

Now she’d found all that and more with Hamish. She might’ve forgiven me to some extent—after finally agreeing to hear my side of the story—but Goblin never would. I was enemy number one in his eyes and always would be.

“Watch where you leave your fat ass, ginger,” I retorted.

“Still a complete dick, I see,” was his reply. “Still fallin’ victim to con artists, limp dick?”

I took a step closer. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“I would shut yours, but you’re too coward to face me in the cage. You would forfeit the moment your name was drawn with mine.” He narrowed his eyes in warning. “You’re not worth riskin’ the Championship to fight now. I wouldn’t even give you five cents for the chance to knock your head off, let alone risk losin’ a cool million.”

“It’s all about money to you, isn’t it?”

“Integrity,” he replied, laughing in my face. “That’s what it’s about.”

My lip curled as I stared him down, struggling to keep my temper under control. No, I didn’t want to fight him because I’d made Lori a promise. She didn’t come to The Underground anymore, but her boyfriend did. If I fought him, I would be breaking it, and I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had. If I fought Hamish—win or lose—I would be drawn into her stratosphere once more.

I’d promised to leave her alone and never contact her again, and I intended to honor it. I owed her, not her grudge-wielding boyfriend. I didn’t need to explain myself to him.

I thought about all the things I could throw in his face—my promise, my shit existence, my misery, saving the ashen-haired woman from the fire—but it wasn’t worth it.

Hissing, I shoved him back and stalked off, the crowd parting like I was the embodiment of my namesake. A storm was brewing, and they were scrambling to get out of the way before they were steamrolled.

It was better I remained anonymous. Here, out there, and when it came to that fire. It was better for everyone if I kept punishing myself with obscurity.

I was glad the ashen-haired woman was okay. At least her life was repairable. Mine had gone up in flames a long time ago.

5

CALLIE

I woke with a start, sweat sticking my flimsy T-shirt to my skin.

Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the dream. I still seemed to be within it even though I knew I was back in reality. Fire, clear as day, crawled up my curtains, and smoke the color of darkness was choking my lungs.

Blinking furiously, the image began to dissolve, and I was back in my room.

The darkness was broken up by the streetlight outside. Artificial light was creeping around the cracks in the curtains, leaving lines across my bedspread. The city was quiet, the little side street in the inner city suburb of Northcote was empty. Everyone was asleep, but I was wide-awake.

Who are you?

Rubbing my eyes, I reached for my phone and checked the time. One thirty-two a.m. Groaning, I unlocked the screen and checked my notifications out of habit. Social media was the great distraction of the twenty-first century if you asked me. People could say whatever they wanted online, and who the fuck cared if it was true or false or blatantly offensive? Take away accountability, give a person some anonymity, and it was a free for all.

Still, I couldn’t help checking to see if I had any messages. Slave.

There were a lot of comments about the fire and some shares and likes on older images and posts, but there didn’t seem to be anything from my mystery savior. The man with the chestnut bordering on chocolate eyes was still as mysterious as ever.

Setting my phone down, I rolled over and closed my eyes. My mind heaved with images, thoughts, and a strange longing, and sleep was beyond me. Frustrated, I picked up my phone and opened it again.

What was I doing? It was almost two in the morning, I was exhausted yet wide-awake, my body was coiled with a weird-as-fuck frustration, and I was dreaming about being burned alive. I needed to get something off my chest, but what was it?

The man. That was what. Who are you?

I tapped the notepad icon, and a new note appeared. Staring at the flashing icon, I allowed my thoughts to roam freely. I wasn’t the best writer in the world, but I had to get this out. He’d disappeared after doing such a selfless thing and had forced me to live without closure. I needed to tell him how I felt. Not how I found him hauntingly handsome but the ‘thanks for saving my life’ part.

My fingers flew over the little keyboard, and I went back and fixed some autocorrects, but I put it all out there. My life was in such a limbo state, with everything up in the air, I just had to tell somebody. I had customers who were dying to sample my creations in person, so I had to tell them what was going on, right? I owed it to my followers to tell them the story…

Honestly, it was more of a selfish reason that drove me to copy and paste the note into my social media accounts and attach a photo of the burned-out shop and another of me with one of my cakes—a ten-tiered wedding extravaganza I’d made a few months ago—and hit post. I wanted to find my handsome stranger. It was becoming an obsession with the amount of time I spent thinking about him and not rebuilding my business. I knew it was only two days since the fire, but I knew me. When I became fixated on something, look the fuck out.

Reading over the post again, I edited a typo.

My name is Callie Winslow, and two nights ago, I was almost burned alive.

I was painting in the storeroom of my soon-to-be-opened shop, The Fitzroy Cake Company, on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy.

You guys already know about me and my dream to one day have my own little slice of the retail pie (pun totally intended) and share my sugary creations with the world. Cupcakes with rainbow buttercream icing, a ten-tiered wedding cake to help celebrate a special union, a slice of red velvet and chocolate sponge with chocolate ganache drip icing to cheer up a dreary afternoon. Small, humble, personalized happiness on a plate. That’s The Fitzroy Cake Company’s core value…and mine.

The shop was set to open next weekend with free samples, balloons, glitter, and music, but unfortunately, I’ve had to postpone it. To when? I don’t know.

Two nights ago, a fire broke out in the kitchen. Within minutes, it had engulfed the entire room, leaving me trapped in the back with no way out.

I remember lying on the floor, smoke filling the tiny storeroom, then the sound of crashing glass. A man appeared through the flames and scooped me into his arms like an action hero. A stranger with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He saved me and made sure I was delivered to safety, and then he disappeared without leaving his name.

He disappeared, and now he’s all I can think about.

I dream about smoke and fire, and it always ends with you saving me.

My shop can be rebuilt, my dream repaired, and The Fitzroy Cake Company will have its time to shine, but I was so close to suffocating, being burned alive or worse. You saved me from a terrible fate. You risked your life for a stranger, not even knowing if you would be able to help let alone get out yourself.

The man with the chocolate eyes. The gruff, sad, handsome stranger who I just can’t shake.

Whoever you are, please let me say thank you. Please let me shake your hand and speak the words.

You saved my life…and haunted me instead.

Please. Who are you?

Satisfied, I turned my phone off and promptly went to sleep. It seemed hashing it out helped after all.

I woke feeling groggy but oddly calm.

The sound of clattering footsteps rumbled down the hall, and a moment later, Macy threw open my bedroom door. She had this irritating habit of never knocking, which had resulted in her seeing my boobs more times than I could remember. The first time she’d done it she was all like ‘Nice tits, Callie!’ then promptly started talking to me like nothing was out of the ordinary.

This morning, she was dressed for work—as an administration assistant at an accounting firm in the city—in her usual getup of a cute silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and sexy black kitten heels on her feet. Perfect hair and perfect makeup completed the ensemble.

“Uh, Callie?” She held up her mobile phone, a quizzical expression on her face. “Have you seen this?”

“Seen what?” I rubbed my eyes as she flopped down on the bed beside me.

“I think your midnight social media post has gone viral.”

“What?” My heart did a full somersault with a twist, and I snatched up my own phone. Unlocking the screen, my mouth fell open when I saw the notifications that had been lighting it up while I was asleep. It was still going—banners were appearing thick and fast. I would have to turn it off at this rate. “There’s thousands of them… Oh, my God, I can’t look. Do I want to look? I can’t. Look for me.” I tossed my phone at her.

She laughed and scrolled through her own. “It’s all good. You’ve mobilized an army.”

“They aren’t trolls?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Callie, calm down a little. Take a deep breath…then look at your post.”

Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and picked up my phone. Opening the Facebook app, I tapped on the notifications and was led to my post.

There were tons of shares and likes, but the comments were nothing but positive. Well, there were a few jerks typing out negative things about my weight, but most of them were nice. Things like I’m glad you’re okay, I’m sorry about your shop, I hope you find your mystery guy, and I’ve shared in case someone I know knows him.

“Holy shit, Macy,” I said in total disbelief. “I didn’t think it would end up like this. I wasn’t even with it last night. I was completely brain fried.”

She snorted. “It’s done now.”

“I mean, I was dreaming about the fire… I was rattled…” I glanced up at my housemate, suddenly feeling sick. “Mace… Have I done the right thing? What if he didn’t want to be found, and now I’ve forced the guy to do something he didn’t want to do?”

“If you ask me,” she began, putting down her phone, “he can’t expect to save you, then not have you wonder about his identity. It’s common sense. After this, if he still doesn’t come forward, then you’ll know for sure either way. It’s all you can do. Reading the post might be enough of a thank you.”

She was right. I couldn’t force the guy to do anything. Besides, I didn’t know him at all. He could be anyone, but it didn’t stop me from conjuring up his image again.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmured. “It’s borderline obsessive, actually.”

“Was he hot?” Macy asked with a wicked grin. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, a smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah.”

“I knew it! It’s about time you were obsessed with a guy,” she declared. “You need to get yourself some cock, girl.”

“Macy!” My cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was so forward about these things, and a part of me wished I were like her. If she wanted sex, she went out and got it. If I wanted sex, I went out and flailed around like a moron and came home alone and miserable. I was so clueless.

“Don’t be such a prude,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, let the post run its course, and if he wants to talk, he’ll let you know. Simple.”

It didn’t feel simple. I knew I would be glued to my phone all day, hitting refresh until I wore a hole in the screen.

“Well, I’ve gotta fly,” Macy said, standing and smoothing down her skirt. “I’ll see you tonight. If you need anything, call me at work, okay?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

She stopped at the door and glanced back. “And Callie? Don’t obsess. It’ll happen, or it won’t. Either way, you’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Smiling, I pushed down the nausea rolling in my stomach. “Sure.”

Before she left, she made a face. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

“Nope.” I grinned sheepishly and picked up my phone to refresh my messages.

It was going to be a long day.

6

STORM

My fight at The Underground tonight hadn’t exactly gone to plan.

The plan was to win, but instead, I’d had my ass handed to me by Blade. It was like another dose of karma was thumping me in the face, and this time, it was retribution for being a knob to Faye last night. I experienced a lot of karma these days.

Making my way through the crowd, I rubbed my side. That kick had to have busted a rib. Maybe I should get it checked out.

“The shop burned to the ground,” a woman was saying. “And some guy just leapt into the flames and saved her.”

“Her cakes are amazing,” another woman added. “Did you see this one? It’s shaped like a fairy garden with little toadstools and grass and everything. It’s chocolate inside.”

“It’s a shame about her shop.”

“Yeah, I hope she finds the guy.”

“To think he just left without leaving his name like that. It would drive me mad.”

I froze, my heart leaping. They were talking about the ashen-haired woman. They had to be. How many other stupid fuckers leapt into burning buildings in this city?

I should’ve kept walking, but I turned to the group of women, temptation flowing through my veins thick and fast. She was looking for me. Green eyes was looking for me.

I had a chance to know her if I wanted. I’d walked away because I knew it was the right thing to do, but selfishly, I found myself wanting to run after her. Maybe she would be different. Maybe she would see the real me, not the lies.

Elbowing my way forward, I approached the women.

“Hey,” I said, ignoring their startled glances when I pushed my way into their group. “Who’s that you’re talking about? That fire on Brunswick Street the other night?”

The woman next to me eyed me curiously. “Yeah. Did you see it?”

“I live near there,” I replied. “I saw the trucks.”

“Some woman was trapped in there,” the girl across from me said. “Some mystery guy saved her.”

“Now she’s looking for him,” the girl to my right said. “He never left a name and disappeared right after.”

“It isn’t you, is it Storm?” the girl opposite asked, narrowing her eyes.

“C’mon girls,” I drawled. “You know me. I’m a complete fuckhead. Of course, it isn’t. Can I see that?” I nodded at the cocky girl’s phone.

“You’re right. You are a fuckhead. You jumped out of my friend Rhiannon’s car at the Alexandria Parade traffic lights the other night rather than let her suck your cock.” Rolling her eyes, she handed me her phone so I could see the post.

I shrugged and took the phone. “It happens.”

“It was a total dick move,” the girl to my right said.

“Girls like your friend Rhiannon always think they’re the exception to the rule,” I said, glancing at the screen. Callie Winslow. Her name was Callie Winslow. “They always think they can turn the asshole good, and all it takes to mend a broken past is a few decent orgasms. Ain’t going to happen.” I handed the scowling girl back her phone. “Nice doing business with you.”

Retreating, I left the women to their death stares and swung by the bar. I’d need a beer for this.

“Quite the beating you took tonight,” Faye said, handing me a Corona. “You on your period or something?”

Narrowing my eyes, I saw she was still pissed I’d turned her down. She would just have to deal. Besides, there were plenty of other cocks lining up for her to ride, and she didn’t even have to buy a ticket.

“Nice to see you too, Faye.” I snatched the beer and flung a ten-dollar note at her. “Keep the change.”

“You know, there’s a reason why everyone hates your guts, Storm,” she called out after me. “You’re not helping yourself!”

Ignoring her, I weaved through the throng of people and found a quiet corner. Sitting on a couch in a darkened alcove—a couch that had probably seen its fair share of disinfectant—I sipped at my beer and contemplated looking up the beautiful Callie Winslow and seeing what she had to say about me. Her story seemed to have gone viral if those bitches were talking about it, so it was a good thing she didn’t know my true identity. If she did, it would be another kind of headline.

Taking out my phone, I nursed my beer between my knees and downloaded the Facebook app. I couldn’t believe I was doing this shit. Ever since my stupid ass was smeared all over the news and the Internet, I’d steered clear. I’d deleted every profile I’d had online and had never dared go back. People could be vicious as fuck when they weren’t held accountable.

I had to create a profile to continue, so I made one and set my name as Storm R, leaving the picture and other details blank.

Tapping the search bar, I typed in her name. Callie Winslow.

I knew I was tempting fate and fueling a strange attraction I didn’t know anything about, but I did it anyway. She was going to be disappointed, and I was still going to be a miserable bastard.

The results loaded up, and there she was. Pale blonde hair, green eyes, and a smile to kill for. Tapping on the photo, it enlarged, and I salivated…and it had nothing to do with the giant wedding cake behind her.

She had curves but was still delicate, and she had a happy almost carefree way about her. I could see the pride in her eyes and the uninhibited joy her chosen profession had afforded her. She looked like an angel. A completely fuckable angel.

Exiting out of the photo, I read the post that had caused such a ruckus, and my hands started to shake. They actually fucking shook. Pussy.

She was a baker. A pastry chef. Was that what they called it? It was her shop that burned down, the dream she’d worked all her life to achieve, and now it was a pile of ash. The Fitzroy Cake Company. She’d almost gone down with it until I’d shown up.

You saved my life…and haunted me instead. Please. Who are you?

Turning over my phone, I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful. Casting my gaze out over The Underground, I didn’t know what to think. About any of it.

I could still smell the stench of smoke lodged in my sinuses, and the feel of her in my arms was as vivid as the kick on the ribs I’d copped in the cage the hour before. She’d only spoken about a dozen words to me, but I remembered every single one.

Picking up my phone, I opened her profile and began scrolling, and a more complete picture of Callie Winslow began to take shape. There were a lot of photos of her cakes and pastries and a lot of selfies, but there was no guy. Was she alone?

You haunted me instead…

My finger hovered over the message icon. She would be disappointed when she found out the truth about me. She would believe the lie—that I was a perpetrator of domestic violence—and she wouldn’t feel the same way about that night. She would look at me like everyone else did. Those pretty green eyes would be filled with hate.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was giving women closure. First, the con artist ring girl, then Lori, and now Callie. She could say what she needed to say, and then move on with her life.

So I opened a message, typed in some words, and pressed send.

Storm R: I hear you’re looking for me.

Like she was already there waiting for me to message her, three little bouncing dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling she was typing a reply.

Callie: What color was I painting the storeroom?

Storm R: What?

Callie: I’ve had a lot of morons trying to dupe me. So… What color was the paint?

Storm R: Light blue. The can had tipped over, and it was all over the floor.

There was a long pause, and I began to doubt my memory, but finally, the three dots appeared again.

Callie: Is it really you?

Storm R: Yeah.

Callie: Really?

Storm R: Last time I looked. I don’t leap into raging infernos for just anyone.

Callie: Is that actually your name?

Storm R: Yes and no.

Storm R: Are you okay?

Callie: I’m fine. I bumped my head and inhaled a lot of smoke, but I’m okay now.

Storm R: Good. I’m glad.

Callie: It was an accident. The fire. The police said it was faulty wiring.

Storm R: The police?

Callie: My insurance company says I should sue my landlord.

Storm R: You should. It sounds like it was their fault.

Callie: Thank you. For saving me.

Callie: It was the ultimate, you know? Risking yourself for a stranger.

Glancing up at The Underground, I frowned. I’d wanted a scrap of kindness, and now that Callie was throwing me a bone, it made me feel uncomfortable. Like I didn’t deserve it. I’d saved her life, but I was still in the black where karma was concerned. When would I stop feeling like a total asshole?

Callie: Can I see you in person? Please?

I hesitated. No. It was completely out of the question. She couldn’t know me. Then why the fuck did you message her?

Callie: I know you’re still there. Please meet me.

Callie: Please.

Callie: I can’t explain it. I feel connected to you somehow. Maybe it was just the fire and the way we met, but I have to know…

Storm R: Know what?

Callie: If it’s real.

My fingers tightened around my phone. Maybe this was my chance at real. Maybe Callie could help me redeem myself. Maybe she was the one who would finally be able to see the real me.

Fuck, I was desperate for someone to be glad to see me. Someone who wouldn’t scowl and change direction when they saw me coming. I didn’t want someone to try to fix me. I wanted someone to listen. I could do with a little kindness. A drop. I would take any little scrap.

Storm R: Okay. Let’s meet.

7

CALLIE

I sat in a bar on Brunswick Street, my second gin and tonic on the table before me.

Two blocks away was the boarded-up remains of The Fitzroy Cake Company. Luckily, I didn’t have to pass it on my way here. Otherwise, I would be an even bigger ball of nerves.

When my handsome stranger had sent me a message, I’d almost dropped dead on the spot. And that was saying something considering it had almost happened to me for real. After a slew of trolls and random dudes sending me photos of their limp dicks, Storm R had answered the question correctly. What color was I painting the storeroom?

It was a simple question, and anyone could’ve guessed it, but when he’d mentioned how the can had tipped over, I knew it was him. I knew it. Anyway, he was due to meet me tonight, and when I laid eyes on him, there would be no denying it.

A blast of cool air tickled my cheeks as the door opened. My heart twisted in anticipation, but the man who walked in was blond and was leaning down to kiss a woman who was far more glamorous than I was. Resisting the urge to curl my lip at them, I sipped my gin and tonic.

Was the fire only four nights ago? It felt like an eternity had passed waiting to meet the man who had saved my life.

Checking the time on my phone, I saw he was fifteen minutes late, and I shook off the feeling of foreboding that was growing in the pit of my stomach.

The door opened again, and I glanced up, my heart deflating when I saw it was only a woman. She crossed the bar and greeted her friends, smiling all the way. I watched her with a pang of jealousy as she sat down and immediately launched into conversation. Life was so easy for some people. Confidence was never my strong suit, which was why I liked sharing my cakes on the Internet. Even with its trolls and perverts, I didn’t have to put on a pretense twenty-four seven. I could totally hit the delete button.

Nursing my gin and tonic, I took a sip to pretend I was doing something other than waiting for a guy who had obviously stood me up. No one came to a bar alone unless they were a raging alcoholic, right?

I glanced at my phone for what felt like the millionth time, but there were no messages from the mysterious Storm R. What if he was just another crackpot and this was an elaborate scheme to humiliate me. The world was fucked up like that, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Shaming was a lot of people’s first port of call when they found something to be outraged or jealous over. Modern living at its finest.

Listening to the bustle around me—music and happy conversation—I sank deeper and deeper into depression. He’d probably stood outside, saw me through the window, decided I wasn’t pretty or thin enough, and legged it. Either that or Macy was right. He wanted to remain anonymous and had second thoughts about meeting me.

Checking the time, I sighed. Now he was half an hour late. Safe to say he wasn’t coming. Great, just fucking great.

Draining the last of my gin and tonic, I picked up my handbag and rose to my feet.

“Callie?”

Glancing up at the sound of a male voice, I froze when my gaze connected with a pair of familiar chestnut-colored eyes. My fingers went limp, and the handle of my bag slipped from my grasp. It landed by my feet, but I didn’t bend to retrieve it. I was trapped in the vortex that was my mystery savior.

It was him. There was no doubt about it.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said.

“Sorry I’m late,” he replied, his voice washing over me the same way it had the night of the fire. He glanced at the empty glass on the table. “Can I get you another?”

“Uh…” I shrugged. “Gin and tonic.”

He nodded and stepped over to the bar. Sinking back down onto my chair, I kicked my handbag between my feet and sucked in a sharp breath. Holy smokes.

Staring at him as he gave his order to the bartender, I gave him the once-over. I hadn’t had a chance the other night since I was suffocating and everything, but now I was free to study every little detail while his back was turned. And what a back it was.

His haircut was rough like he’d kept it shaved and it had grown out a little too long. He’d dressed nicely, a gray shirt and dark-colored jeans, and those same boots were on his feet. The ones with the scuffed toes and loose laces. His arms were well defined, and his shoulders were broad. His ass was perfection. Complete perfection.

The bartender placed a bottle of beer and a glass in front of Storm, and he handed the guy some money, then returned to the table.

He set the glass in front of me, and I took it, desperate to ply myself with a little liquid courage. Our fingers grazed, and at his touch, I almost dropped the lot into my lap.

He sat opposite and rested his elbows on the tabletop.

“Callie,” he said, trying to start some kind of conversation. “Is that short for something?”

“No,” I replied. “It’s just Callie.”

We fell into an uneasy silence. I’d stewed over what I would say to him all day. I’d even taken notes to try to clear my mind, but now he was actually here in front of me, the easy conversation I’d dreamed of was non-existent. He didn’t seem to want to talk at all, or he was waiting for me to say the words I’d been so desperate to tell him. Thank you.

It was easy. Two little words. Just say it, Callie. I was crashing and burning, and where I should’ve been relaying gratitude, I was allowing my nervous energy to swallow me whole.

It was just…he was so handsome and brooding, and I was little Callie with her little smoldering mess of a cake shop. He was ripped—I could see the biceps on the guy, which meant the likelihood of a six-pack was rather high—so anything more than a ‘thanks for saving my life’ conversation was a long shot to hell.

I was soft around the edges. Guys like him didn’t go for squishy girls like me.

“Listen, I um… I thought about all these things I wanted to say, but now you’re here, I don’t have a clue,” I said, arming myself with the truth. “My post must’ve… Well, it must’ve been a whole bag of crazy. I’m surprised you wanted to meet me.”

“I almost didn’t come.”

My gaze met his. I knew it.

“Then why did you?” I asked, my fingers wiping at the condensation on the outside of my glass. “You almost got away with it.”

He didn’t reply. He just frowned broodingly.

“What’s your name? It’s not really Storm, right?”

He started picking at the label on his beer.

I wasn’t quite sure what I’d been expecting from tonight, but it wasn’t this. Evasive had nothing on his behavior right now. I felt like I was interrogating the guy. He’d said it himself. He almost didn’t come. Maybe he hadn’t had a clear view of my ass through the window, and that was why he stepped through the door.

Picking up my bag, I shoved down the disappointment that was beginning to overtake my tear ducts.

“You’re right,” I said. “This wasn’t a good idea.” He perked up, his eyes following my every move. “Thank you, Mr…”—I waved my hand at him with a scowl—“Storm, for saving my life. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” I rose to my feet.

“Mark,” he said. I froze, and he stared up at me, the sadness I’d seen in his gaze the night of the fire coming back to the surface. “My name is Mark.”

I didn’t know what to do, so I stood there and waited. Did he want me to stay? Was he actually going to talk? Did he want to know me? I wanted him to. I wanted things to flow both ways. The handsome stranger who saved my life. Mark.

“Please, sit down,” he said.

Returning my ass to the chair, I set my bag down for the third time that night.

“I, uh…” It was his turn to stumble over his words. “I live in the neighborhood,” he finally offered.

“You live around here?” I asked. “The rent must be killer.”

His eyes darted to the side. “It’s nothing special.”

“Was that how…” I glanced at my hands.

“I was on my way home,” he said. “I don’t know why I did it… Why I went in there.”

“I’m glad you did.” I raised my head and met his gaze. I could melt in those eyes.

“You bake cakes?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’ve always wanted to do that?”

“Always. There’s something about mixing all those ingredients, you know? Creating something new, something tasty. Cakes are a celebration. They make people happy.”

“You seem driven,” he commented. “That’s a good thing.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t think so?” He started picking at the label on his beer again.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot,” I replied, watching his fingers. “It takes time and capital to open a shop, especially in the food business. There’s a lot of red tape. I’ve let a lot of things fall by the wayside. Travel, friends…relationships.”

His lips quirked, and I bit the inside of my cheek. That was the first hint of a smile he’d given me, and man, oh man…

“So, no boyfriend?” he asked, making my insides flutter.

I shook my head, and his smile widened even further. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I leapt headfirst into the biggest one of all. Did he…like me?

“You?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.” He glanced away, the shutters slamming shut—not that they were open every far in the first place.

“What do you do…for, uh, work?” I asked lamely.

“Nothing special.” He shrugged and wrapped his hand around his beer. I watched as he lifted the bottle to his lips and sipped. When he set the bottle down, he studied my features, his gaze lingering on my lips. Or at least, I thought that was what happened.

Was it my imagination running wild again? Something passed between us, and it was almost heavy enough for me to reach out and grasp it.

He checked his watch, and I squashed down a pang of jealousy. Totally my imagination.

He had a whole life outside of me, the woman who was still a stranger to him. He had people and friends and a job, not to mention the string of women he was probably dating. He’d said he was single, but that didn’t mean he didn’t already have half of Melbourne on speed dial.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” I asked a little too sharply.

His eyebrow quirked. “I have a commitment I need to honor.”

I scowled and reached for my drink. Rather than question him further, I downed the rest of my gin and tonic. He probably had a hole he needed to honor with his cock.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Northcote,” I replied. “I can get the tram pretty much all the way.”

“I can wait with you if you like.”

“Yeah,” I said with a smile, my jealousy toning down some. “I’d like that.”

Gathering my handbag, we left the bar, Mark holding the door open for me. We crossed the street between the cars that were banked up in traffic and walked down the block to the tram stop.

Standing side by side, we fell into another awkward silence. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t find the words. I wasn’t even sure if he would listen let alone give a stuff. He’d haunted every moment since the night of the fire, and now it was becoming increasingly like a first date from hell. There was a wall—that I suspected was of his making—and I hated it.

I could see the tram in the distance, rolling along the tracks at a snail’s pace behind the wall of traffic.

There was something there. I could feel it vibrating through my nerve endings. It couldn’t be one-sided. It just couldn’t.

“Can I see you again?” I asked, glancing at him.

Mark tensed slightly, hesitation written all over his face.

“Listen, Callie—” he began, but I shook my head.

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just say ‘It was nice to meet you, and I’ll see you around.’ Just say that, okay?”

His brow creased, and his gaze fell. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.”

The sound of the tram door squealing open was my signal. Turning, I hightailed it out of there, knowing the chances of seeing him again were slim to none. It didn’t bode well for me because the mystery surrounding his sad eyes had only deepened. Then there was the matter of my heart. My stupid, fickle heart.

Swiping my card against the reader, I moved down the tram and found a seat by the window. As the doors shut and we began to move, I didn’t have the courage to look up to see if he’d waited to see me off or had left the moment I’d turned around.

I didn’t have the strength to take another blow like that.

Sinking back into my seat, I knew when I got home, I was going to dream about him again. And this time, it would be dirty as hell.

8

STORM

I watched the tram begin to move, carrying Callie with it.

She was sitting by the window, her face angled away. She didn’t look back, and I didn’t blame her. I’d avoided answering every question she’d thrown at me while she’d given hers freely. I was such an asshole.

I shouldn’t have gone, but I just couldn’t help myself. I’d watched her through the window of the bar as she’d waited, checking her phone over and over, her hopeful gaze lifting to the door every time it opened. I’d watched, battling with myself. Should I go in, or should I leave her there?

After a while, the pull of her mysterious green eyes had reeled me in, and it was all I could do not to beg her forgiveness there and then. It was all pre-emptive, after all.

Callie Winslow with her cake shop. Single, pretty Callie Winslow with her flushed cheeks and pink lips.

She was beautiful, intelligent, curious, and her awkwardness was enamoring after the kind of women I’d been with before her. She was nothing like the bitches who hung around The Underground looking to bag themselves a fighter. She’d asked questions and fought back, not afraid to walk away when I was a complete dick to her. She wasn’t dying to impress me so she could get a free ride. She’d worked hard for her dreams, and it sounded like she’d sacrificed a lot to get to where she was.

Turning, I strode down the side street and made my way back to my apartment. The same apartment I’d paid for with money I’d won from illegal cage fights. I didn’t rent here. I owned.

A row of lock-up garages sat below the warehouse styled building, and I pressed the fob in my jeans pocket. The door closest to me began to rise, revealing my motorcycle. It was a Yamaha V Star Custom that I’d won in a bet with a guy at The Underground six months ago. The bet being, if I could put down the guy in my next fight in less than two minutes, I would get the bike. If not, I had to help him out with ‘a problem.’

Obviously, I’d won the bike, and whatever the guy’s ‘problem’ was, it was no business of mine. The motorcycle was slick as.

Grabbing my jacket from the seat, I shrugged it on and reached for my helmet. When I’d told Callie I had a commitment I needed keep, I wasn’t lying. I hadn’t lied to her at all if I wanted to get technical about it, but I hadn’t exactly been the life of the party she’d been expecting. It was written all over her face. She’d climbed onto that tram fighting back tears.

I’d disappointed her.

Still, I fell back on the same reasoning I’d been beating myself with since the fire. I didn’t want to mess up the good thing she had going with her shop. If it got out she’d been saved by me, her life would be turned upside down by association.

Keep telling yourself that, Storm.

Kicking the motorcycle to life, I pulled out onto the street and waited for the garage door to roll back into place. Once it dropped, I roared down the street, the engine I’d spent hours tinkering with echoing loudly. Boys with their loud-ass toys? It was all about flaunting the size of your cock.

When I arrived at the warehouse in Abbotsford, I parked near the entrance and strode inside. Time to honor my commitments.

Nothing ever changed at The Underground. Faces came and went from time to time for whatever reason—retirement or a cosmetic rearrangement in the cage—but the atmosphere didn’t alter. People drank, gambled, fought, and fucked to their heart’s content. Their reasons, like mine, were their own.

Pushing out into the fighter-only area, I went into the men’s change room to dump my stuff.

“Guess I don’t have a fight tonight, after all,” I heard Hamish say behind me. “We all know Storm’s goin’ to withdraw.”

Turning, I scanned the lineup sheet pinned on the wall of the men’s change rooms. I’d been paired with Goblin again. It was an omen.

“Don’t let your hate get the best of you, ginger,” I said, curling my lip.

Walking away, I opened my locker and threw my jacket and keys inside.

“What, you’re not forfeitin’ tonight?” Hamish called out after me.

Ignoring him, I undid all the buttons on my shirt, shrugged it off, and flung it into my locker, as well.

“I’m talkin’ to you, Storm.”

“Yeah, well I’m not replying.”

He slammed his palm down on the locker next to mine.

Rolling my eyes, I said, “You’ve always wanted to beat my ass, Ginger, so here’s your chance. Make your girl proud.”

“You don’t make things easy for yourself, you know that?”

“Isn’t that what you want?” I retorted. “Don’t let my smart ass bother you.” My prickly exterior did wonders keeping people like him away…and stunning women like Callie. One was a welcome relief and the other not so much.

Dropping my jeans, I changed into my shorts, not bothering to glance up when Hamish finally stalked off. Our bout was the second of the night, and we would be called up soon.

Wrapping my hands, I found myself thinking about Callie instead of mentally preparing myself to face off with Goblin. What was the point? I already knew the ending to our story before it began. If I pursued her, I would wind up breaking her heart just like I’d broken Lori’s heart. I didn’t deserve kindness, and I especially didn’t deserve to be loved by a woman like Callie Winslow.

She couldn’t want me like that anyway. The fire had brought us together in an unexplainable moment, but that was it. Beyond that, we were doomed. Callie would go on with her shop and become a raging success while I stagnated in the prison of my own making.

“Storm. Goblin. You’re up.”

Flexing my fingers, I ignored all the eyes plastered on my back and followed the referee out into the warehouse. In the cage, we were being announced to the crowd, and no fucking surprises when I received nothing but boos as I walked through the gate to toe my line.

“Can you feel the love, Storm?” Hamish smirked and rolled his head from side to side.

Remaining silent, I raised my fists, ready to get this shitshow started, and when the referee lowered his arm between us, I launched myself at Goblin. My fist collided with the side of his jaw, and he blinked, shocked I’d managed to hit him so early in the game.

He recovered quickly, bringing his knee up into my stomach. The blow caused me to double over, and some of the air was forced out of my lungs. I wheezed, dodging to the side as his fist flew up from below. His knuckles grazed my cheek, and I rammed my shoulder into his ribs, forcing his ginger ass back into the cage.

We collided with a bang, the entire structure rattling, and the crowd booed and hissed. Hamish slammed his elbows down onto my shoulders, then punched at my head, trying to break free. Loosening my right arm, I rammed my fist into his stomach.

Then his elbow collided with the side of my face, the bone jamming into my eye, and I slackened. It was the chance Hamish was hoping for. He slipped free of my grapple and was on me in a flash.

I saw his fist coming, and I knew the right move to block—putting my forearms in the line of fire to protect my face—but I didn’t raise my arms. I took the hit to the side of my head, his knuckles grazing the corner of my eye socket, and I stumbled.

The crowd cheered and rattled the cage as I recovered, but I knew their cries weren’t for me. I was the villain in this story, and Goblin was the righteous hero.

As I twisted to the side to avoid another punch, I felt blood trickling down my face from an open cut in my eyebrow. My head swam, and I fought to hold my balance as Goblin kicked. His foot hooked through the middle of my legs, and before I knew it, I was landing on my side, my shoulder jarring painfully on the concrete. Luckily, it didn’t pop out of the joint. Otherwise, I would be down for six weeks with no cash flow.

Too stunned to move out of the way, I took another fist to the head as Goblin tried to knock me out, but like the stubborn asshole I was, I held on.

“Tap, Storm,” he was saying. “Stop trying to be the hero, and just admit it. You’re done.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I tasted blood on my tongue.

“You got a death wish?” He hit me again.

Maybe I did.

He raised his fist and hesitated. I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything. That was when the referee stepped in, dragging Hamish off me and declaring him the winner.

I didn’t hear the crowd cheering, I didn’t hear the boos directed my way, I didn’t even register when the cage door opened and someone pulled me to my feet, and I definitely didn’t register the light shining into my eyes. My pupils were reactive, I wasn’t brain dead, but I felt like I deserved it.

Shaking off the unfamiliar hands, I strode from the cage, my head spinning. People parted to let me through as I swiped at the blood pouring from my face. Out back, I stumbled, and my shoulder hit the wall.

Breathing deeply, my ears rang as the effect of the beating I’d just taken began to take hold. If I didn’t pass out, I was going to puke. Blood was all over my hands and was dripping onto my chest. Watching a couple of drops splatter on the polished concrete under my feet, I didn’t hear the door open behind me even though beyond it, The Underground was blasting with noise.

“Hey!”

Someone grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. Hamish.

“Come back for more?” I drawled.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, his stupid Irish face hardly had a scratch on it. “You didn’t even try.”

“You want to know why I never fight you, ginger?” I said, snarling.

His lip curled. “This oughta be good.”

“Because I made a promise to Lori,” I declared, the vein in my forehead twitching.

Hamish’s expression darkened, and he shoved me back against the wall. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“A year ago, when you were too busy pushing her away, I went and saw her.”

The fighter’s eyes narrowed. He was an inch away from punching my face in for the second time that night. This time, all it would take was a little slap around the mouth, and he would drop me like a stone.

“What we talked about is none of your fucking business,” I went on. “But I promised her I would leave her alone, and she would never have to see me again. Letting you fight me? It would pull me back into her world. I may be a total dick, but there was no way I was going to hurt her again.”

“Then why did you just fight me, Storm?” he said with a snarl.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I could do with a little punishment. Like hell, I was telling him that.

“You never deserved her,” he said, his eyes darkening.

“Yeah, but the way you’re acting right now? She doesn’t deserve that, either. I can only hope you cut the crap when you go home to her.”

“You don’t know anythin’ about us, Storm, so shut your mouth.”

“You’re right,” I said to the Irishman. “I don’t know.”

Hamish blanched and leaned back slightly. That was the last thing he’d expected to come out of my mouth, but I was so done with keeping my mouth shut. Being the local punching bag had worn so thin it was translucent.

“I’ve kept my head down,” I went on, anger rising thick and fast. “I’ve pushed everyone away. I punish myself for my stupid-ass mistakes every fucking day. I can’t go pro. I can’t get a real fucking job, and my name means shit… Hell, I just let you fight me so you could finally shut the fuck up about how much of a twat I was to your girlfriend. What else do you want from me, Goblin? What the fuck else do you want?”

He stared at me, his expression changing so fast I wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, either.

Finally, he said, “Get the fuck out of my face.” Stepping away, he strode down the hall and disappeared into the change room, leaving me leaning against the wall.

Wiping the back of my hand against the cut over my eyebrow, I didn’t even hiss when it stung. Glancing at the blood on my hand, I thought about Callie and her green eyes.

I shouldn’t have gone tonight. I could never live up to the hero she believed I was. Not when my past kept punching me the face.

My stomach rolled, and I barged into the change room. Ignoring the hushed whispers, I locked myself into a stall and immediately threw up.

It was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.

9

CALLIE

Slamming the front door closed, I stomped into the kitchen and dumped my handbag onto the table.

“Uh-oh,” Macy said, leaning against the counter. “I don’t like the look on your face.”

“What are you doing home so early?” I asked. “I thought you were going to be out late.”

“Change of plans,” she replied, looking me over. “Everybody bailed at nine. Pussies.” She rolled her eyes. “For a bunch of highly strung accountants, you think they’d get blind drunk on a Friday after work, but no… They’re all in bed by nine thirty.”

“I always believed work drinks were a bad idea,” I retorted. “There are some people in this world you should never see drunk. Your boss is one of them.”

“You have a point.” She laughed and shook her head.

My mood had only soured the closer the tram had carried me home. I’d thought over every little detail from my night with Mark and couldn’t find the point where it had gone so wrong. His default response to most of my questions had been nothing special. Had it been doomed from the start?

“You look like you need a drink,” Macy said as I sat in the closest chair before I fell on my ass. “I’m making you a cocktail.”

“I’ve already had, like, three gin and tonics,” I said, slouching against the table and resting my head on my arms.

“I could do with one anyway, and you can just sip it if you want.”

Tinkering around in the kitchen, she opened and closed cupboards, gathering ingredients. Retrieving some ice from the freezer, she dumped it into the blender and slapped her hand against the lid. Then she twisted the dial, and the little room was filled with the loud and obnoxious sound of ice being crushed. I watched the little appliance struggle with the cubes, but as they broke down, it began to whirr happily.

“Now,” Macy said as she turned the blender off and began mixing something bright red. “Tell me about the guy. Did he show?”

“It was awkward as hell,” I said with a moan. “I felt like a stop on the way to somewhere more important.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Macy said, handing me a glass. “The guy pulled you out of a burning building.”

“And I bullied him into contacting me.”

“To be fair, you didn’t expect your post to go viral the way it did.”

I sipped at the drink, which was some fruity concoction with a heavy tang of vodka. When I posted that message, I wasn’t exactly in a coherent state of mind. I’d just woken from a bad dream, my head was all mixed up, and I had to get it off my chest. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve set the privacy to private and deleted it in the morning, but then I wouldn’t have found him at all.

“He was so evasive, Mace,” I said, staring at my drink. “He was half an hour late, and when I asked him about it, he said he almost didn’t come at all.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, it is starting to sound a little jerky.”

“But when I got annoyed and went to leave, he practically pleaded for me to stay. I don’t get it.”

Macy sucked in a breath and gave me a look. “Sounds like the boy has problems.”

I frowned. Maybe he did, and I was a speed bump on the way to smoother waters. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I was the calm in the eye of the storm he’d been looking for. That was a scene out of a movie, not real life.

“His name is Mark… He is so good looking,” I went on. “Muscled, rugged, an ass to die for… When he pulled me out of that fire, I felt something, and it had nothing to do with his cock. Maybe I was dreaming, but I thought he’d felt it too, but looking at him tonight…” I trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud. If I said them, then they would be real, and I would still be as lonely as I’d always been. Then I would throw myself into the repairs to the shop so I didn’t have time to think about how awful my heart felt beating just for itself.

Macy snorted, and I glanced up at her. “Callie, one day, you’re going to see what everyone else does, and what a glorious day that’ll be.”

“See what?” I stared at her, wondering if it was the alcohol talking.

“You’re really beautiful, you know. In your own way.”

“Is that code for something?” I asked with a scowl.

“No, it means exactly that. There’s only one Callie, and she’s pretty hot.”

“I’m fat.”

“No, you’re not!” Macy exclaimed. “You’re normal. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, you have skin to die for, Callie Winslow. You’re like a fucking porcelain doll, you bitch.” She grinned and lifted her glass. “The grass is always greener, right?”

Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Right.” I clinked my glass against hers, and we drank.

“So how did it end?”

“As awkwardly as it began,” I replied. “I asked him if he wanted to go out again, and he hesitated. He said he had somewhere else to be. Who has somewhere else to be at ten p.m. on a Friday night that doesn’t involve a prettier woman?”

“Callie,” Macy scolded.

“I know, I know,” I said, waving a hand at her. “Almost burned alive on Tuesday, only to have my heart snapped on Friday.”

“It doesn’t mean he was going to see someone else,” Macy countered. “Do you want to see him again? Did you get the vibe he might be interested?”

“I’m so confused.” I thumped my forehead onto the tabletop. “Everything’s chaotic, and I can’t handle it. I don’t want a broken heart on top of my burned-out shop.”

“If you want to see him again, just ask.” She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world.

I slapped my hands over my face and moaned dramatically. “What if he says no?”

“Then he says no. But he might say yes, too. Agonizing over it won’t help, so it’s better to put it out there than stew over it.”

“You’re so wise.”

“You’re so drunk,” she said with a giggle. “Completely blotto.”

“Uh, I need to pee really bad,” I said, starting to laugh.

“Then go pee, and get yourself into bed, girl.” I didn’t move, my smile fading, and she added, “Don’t worry about Mark tonight. Things will look clearer in the morning.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so.”

Dragging myself into the bathroom, I hoped she was right.

I was too chicken to send Mark a message after that. When Monday dawned and reality knocked, I pushed the awkward encounter to the back of my mind and rode the tram to the city.

Standing in the charred shell of The Fitzroy Cake Company, I listened to the contractor the insurance company had sent me to meet as he went over the game plan for the repairs. He’d given me his card and introduced himself as Ray Easton. Fifteen years in the business, impeccable safety record, and completely certified and vetted by my insurer.

“When can you start?” I asked. “I’m keen to let my customers know when they can expect the shop to open to the public.”

“We’re still waiting on the verdict on the wiring, but I don’t think it’ll take longer than a day or two. Once that was cleared, I can get my guys in straight away.”

“Sounds great.” I glanced at the kitchen, my gaze not quite reaching the storeroom.

“Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ll have this place looking a million bucks in no time. You won’t even know any of this was here once my guys are done with it. You’re getting the full treatment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Easton.”

“Oh, please call me Ray.” He held out his hand.

“Ray.” I smiled and shook his hand before he gathered his giant planner that was dog-eared, tired, and full of loose papers and Post-it notes.

“Thanks, Callie. I’ll be in touch.”

He left the door open, and I stood in the strange half-light, staring at the destruction the fire had wrought on my little dream. They were going to gut the entire place and fix the plasterboard, the wiring, everything. There was even a painter thrown into the deal. Thank God.

My insurance covered my ovens, shop fittings, and stock, and thankfully, the landlord had adequate cover for the structural damage. It would all work out in a couple of weeks, but in the meantime, it was just a big pain in my ass.

Knocking at the door pulled my attention, and I turned.

“Callie?”

I saw the backlit outline of a male figure, and my heart leapt. He’d come back.

He stepped inside. “I was hoping I would find you here.”

Squinting, I immediately realized my mistake, and disappointment threatened to overwhelm me.

“Justin the firefighter,” I said. I’d forgotten all about the guy and his innocent flirting, but it seemed he hadn’t forgotten about me.

“Expecting someone else?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. He was wearing his navy blue uniform, the emblem for the Metropolitan Fire Brigade printed over his left pec.

“No, I, uh… I was just here with the contractor,” I replied. “I was just about to leave.”

“So I caught you just in time.” He grinned, looking like the cat that got the cream.

My fingers tightened around the handle of my bag. I wish you were Mark. The thought alarmed me, and I scolded myself internally for being such a dismissive bitch. At least Justin was interested. That was a plus, I suppose.

“I just wanted to see how things were going,” he said when I didn’t answer. “I was on my way past and saw the door was open.”

“I’m okay,” I replied with a shrug. “The insurance is covering everything, so it’ll get fixed. It’s just… It’s a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, it takes time, but it’s good that everything is covered.” He stepped closer, forcing me to turn to the side away from the door. “And you’re okay. That’s the main thing.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stood there awkwardly, my cheeks a healthy shade of red. He was well put together, had a fantastic job, and was completely interested in me. He was handsome, sweet, and everything was perfect on the surface, but… I didn’t really feel anything when I looked at him. My heart didn’t flutter, my pulse didn’t race, and my lady bits didn’t tingle. Not even a little.

“I’m on my lunch break,” he said after a moment. “Do you want to…”

“Oh, I have another appointment I have to get to in the city,” I said lamely. “I’m sorry…”

“Sure, that’s okay.” He looked disappointed, and I began to feel guilty for brushing him off. “I figured it was a long shot.”

“Sorry.” I shrugged.

He backed away, smiling, and turned. Man, I felt rotten. Was I making the wrong decision here?

On the one hand, Mark was handsome and alluring, but was it the mystery I was attracted to or something else? On the other hand, Justin seemed like a genuine, well-adjusted guy and could turn out to be perfect for a girl like me. Was I letting him go too soon?

After years of zero prospects, now I had two men orbiting my heart. I was so confused.

“Hey, Justin?” I called out.

He paused at the door and glanced back.

“Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it.”

His lips curved into a cheeky smile. “Anytime.”

10

STORM

Thanks to Hamish, my face was a mess. I knew I was getting a range of interesting looks from people, but I generally didn’t make eye contact. Anyway, who cared?

Walking down Brunswick Street, I pulled my sunglasses from the neck of my T-shirt and slipped them on. The judgmental staring was beginning to bother me, and when I got bothered, I was a handful to deal with.

Across the street, I saw Callie’s shop and stopped in my tracks. Staring at the boarded-up windows, my breath caught as the door opened, and a man walked out. It was some old dude with a book of some kind under his arm and a pencil behind his ear. Must be her builder. Things were happening to get her back on track to open. Good.

Realizing I was starting to linger like a stalker, I hissed. What the hell was I doing?

Turning, I studied the window display of the store behind me. Books and comics were lined up in a colorful array, but I wasn’t really looking at them. The reflection offered me a distorted view of the unconscious reason I’d been walking this way.

Despite knowing I wasn’t any good for Callie, I still wanted to see her. What was that saying? A glutton for punishment? That was me.

If the builder was hanging around, then there was a chance she would still be inside, but I would have to be quick. The door was still open, signaling someone was still there. Hastily, I made a rash decision.

Turning, I dodged some pedestrians, weaved through parked cars, and legged it across the road. Reaching the other side, I approached the shop and peered into the charred interior. My heart was beating fast like I’d been running on the treadmill for an hour. Why was it doing that?

My lips parted when I caught sight of Callie standing inside, but any positive emotions I had faded away instantly. She wasn’t alone.

She was talking to a man—I didn’t hear what they were saying—and her cheeks were flushed, and she had that awkward thing going on. The same awkward thing she’d had last night. Pink cheeks, averted gaze, stilted speech. She was into him.

Studying the guy closer, I realized it was the firefighter I’d handed her to on the night of the fire. Fuck, he worked fast.

He looked different out of his full kit, but I could still pick his face out of a lineup. It was one of the many skills I’d learned fighting at The Underground. You had to know who was who in case you fell afoul of the wrong crowd. That and it was best to know your opponent before you got into the cage. It made beating them a hell of a lot easier.

Narrowing my eyes, I turned away. Staring at the traffic crawling along the street, I resisted the urge to curse at the top of my lungs. There was no competition. At all. Jealousy twisted my heart, and I almost snapped.

Glancing back, I saw the firefighter leave the shop. Knowing Callie was still inside, I could’ve walked in there and hit her for six, but instead, I did what I did best.

I walked away.

That night at The Underground, in a spectacular comeback after my beating the day before, I won my fight.

I pocketed a wad of cash for my efforts, and I rode the high for an hour, but it wasn’t long before I came crashing down again. Money could buy shit, but it didn’t solve any problems. At least not emotional ones. I was still the same guy I was before I’d walked into the cage, win or lose.

My hair still damp from the shower, I grabbed my jacket out of my locker and fished around for my phone. No point staying here for longer than I had to.

Checking the time, I was surprised to see a message waiting. Blinking, I stared at the notification and wondered if it was a hallucination brought on by one too many hits to the head.

Callie: Drinks tomorrow?

Drinks tomorrow… Tomorrow? I swallowed hard.

Even after seeing the firefighter, she was still messaging me. Was she playing us both, or was it more than that? I wouldn’t hold it against her if she were dating more than one guy at a time, I certainly used to have more than one women on the go, but knowing it was me and that douche? It cut. Deep.

I cursed under my breath and drank in her profile picture. Callie.

I didn’t know a thing about the guy, but on the surface, he was the complete package. Clean-cut, no prior convictions, stable career, impeccable reputation, do-gooder community hero, and best of all...no scandals waiting to happen. He was the real deal. I was now competing for Callie’s attention, and I’d never had to battle it out before.

I didn’t know what to do. Keep pushing or pull with everything I had?

She didn’t know I’d seen him with her today… What could I do with that nugget?

Ah, fuck it. My heart was too invested to let her go so soon even with the noose already tied around my neck. I wasn’t ready, not when there was a slim chance she might believe my side of the story…if I could grow my balls enough to tell her.

Unlocking my phone, I opened the app and typed in a response.

Storm R: On a Tuesday?

She replied almost immediately, and I grinned like a moron.

Callie: It’ll be quiet. Unless you have work on Wednesday.

Storm R: I work unconventional hours.

Callie: Then you can?

Storm R: What are you doing now?

There was no reply for a while, and I grimaced. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I slammed my locker shut and went out into the warehouse. Music was blaring, people were screaming for blood as the latest fight played out, and the noise drove me mad.

Outside, the air was crisp as I sat astride my motorcycle. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling out my phone to check if she’d replied. Was I going home or…?

Callie: I can meet you in half an hour. Does that work?

Storm R: Yeah. I know a quiet place.

I forwarded her a link with an address. You’re living dangerous, Storm. Were five minutes of bliss worth an eternity of fallout? Thinking about her pretty eyes, pink lips, and forthright attitude, yes, yes it was.

Callie: Looks nice. Half an hour?

Storm R: I’ll be waiting.

Eleven

Callie

“I feel like throwing up.”

Glancing at Macy, I begged her with my eyes to say something reassuring.

We were currently standing outside the bar I was due to meet Mark at, staring through the window like a pair of perverts. There were so many things wrong with this picture.

When I finally got a response from the mysterious Storm R—after an hour of stewing in my own juices—I was surprised when he’d suggested meeting tonight. I was flabbergasted, actually. I’d needed time to mentally prepare my battle plan, but Macy had not so subtly pushed me into dropping everything.

That and she wanted to come and see what all the fuss was about.

“Calm your farm, Callie,” Macy said. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Is he there? Point him out.”

Peering through the window, I spotted a broad pair of shoulders by the bar, and my knees began to weaken. He was waiting. Just like he’d said he would.

“The guy leaning on the bar.” I jabbed my finger at the window. “That’s Mark.”

“That’s him?” she asked.

“Yep.” I studied his profile and began to tremble. I was here to meet him. The hottest guy in the whole place. He was waiting for me.

“Holy fuck, Callie,” Macy exclaimed, fanning herself. “You said he was hot but not that hot.”

“Should I have said something like sizzling?”

“I was going to say smoking, but is it too soon?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Are you making fire-related jokes about me already?”

“Um…”

“I’m kidding,” I declared with a smirk.

“He looks familiar, though.” She squinted, studying him.

“Familiar, how?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ve seen him around or something. It’ll come to me.”

“What do I say to him?”

“Whatever you like. Just be yourself. That’s the whole point.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“Go, enjoy.” She waved at me. “I’ve got my own adventure tonight. Let me know how yours goes, okay?”

“Macy, don’t leave me,” I said with a moan.

“I’m not into threesomes,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Not even for a guy who looks like that. No offense.”

Instantly turning red, I spun on my heel and pushed into the bar. I was here now, so I approached him, focusing on not falling on my ass.

He’d seen me coming and had turned his head slightly, and all I could see were his eyes shining mysteriously in the half-light. Fuck, he was so handsome it put me on edge.

Leaning against the bar, I smiled. “Hey.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he straightened up. “Hey.”

That was when I got a front on view of the cut on his cheek and the gash that split his eyebrow. His eye socket was a little bruised, making the rich chocolate of his irises stand out even more.

“Oh, my God,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Mark,” I began, but he reached out and grasped my hand. My mouth closed, his touch sending sparks up and down my arm like his fingertips were live wires.

“Gin and tonic?” he asked, his lips curving wickedly.

“Gin and tonic.”

Turning, he raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention and placed an order. Paying, he picked up the two glasses and smiled at me.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ve saved us a table at the back.”

Nodding, I allowed him to lead me through the darkened bar. We wove through tables, passed the jukebox, and into the back where several booths were positioned along the wall. Mark took us to the one right at the rear.

The table was round, so the bench traveled in a U-shape around it. He set the drinks down and slid along the bench, gesturing for me to follow. I sat beside him, the curve of the seat allowing me to be close yet still study his expression. A tea light candle in a tiny glass jar and the rather dim mood lighting were the only sources of illumination, and I began to feel hot under the collar. It was intimate in the romantic sense, and I wondered if this was why he’d brought me here.

“This is frustrating,” I said, reaching for my drink.

“What is?”

“Every time I see you, I’m at a loss for words.” I sipped, the alcohol tingling the back of my throat as I swallowed.

“Believe me, I know the feeling.”

Glancing at him, I studied the cuts and bruises on his face and couldn’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“What happened?” I asked, angling my body toward his. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer. He just lifted his beer to his lips and drank, his eyes narrowing.

“Listen, I don’t know you from a bar of soap, so anything you say to me, I can’t really judge. I’m a clean slate.”

“I’m not an easy guy to get to know,” he said wryly.

“I’m beginning to see that.” I downed a healthy dose of gin and tonic to steady my nerves.

Setting my drink down on the table, I took a deep breath. I was completely clueless when it came to reading those infamous ‘signs’ that told me if a guy was interested romantically or not. Most times, it just went right over my head, and before I knew it, all my chances for a bit of action had passed, and I never got to lick anything.

Not tonight. Tonight, I’d give some signs. It was worth a shot, hey?

Lifting my hand, I brushed my fingertips over the cut on his eyebrow, then I lightly traced around his eye and cheekbone. He didn’t move, but at least he didn’t push me away.

“Where’d you get this?” I murmured, the closeness of the private booth making my head swim.

“Callie…” His jaw was tight, and I squeezed my thighs together.

“Mark…”

“I fight for money,” he said. “It’s illegal, it’s bad news, and it’s all I’ve got.”

I tensed. “What kind of fighting? What does that mean?”

“Cage fighting,” he replied.

“Cage…” An image of the fights I’d seen on TV came to mind. Blood, knockouts, the whole deal. “Like MMA?

“Yeah…like MMA.” He lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the seat behind me.

He was being evasive again, and I got the distinct feeling that what he was doing was far worse than ‘just fighting.’ I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Illegal and bad news was one hell of a description.

“That’s where I had to go on Friday,” he added.

I didn’t know if I should be relieved or not. He’d brushed me off to go fight some dude in a cage rather than hang out with me.

“Listen, Callie…”

I groaned and rolled my eyes. Every conversation that started with ‘Listen, Callie’ never ended well.

“What?” Mark frowned, and his arm tensed.

“You’re about to give me the speech, aren’t you?”

“What speech?”

“The one where you let me down gently and say ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’” I air quoted the last part. “You know, the one where you make up stupid bullshit to get out of seeing me again because you’re just not that into me.” I snorted. “I get it. I’ve heard it a lot.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, running his free hand over his face.

“Yeah, fuck. The fat girl with her cakes has some bite.”

“You’re not fat,” he shot back. “But I won’t argue with the bite.”

“Don’t shit me, Mark.” I slumped back and fiddled with the straw in my drink. “This week has been the ultimate definition of fucked up. I just need a break.”

“I’m not shitting you,” he said, leaning closer. “I don’t deserve someone like you, Callie. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I don’t want you to be another.”

My heart began to wither inside my chest, and I stared at him. “I’m a mistake?”

“No, I’m the mistake,” he said, thumping his fist against his chest. “I’m not your hero, Callie. I can’t be.”

“Why not?” I asked stubbornly. “You risked your life for me. That’s heroic behavior whether you want to admit it or not. You’ve made mistakes? So what? The whole point of making them is what you do afterward.” He was staring at me, looking a little shell-shocked. “So what are you going to do? Huh?”

“I’m not a good guy, Callie.” He glanced away. “I’ve hurt people I should’ve protected, I…” he trailed off, and his jaw tensed. “Not like your firefighter buddy.”

I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

His entire disposition began to darken. “I saw you.”

“Saw me when?”

“Today. At your shop. You were doing that awkward thing you do.”

“Awkward thing I do?” I exclaimed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You did it on Friday, and you did it just before.” He sighed and bit his bottom lip. “I’m beginning to believe you do it when you like someone. Your cheeks turn red, and you stumble over your words…”

“I’m not awkward,” I lied. “And there’s nothing going on with Justin.”

“So you’re on first name basis.” He scowled, and my mouth fell open in shock. He actually gave me a dirty look for talking to the firefighter.

“So?” I pouted.

Mark grunted and reached for his beer. “He’s well adjusted. He’d be a good choice.”

“Ugh,” I declared. “You’re so frustrating.”

“I know.”

Who the hell knew if his bravado was all for show or if it was who he really was. The mystery just deepened the more I got to know the guy. Any answer he gave just led to more questions. It was becoming more infuriating than frustrating. I would slap him, but it looked like someone else had already beaten me to it.

“So you fight illegally,” I began, rattling off the things I did know. “You put yourself down constantly, you push people away with your smartassery, you look like a fucking underwear model, and you save random women from burning buildings. Are you a run-of-the-mill douche? Or are you just the by-product of a shitty hand of cards?”

His expression twisted, and he looked as if he was in a great deal of pain. Was he that torn up? Over what? The night of the fire, I’d looked into his eyes and seen a sadness that almost frightened me. A deep pain I knew nothing about.

“You have to let go of it sometime,” I murmured, suddenly aware of how close we’d become. “Eventually, it’ll eat you all up, and what then?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Justice?”

“Justice? For what?”

“I walked over people to get to the top, but I crashed and burned before I even got there. I was ruthless and didn’t care who I hurt.”

“Maybe it’s not about getting what you think you deserve,” I countered. “Maybe it’s about making up for it.”

“How?” His hand came to rest on my knee, and I squirmed.

“By being a better person. By being nice. By being selfless. By being conscious of…”

“I’m alone for a reason, Callie,” he said, his brow creasing. “No friends, no family, no attachments. Everyone’s happy that way.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to justify taking the easy way out,” I said with a scowl. “Easier is rarely better, you know.”

His gaze dropped to my lips before flickering back to my eyes. “It hurts less.”

“You’re wrong.”

I sensed him pulling back before he even twitched, but I wasn’t ready to let him go just yet. In a moment of lust-fueled insanity, I tilted my head to the side, leaned forward, and pressed my lips against his.

He was warm and soft, which was a stark comparison to his behavior, and when I began to pull back, he caught me before I could let him go.

The arm he’d laid across the back of the bench circled my back, and the hand he’d placed on my knee began to travel upward, sending warmth between my legs. I nestled into him, my palms resting against his hard chest, and this time, he kissed me.

His lips parted, and the tip of his tongue teased my skin before demanding entrance. I was pretty much fucked by that point, and the last of my willpower faded as I opened to him. I was his. Completely.

My head tilted to the side as he took control. His mouth melded with mine and his tongue danced, tasting the excitement he’d awoken in me. He knew what he was doing, and it was a little frightening how talented he was. I didn’t want to be a number, but right now, my head swam with nothing but dirty thoughts.

I kissed him back, and any nervousness I had before I’d walked in here was completely gone. Damn, he could kiss me all night, and I’d still beg for more.

Finally, he broke away but didn’t venture far. His arms caged me against his chest, his lips brushed over my cheek, and when he’d caught his breath, he rested his forehead against mine.

My palm rasped against the stubble on his jaw, my fingers delighting at the sensation, and finally, I buried my hands into his overgrown hair. It was the closest I’d felt to any man, and all we’d shared was a kiss. A kiss that had knocked my socks off.

“Callie…” His lips moved over mine, his breath hot.

“The fact you don’t want to hurt me tells me you want to change. Whatever happened before…”

“Don’t.” His grasp tightened.

“Doesn’t matter,” I finished.

“Of course, it does,” he replied, resting his forehead against mine. “That’s why I feel like a bastard right now.”

“Now it’s my turn to say don’t.”

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping. “I have no fucking idea what it is about you, but… I want you, Callie.”

There was no denying that signal. I cupped his face gently, studying his chocolate eyes as best I could in the dim lighting of the bar.

“So you do feel it, too,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I feel it, too.”

11

CALLIE

Mark caressed my face, smoothing my hair behind my ear. If he asked, I would get on my knees below the table and suck him dry. The thought was a little alarming, and I squirmed, beginning to ache unbearably between my legs.

“What are you thinking?” he asked. I flushed scarlet, and his lips quirked. “Don’t worry. I can guess.”

“I…”

“You’re different, Callie,” he murmured. “All I want to do is take you home and fuck all night, but…”

“But?” I squeezed my thighs together, a movement that didn’t escape his notice.

“You’re different.”

“I’m not reassured,” I quipped. “I feel like rubbing one out myself, you jerk.” I shoved my hand between my legs, and Mark smirked.

“Your place or mine?” He frowned, then made the decision for me. “Your place. Definitely your place.”

He slid out of the booth and held out his hand. Wrapping my fingers around his, he helped me up, and I fell against his chest. Smiling, he kissed me once more, his tongue diving and retreating before I could catch my breath. Then he turned and led me through the bar.

Grasping my phone, I quickly typed a message to Macy. You had better not be home, and if you are, you had better put in some earplugs.

Outside, Mark walked over to a shiny black and chrome motorcycle and retrieved the helmet from where he’d put it over the handlebars. Watching me stare apprehensively at the bike, he grinned.

“By now, you’ve figured out I’m the bad boy your mother warned you about,” he said, holding out the helmet. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I don’t give two fucks about me,” he replied. “You on the other hand…”

“That’s a sucky attitude.” And one I was fast coming to realize was his default reaction when it came to his own well-being. Macy was right in that regard. He had a bag full of his own problems.

He smiled, his lips pulling up on one side more than the other. “I know.”

I wanted to ask so many questions, but my brain was too fuzzy from the lust he’d ignited with that kiss. Oh, God, that kiss. Snatching the helmet, I handed him my purse, and he stowed it in a saddlebag. Then I waited for him to straddle the motorcycle before making a move.

“Where to?” he asked before he kicked the machine to life.

Giving him the address, I put on the helmet, knowing I was taking a huge risk. Not just by riding on the back of his bike while he broke the law but by taking him home. We were going to have sex, and once I let him have me, I knew I would be a goner. I already was pretty much, so I figured I may as well get an orgasm out of it.

I gasped as he floored it, the motorcycle bumping over the gutter and out onto the road. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I felt his muscles tighten as I held on for dear life. He was a daredevil the way he cut through traffic and split lanes. Luckily, it was a short ride to Northcote and my bedroom.

He parked the motorcycle out front, and I slid off the back, my knees wobbling unsteadily.

“You’re a madman,” I said as I ripped off the helmet.

“I warned you,” he retorted, sliding his arm around my waist and handing me my purse.

Fishing for my keys, I trembled.

“How do you like it?” he asked as we walked up the path to the front door.

“I like it resulting in an orgasm,” I replied. “Preferably mine.”

“I can help you with that,” he said as I turned the key in the lock.

Inside, it was dark, which meant Macy was either in bed with earplugs in or she was still out. If she’d gotten my message, she would find something or someone to keep her entertained for a couple of hours. She was awesome like that. The housemate from heaven.

Opening my bedroom door, I led Mark inside and flicked on the lamp by the bed. The door closed, and before I could turn, he grasped me around the waist and tugged me back against his body. Immediately, his fingers pulled my hair behind my shoulder, and he began kissing my neck. I trembled, turning to complete mush as his hands caressed my waist and brushed over my breasts.

Squirming, I turned, desperate to feel his tongue glide against mine. Capturing his mouth, he gave me what I wanted in spades. We kissed long and hard, my arms circling his neck and his palms grasping my ass. When we fell into a heap on my bed, I arched into him as he undid the buttons of my blouse, his mouth leaving a path of fire over my cleavage.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, my top was flung onto the floor. His fingers undid the clasp of my bra, he tugged the straps over my arms, and I was exposed. His palms rubbed at my breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting my nipples. The sensation reached my clit, and I bucked against him with a loud moan, pushing into his grasp.

His lips curved into a wicked grin, and he let me go just long enough to pull his T-shirt off. Hot damn, I was right. He was ripped. It was my turn to rub my hands all over him, but I wasn’t satisfied with only playing with the top half. Going for his fly, I undid the button and unzipped.

Mark chuckled softly as he did the same to me, ducking under my leg so he could remove my shoes and rip my jeans down. Standing over me, he kicked off his sexy scuffed-up boots and dropped his trousers. My gaze fell to his cock, and my insides twisted at the sight. He was hard, the length of him outlined behind the dark gray fabric of his boxers.

Kneeling, he hooked his hands under my knees, forced my legs apart and pulled me toward him. His mouth latched onto my breasts one after the other, his tongue laving each nipple in turn as his fingers moved downward.

He shoved his hand underneath my knickers, and a thick finger slipped over my clit, through my wetness, and delved inside me. Gasping, I tore my lips from his and began to work my body against his touch. Mark moaned softly as he explored, adding a second finger in with the first. His movements quickened, sending an unbelievable wave of pleasure through my nerve endings. If he didn’t slow down, I was going to come. Too soon…

As if he’d heard my thoughts, he pulled his hand away and tore my underwear down and off, then made short work of his boxers. I palmed the length of his erection, stroking greedily.

He lowered over me, his weight between my legs exciting me further. He guided himself along my wetness, massaging the underside of his shaft against my clit. Up and down, up and down… Oh, God, it felt so good, and he wasn’t even in me yet.

Fumbling with my left hand, I managed to open the drawer on my bedside table. Mark’s gaze lifted, and he saw I was looking for a condom. He took over, ripping open a packet.

His lips met mine again in a blistering kiss, and then the tip of his cock was pushing into me. Slowly, then all the way.

He drove into me, faster and harder, his elbows on either side of me, his hands buried in my hair. He kissed me between breaths, devouring, controlling and completely dominating my body. I was his, and he seemed to want me to know. Maybe I should’ve been annoyed by the fact he wanted to claim me like some kind of animal, but at that moment, I didn’t care. He felt too good, his taste and touch driving me wild.

I’d never had sex like this. Period.

He grunted as he thrust, my own cries echoing from someplace far away. Our bodies slapped together, sweat prickled my skin, and before long, I was tipping over the edge. I came, quivering as he slammed into me, his pace never slowing. When the sensation began to fade, I moaned, already wanting to go again.

He hadn’t come yet, so when he turned me over, I was putty in his hands. I would do anything to please him, to feel his release pour into me. Fuck, it was so dirty.

He cradled me against his chest, hooked my leg back over his, and entered me from behind. Holy…

He thrust, slapping into me, and he had me hard and fast. I was still riding high from the first orgasm, so when the second hit, it took me by surprise. I clenched around him, and I felt him tighten, his moans muffled in the crook of my neck.

He jerked, then held, relishing the release that was pouring out of his body and into mine.

When he pulled out, he tugged off the condom, tied the end, and dropped it onto the floor.

Mark’s hands roamed over me, his lips searching for mine. Twisting around, I kissed him, our ragged breath mingling. We hadn’t said a single word the entire time, and as he held me close, I knew we didn’t have to. Words weren’t our strong point. Not yet, anyway.

Oh, hell, I thought in the moments before I fell asleep. I’ve just fallen for the bad boy.

12

STORM

Staring up at the roof of Callie’s room, I breathed in the scent of her perfume and frowned.

We were at the morning after bit. She was still asleep in my arms, and I didn’t know what to do. It had been a couple of years since I actually slept next to a woman I’d had sex with. Sneaking out in the middle of the night didn’t count.

The sound of heels clacking on the floorboards drew my attention. They clattered down the hall, past the bedroom door, and a moment later, the front door opened and closed. Probably her housemate. Awkward.

Callie moved against me, her leg rising higher and higher until her thigh brushed my cock. Dammit. She was… She was too much, and I wasn’t sure I liked the way she’d taken over my every waking thought. I’d never dwelled on Lori this way even though I’d cared for her.

Tracing my fingers up and down her spine, I closed my eyes and tried to quieten my swirling mind. She was perfect. Her curves felt good to the touch—soft, smooth, and creamy—and her breasts fit perfectly in my palms and the sex. Fuck.

It was nice to hold someone in my arms and just…be. I’d missed this more than I’d realized I would, and that was what troubled me.

Fuck. I was doing that thing again. The one where I was about to justify my knee-jerk reaction to happiness. Maybe this was my chance, but what if she believed the stories in the papers? She would find out I’d been keeping the mother of all secrets from her, and she would run straight to that pansy-ass fucker, Justin the firefighter. He was easy and normal. Not like me.

Callie tightened her grip around my middle and moaned contentedly.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Hey…”

I combed my hand through her pale blonde locks.

“What’s Storm R all about?” she asked, her fingers tracing lazy circles over my nipple.

“That’s the name I fight under. Storm.”

She snorted, and I felt her lips curve. “Really? Your fighter name is Storm?”

“Don’t ask about coming to see me fight, either.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she retorted. “Somehow, I don’t think I would like it. No offense.”

“None taken.”

We fell into an uneasy silence. It was becoming clearer that we were great at physical interactions, but when it came to conversation, we floundered.

“How old are you?” she asked after a moment.

“Old enough to know better,” I retorted, earning myself a sharp pinch.

“Stop it,” she said with a laugh. “Tell me.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now, how old are you? Don’t make me guess because I always get that shit wrong. There’s no way I’m risking your wrath.”

“My wrath?” Her head lifted, and her gaze met mine.

“Yeah.”

Her fingers traced over my eyebrow. “Says the bad boy cage fighter my mother warned me about.” She couldn’t hold her serious expression and burst into fits of giggles.

Flipping her over, I covered her body with mine and forced my thigh between her legs. She gasped as I began to move gently against her clit, and her smile faded.

“Are you going to tell me?” I asked, my voice low.

“Old enough to know better…” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she moaned softly as my lips caressed along the curve of her neck. “But young enough to keep doing it.”

“That’s what I like to hear…”

Lowering, I kissed a trail over her silky breasts, across her stomach, and delved between her legs. As I laved my tongue over her clit and slid a finger inside her, I knew I wanted to keep doing it, too.

For as long as she would let me.

Still buzzing from my night with Callie, I went to The Underground in a much better mood than I had in more than a year. Everything seemed a little brighter, and it was weird as hell.

Sitting at the bar, I sipped my beer and narrowed my eyes. Was it my imagination, or were people staring at me? Staring and whispering. It wasn’t unusual, but I’d been under the radar for months now. I’d gone to great lengths to make sure no one gave a stuff about me.

Glancing up, I scowled as I spied a group of women stealing glances at me. They were talking heatedly about something, and then they would fire off glances in my direction.

“What’ve I done now?” I muttered, wondering what the rumor was this time.

It could be one of two things. That woman, whatever her name was—the one whose car I’d jumped out of at the traffic lights the night I saved Callie—must’ve finally started to talk trash about me. About time. Or it was about me letting Hamish bash my face in. That would get the rumor mill spinning. He was the star of The Underground and was now with my ex, who used to be a bartender here. Everyone knew sweet, little Lori.

Someone sat on the stool next to mine, and I rolled my eyes. No one ever sat next to me unless they were trying to start something. I wasn’t in the mood for games, not tonight, so I turned, but I wasn’t expecting to find Hamish sitting there looking at me like I’d sprouted a second head. The Irishman never came to the bar, which meant he was looking for me, and that never ended well for anybody. I had the black eye to prove it.

“You had to go and ruin the one place where I didn’t have to deal with your ugly ginger face,” I drawled.

“Is it true?” he asked, looking me over.

“Is what true?” I scowled, not wanting to get into a verbal slinging match over my latest misdemeanor. Whatever it was.

“Did you really pull that woman from a burnin’ buildin’?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My blood ran cold, and I bristled, immediately going on the defense.

“It’s all over the news, man.” He held up his phone and showed me the screen.

‘Disgraced UFC Welterweight, Mark Ryder, Saves Woman From Burning Building.’ My fingers tightened around my bottle of beer, and my lip curled. How the fuck… Callie wouldn’t have said anything because she didn’t know. Someone must’ve seen me and knew my face. I cursed under my breath.

“Ryder, you—”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped.

I didn’t have to read the article to know what it said.

“I didn’t want anybody to know,” I muttered, leaning my elbows on top of the bar and fisting my hands into my hair.

“That you saved a woman from bein’ burned alive?”

I’d almost forgotten Hamish was still sitting there, and I picked up my drink, downed the rest of it, and flung the empty bottle over the bar and into the bin.

“Hey!” Faye screeched at me, but I didn’t give a crap.

Rising to my feet, I shoved down the urge to shout right back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hamish exclaimed, grabbing my arm.

Shaking myself free, I stalked off through the crowd, the staring and whispering getting on my nerves. I pushed out of the nearest exit, the door by the bar, and closed out the noise of The Underground behind me.

It was a service entrance. There were empty beer kegs, old wooden pallets, and a dumpster. A pile of crates was arranged in a seating area for the bar staff, and an overflowing ashtray was on the ground with some empty beer bottles.

My jaw tightened, and I couldn’t hold onto my anger anymore. With a cry, I kicked at the crates, sending one after another flying across the concrete. Picking up the bottles, I threw them at the brick wall, and they smashed, shattering into a million pieces.

The door opened, and someone appeared, then yelped as they saw me in mid-breakdown and scurried back inside again.

Grabbing a pallet, I heaved it into the air, but it didn’t get very far. It crashed to the ground, and I screamed an obscenity at it before collapsing against the wall, my chest heaving.

I knew this would happen. I knew it, and I still went after her. I went after her, got tangled up in her well-being, and now I’d fucked it all up.

Callie was wrong. She was wrong. It was about justice. When she saw this, she would look at me the same way everyone else did. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t handle seeing the revulsion twist her pretty face. I should’ve told her before I’d slept with her. Shit, I should’ve told her before I’d kissed her, but the pull was too strong. I’d never wanted a woman as much as I wanted Callie Winslow.

I was ashamed of the man I used to be. There. I’d said it. I was arrogant, gullible, and selfish. I’d never physically hurt any woman in my life, but it didn’t matter. My reputation was stained by it all the same.

Taking out my phone, I opened the messenger app I’d been using to talk to Callie.

Storm R: We need to talk.

The message was marked as read almost immediately, but the three little dots that meant she was writing back never appeared.

13

CALLIE

The morning after our date, I woke in Mark’s arms, and we did it. Again. That man had some serious skills, and I was swooning. He was letting me in slowly—some of the barriers he’d put between us were beginning to come down. Some of the mystery was being solved, and my heart sang.

After showering together, he left to go to the gym, telling me he had to fight tonight, and he would call me tomorrow. Not in the mood to do anything else but bask in the blissful memory of the most epic sex of my life, I went back to bed and did just that.

The trill of my phone roused me from my lustful stupor, and my hand fumbled over my bedside table looking for it. When I finally grasped the annoying little rectangle, I pulled it from the charger and peered at the screen. It was a string of messages from Macy that ranged in variations of ‘The FUCK!’, ‘Have you seen this?’, ‘Is it him?’

Opening the messenger app, I tapped on a link she’d included. When the page loaded up, my heart sputtered and almost ceased working entirely.

‘Disgraced UFC Welterweight, Mark Ryder, Saves Woman From Burning Building.’

I scanned the article while my head swam, and my entire body tingled with hypersensitivity.

It was only two years ago that a now infamous UFC ring girl came forward with allegations of violence against Ryder. She had bruising on her neck that police later confirmed were strangulation marks. She also made claims he’d harmed her in places that could be easily hidden, convincing her it was all part of a twisted sex game. Later, the woman alleged she realized she was in real danger and came forward.

As a result, Ryder received a lifetime ban from the UFC, lost his sponsorships, and was financially ruined. The last he was heard of was when he returned to Australia soon after settling the matter out of court. Since then, he’s flown under the radar, but now it seems Ryder has made another name for himself. This time as a local hero.

Two weeks ago, a shop front caught fire on Melbourne’s iconic Brunswick Street. It wasn’t reported at the time, but a woman, one Callie Winslow, was trapped inside by the flames. Ryder, who was in the vicinity, heard her cries for help and ran headfirst into the fire without a second thought, ultimately carrying her to safety.

The true intention of his apparent selfless act remains to be seen, but is this the beginning of the comeback of the century? It could herald a new chapter in the life of the disgraced UFC star, the beginning of penance for his past crimes. Or it could just be a matter of right place, right time. We won’t know until the man himself comes forward. If he ever does.

Holy fuck. Mark was convicted of domestic violence? I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath. I didn’t know what to think, but my knee-jerk reaction was to run the hell away as fast as I could. I knew he had issues, it was written all over his face, but this? Holy…

Picking up my phone, I typed a response to Macy.

Callie: I feel sick. My bum is fizzing.

Macy: Is that an autocorrect?

Callie: No. Bum fizz is a thing.

Macy: What the fuck is bum fizz?

Callie: Haven’t you ever felt so nauseous that the skin on your bum cheeks and the top of your thighs tingle? It’s fucking weird, but I swear it’s a thing.

Macy: Now that you mention it…

Callie: I can’t believe… He choked some girl?

Macy: It sounds legit, C. I’m frightened for you. You should dump his ass immediately.

Callie: I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me, but this? I can’t…

Callie: Did he do this for his career? Am I a publicity stunt? I’m such an IDIOT.

Macy: It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.

Callie: Excuse me while I go puke.

Throwing my phone down, I fell back into bed and flung my arm over my forehead. He was too good to be true. The handsome, selfless, stranger who was interested in a roly-poly nobody like me. I wanted him to be different so desperately, and now he’d ended up being just like all the other douches out there. Worse, actually. He’d assaulted a woman.

Puke, puke, puke.

I was really regretting finding him in the first place. Why couldn’t I have listened to my gut instead of my heart? Why couldn’t I have just let it go? Now it was like the universe was playing some trick on me. My shop burns down, my rescuer turns out to be a domestic violence offender and… Bad shit always came in threes, so the trifecta was going to be a doozy. A real fucking doozy. Just you wait.

Later that night, my phone pinged with a notification. It was a message from Mark that read, We need to talk.

No, no we didn’t. He’d lied to me. Big time.

He didn’t get to talk to me at all. Ever again.

The insides of my eyelids felt like sandpaper. Every time I blinked, I shaved a layer from the exterior of my eyeballs. I would probably be blind soon. Technically, I already was.

I’d ignored all the warning signs, even the ones Mark had given me himself, and just fell into bed with him the first chance I got. He’d saved my life, but that didn’t mean a single thing compared with what he’d done to that woman. One act of heroism didn’t negate violence against women. I’d been duped, and fuck, it stung like hell.

The front door to my shop was unlocked when I arrived. It was right on five p.m., so I’d caught one of the builders before they had gone home for the evening.

“Hi, Callie.” Seeing it was Ray, the head honcho, I smiled.

“I’ve just come to clear out the stock in the back,” I explained. “Some of it should be salvageable.”

“We’ve got a skip bin in the alley, so feel free to use it,” he went on. “They’re coming to collect it in the morning.” Glancing around the shop, I saw they had been hard at work with the demolition of the charred and burned-out sections of the building. “Demo is almost done, and tomorrow, we’re starting on the rewiring and plastering.” He looked pleased with the progress.

“They weren’t kidding when they said things would start moving,” I murmured, picking my way around the drop sheets and tools the tradies had left when they had knocked off for the day.

“Another week and we should be all patched up, painted, and ready for the final install.”

It looked like The Fitzroy Cake Company would be ready to open in about a month’s time. It should’ve excited me, finally opening the doors to the public, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. I didn’t feel like anything in particular. It was all pretty meh.

Smiling halfheartedly, I thanked Ray and let him go home to his family for the night, then turned my attention to the stock room. The scene of the crime. The place where I’d first met Mark.

Trying not to think of it, I began pulling down boxes and containers from the shelving. Most of the cardboard boxes had smoke damage, but a great deal of the contents were salvageable. Some of the containers of sprinkles and decorations were melted from the heat, so they had to be thrown out, but it wasn’t quite as bad as I first thought.

Opening the back door, I was in throwing distance to the skip bin and delighted in the bang the boxes made as they landed among the rubble. Imagining it was Mark’s head, I threw another box. Bang.

“Callie.”

I froze, my hands shoved in a box of paper patty pans. My heart twisted at the sound of Mark’s voice. A little birdie sat on my shoulder and tweeted, ‘What took him so long?’

“Get out,” I snapped, not even looking up.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this…” he went on.

“You said you’d made mistakes, but I never thought your fist ‘mistaked’ right into a woman’s face,” I retorted. “No wonder you didn’t want to talk about yourself.” I snorted.

“I’m so tired of trying to defend myself,” he said. “Nobody wants to listen. They just want to point fingers and blame.”

“Then explain it to me,” I replied, turning to face him.

He stood just outside in the alley, practically shaking, his jaw tense…and didn’t say a fucking thing. It was a metaphoric slap in the face.

“Can’t explain the truth, huh?” I rolled my eyes.

“I knew this was going to happen,” he said, his eyes darkening. “No one else heard you calling for help. What was I supposed to do? Keep on walking? I didn’t give my name because I knew this bullshit would come out and it would hurt you, but you just wouldn’t let it go.”

“So it’s my fault now?” I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the air. “I want nothing to do with you. I don’t want to be like her.”

“You’re not listening.” He lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“I can hear you loud and clear,” I declared. “You saved my life, and now it’s your stepping-stone back into the UFC. You said it yourself, Mark. You walked over everyone and everything on your way to the top. You fell off the wagon, and now here’s your chance to jump back on with a bonus fuck on the side. At least you had the decency to use a condom.” I glared at him, my heart broken completely in two. “Now it’s your turn to listen. I won’t be anyone’s stepping-stone. I’ve worked too hard to let anyone trample on my dreams. Unlike you, I’ve got integrity. I do things the honest way. Shit, and bashing a woman? You’ve got some nerve coming here trying to guilt me into forgiving you. That’s how these things work. The cycle of violence doesn’t stop at a couple of backhands.”

He stared at me, his expression cold. There was no warmth in his eyes, no movement on his lips…there was nothing at all. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—more of a fight maybe—but his lack of emotion led me to believe everything I’d just said was true.

“Get the fuck out of my shop and my life, and never come back.” I turned and opened another box, pulling out the contents and stacking it into a plastic tub. “If you do come back, I’m calling the cops and getting a restraining order.”

There was no movement behind me for a moment, and then there was the sound of his retreating footsteps. I knew he was gone because the air had turned cold, and my skin was prickling with goose bumps.

My hands began to tremble, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my tears and got back to work.

I’d dodged a bullet, so why did I feel like the biggest piece of shit out there?

Squashing down the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me, I slammed the storeroom door closed and locked it.

14

STORM

I was in the mood to do something stupid. Real fucking stupid.

Leaning against the bar at The Underground, I considered getting plastered before my fight with Crowbar. That would be really idiotic. Practically suicidal.

I never hurt anyone. I wanted to scream it at Callie over and over until she heard me, but she was determined not to listen. She’d made her mind up, and that was that. She’d listened to the lie, and it was enough for her. I didn’t try to explain because it was pointless. I’d seen that look before.

Thinking of her body next to mine, my jaw tightened. We’d only spent a handful of days together, and I already knew she meant more. We could’ve been like Hamish and Lori one day. We could’ve been in love.

What the hell did I want with that? I snorted and began grinding my teeth. Who wants to fall in fucking love? All it ever brought anyone was a heap of trouble and hurt feelings. I wasn’t cut out for it, anyway. Whatever.

I didn’t need anyone.

“You’re a real dark horse, you know that?”

I glanced up at Faye and scowled. “Don’t let the stories fool you, Faye. I’m still a dick.”

“Get over it, Storm,” she retorted.

“Stop trying to make me into something I’m not, Faye.”

“You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head and walked off, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she went.

Now that word was out about the fire, The Underground was buzzing with a different kind of Storm flavored gossip. It should’ve made me happy, but all I could think about was Callie. Get the fuck out of my shop and my life, and never come back.

The hatred in her emerald eyes cut me right to the bone. The venom in her parting words had poisoned any hope I’d had left inside me. Never come back.

Glancing over my shoulder at The Underground, a woman smiled and battered her eyelashes in my direction. Looking her over, my immediate thought was she wasn’t Callie. Glancing to my right, another woman was leaning against the bar giving me her best ‘come fuck me’ eyes. Not Callie, either. None of these women were.

Cursing under my breath, I put my head down and carved a path through the warehouse before pushing out back. At least it was quieter, and there weren’t any random vaginas trying to find their way onto my cock.

Callie, Callie, Callie… Now it was her turn to haunt me. I didn’t understand it when she’d said the same thing in her social media post, but now? She was under my skin and was itching like hell.

The men’s change room was bustling, and when I walked in, all eyes turned to me. Instead of hatred, I saw respect. And I fucking hated them for it. I wasn’t a hero. I just did something that needed to be done. I saved a woman’s life only to break her heart.

I should’ve remained anonymous.

“Hey, Storm!”

Narrowing my eyes at the group of fighters huddled in the center of the room, I suppressed the annoyance rising in my gut. Just like a bunch of jocks in high school, they had never wanted to talk to me until I’d done something they deemed worthy. Saving Callie was my ticket back into the life I’d left behind, the life I’d wanted to pick up when I first got back from America. I would’ve done anything back then, but now it was empty. Shallow fucks.

They didn’t want to know me at all.

Curiosity drew me to them, and I was brought into the circle.

“That was some ballsy shit, man,” the fighter known as Sabre said next to me.

“I don’t know if it was crazy or heroic,” my onetime buddy, Boom, declared.

The compliments kept coming. Once upon a time, the old Storm would’ve lapped it up, but my hackles were rising, my exterior was bristly as fuck, and all I could do was sneer.

“Whatever,” I drawled, shaking off the pats on the back. “I’ve got a fight.”

Turning, I walked away, grabbing my hand wraps and slamming my locker closed. Ignoring the murmurs and the pointed looks, I strode from the change room and out into The Underground, weaving the webbing around my knuckles as I went.

When I was announced, instead of the chorus of boos, there were actually cheers. Fame and favor were a fickle beast if ever there were one. In one minute and out the next.

I toed the line opposite Crowbar, and he actually looked worried like the extra juice from the crowd was going to give me the upper hand. Boy, was he wrong. My emotions were all over the place, my heart was broken, my soul destroyed, and it wouldn’t take much for him to knock my block off. I was in the mood to do something stupid, after all.

Needless to say, the fight was terrible. For me, not Crowbar. He absolutely smashed his way through the first few minutes of the bout. After a particular lax grapple on my behalf, he threw me down and slammed his heel on my left arm. That was the moment I was done. Probably for good.

I knew my forearm was broken even before the pain burned up my limb and the signal lodged in my brain. When it did, the cage began to spin. Cradling my arm against my chest, I rolled onto my side and screwed my face up.

I was vaguely aware of the fight being called in Crowbar’s favor, then people cheering and catcalling before the cage door opened. Faces milled about, and one leaned over me and began prodding at my arm. That was the wrong thing to do. Pain seared even hotter, and I cursed loudly. I could already feel my forearm swelling.

Someone helped me to my feet, and in a rage, I shook them off and strode from the cage. Swaying on my feet, I pushed through the crowd and found my way out back and not a moment too soon. I slumped against the wall, the pain really starting to get to me.

Grimacing, I sucked in breath after breath through my nose while my skin turned clammy. Dammit! A punch to the face and a kick in the nuts I could handle but a broken arm? Shit.

“Hey,” a voice said behind me. “Are you okay?”

“Leave off,” I snapped.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I groaned when I saw Hamish standing behind me. He looked concerned, and it did nothing to calm the rage that was about to boil over. Maybe I could upchuck all over his boots. He would get the message then.

“Mate, your arm is probably broken. You need—”

“Get off me,” I said, shaking out of his grasp. Grimacing as the snapped bone in my arm grated together, I almost threw up.

“No,” Hamish said. “No one else is linin’ up to take you to the ER, even after your heroic story came out in the paper.”

“I can call a taxi,” I said stubbornly. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Turning, I stumbled and fell against the wall, jarring my shoulder.

“C’mon,” the Irishman said. “Let’s get you outta here.”

The last place I expected to find myself was in the ER at the local hospital being treated by a redheaded doctor whilst sitting beside a redheaded fighter. Gingers were everywhere, taunting me.

“You’re such a dick for no reason,” Hamish said.

“Shut up,” I retorted, the cast feeling heavy as hell on my forearm. “There are better things to do than to keep notes on how many times I’ve called you Ginger.”

“See what I mean?” He raised an eyebrow. “At some point, the self-punishment has to stop.”

I ignored him as the nurse came back, checked the cast, and attempted to put me in a sling, which I promptly shook off.

“Lori told me,” Hamish added. “About everythin’.”

“Great.” I assumed she’d told him the real behind-the-scenes story from my spectacular run in the UFC. Duped and taken for all I was worth. It was humiliating.

“You don’t want people to know the truth?” he fired back. “It’s your funeral, but things don’t have to be this way, Storm.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Signing some form the nurse handed to me, I grabbed my leather jacket and stalked out of the ER. Outside, the air was cool, so I tried to pull it on, but the cast got stuck. “Fuck!”

“Storm! Bloody hell.” He’d followed me again.

“Go the fuck away, Hamish,” I said. “I don’t even know why you’re still here. Don’t you hate my guts? I know I’m high right now, but I’m beginning to think you’re off your nut.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’m tryin’ to help you.”

There wasn’t any point to any of it. I didn’t need help because I was past the point of no return. This was the end of the line for Mark Ryder, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I’d lost the only person who mattered me—I’d lost Callie—before I’d had a chance to really open up to her. I’d hurt her even when I was trying not to. Not even two weeks had passed, and I was already eyeballs deep into fucked-up-ville.

I didn’t bother replying to Hamish’s jibe, and it pissed him off even more.

“There’s the taxi rank.” He pointed to the line of yellow cabs half a block down from the hospital entrance. “Take yourself home, Ryder. Your wish is my command.” He spread his arms wide and backed away before turning completely, leaving me alone on the steps. Just how I wanted it.

Cradling my arm against my chest, I slid my right arm into my jacket and slung the other side over my shoulder. The bone was fractured, not snapped, and lucky for me, I would live to fight another day. Great for my bank account, not so much for my psyche.

Jumping into the first available taxi, I gave the guy my home address and leaned back in the seat. Shit, my arm ached.

Just like my stupid heart.

15

CALLIE

Opening the oven, a waft of hot air blew into my face, carrying the scent of warm chocolate with it.

It had been weeks since I’d had the chance to make something extravagant, and what better time than now? A heartbreak cake seemed just the thing to help mend the tear in my chest, so that was what I was doing.

The oven in the little kitchen our rented cottage in Northcote wasn’t that great, but I’d worked out its quirks long ago. Like when the dial said two hundred and twenty degrees Celsius, it really meant one-eighty, and the timer ran slow. An hour on that thing equated to an hour and eleven minutes. I’d checked. But stick a simple chocolate sponge into its belly and it came out fluffy and cooked through every time.

He’d hit a woman! I couldn’t believe it. Grabbing my oven mitts, I took the hot pan out of the oven and dumped the steaming cake onto the rack on the kitchen table. Strangulation marks was a serious red flag. Then to claim it was a twisted sex game? Bloody hell.

Leaning against the table, I stared at the chaos—a reflection of what was tumbling inside me—and forced back tears. He’d been evasive yet charming, and he was handsome and really good in bed. I knew he had things he didn’t want to talk about, but I couldn’t get over it. He’d admitted he’d stepped over people on his way to the top, so was the story of the fire coming out now because he saw an opportunity? The evidence was stacked against him.

I did the right thing the other night by kicking him out. Right?

I swallowed, my throat feeling thick, and picked up the block of marzipan I’d been shaping. Glancing at the drawing I’d made on a scrap of paper, I shifted my focus back to the cake I was making. The heartbreak cake.

I needed a new mountain to climb, and this was it. If I could pull off this design, then it would be the centerpiece for my opening weekend. This cake wasn’t for eating—it was for gawking at. Visions of displaying it in the window of The Fitzroy Cake Company came to mind, and I smiled. How good would it be to have someone film me smashing it apart with a baseball bat? Epic.

I hadn’t realized it had grown so late until I heard the front door open and the familiar sound of Macy’s heels clacking down the hallway. I’d been eyeballs deep in batter and whipped chocolate all day, only surfacing to go to the toilet. Too much information right there.

When she came into the kitchen, wearing her usual work getup—a cute blouse, blazer, and skirt—her mouth fell open when she saw the cake mountain on our kitchen table.

“Holy shit,” she said. “It looks like someone detonated a bag of flour in here.”

“I’ll clean it up,” I replied, glancing at the recipe for spun sugar. I knew it by heart, but everything felt blank tonight. I needed the road map to keep me on the straight and narrow. No use crying over burned sugar.

“What cake is this going to be?” She peered at the bottles of food coloring and then the base of the cake I was building up. “It looks like a farmyard.”

“I’m making a Twister cake,” I declared.

“What does that mean?” Macy was frowning at me.

“You know the movie? With the tornadoes and the flying cows and the destruction?” I pointed to my marzipan test subjects. “I’ve even made some cows.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I’m thinking of making the twister out of spun sugar, but I’ll need a lot. Either that or I’ll have to make a base all the way to the top, then…” I shrugged. It was a work in progress, and I was a fan of trial and error.

“Fairy floss?” Macy suggested.

“Genius!” It was dense enough to cover the insides, and I could use little bamboo skewers to pin the flying debris up and down the twister. Best.

Dropping everything, I threw open the cupboard doors searching for the fairy floss maker I got for Christmas one year. It was a cheap little thing, but it could crank out the floss like nothing else and was better than trying to do it in a saucepan.

“Are you okay?” Macy asked, watching me closely.

“I’m fine.”

“The last time I saw the kitchen like this—”

“I’m fine,” I said, hauling the appliance out of the cupboard over the fridge.

“That story in the papers…” she went on, looking sheepish.

“I can’t think about that.” I dumped the fairy floss maker on the last empty spot on the table. “The shop is weeks away from opening, I’ve got this cake, I need to keep my staff informed and busy, and there’s just too much to do.”

“You always do this,” she complained.

“Do what?” Now, what ingredients did I need? Sugar, corn syrup, water, and a little pinch of salt.

“Throw yourself into your baking when you don’t want to face something.”

I placed my palms down on the table and closed my eyes. Saying a little prayer, I glanced at my housemate. “I did face it. I faced it the other night.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned and sank down into a chair.

“Mark came by the shop when I was cleaning out the damaged stock.”

Her mouth fell open. “And?”

“And I gave him a chance to explain, and he didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes, totally over the whole thing. “He just stood there. Completely silent. Saying nothing.”

Macy worried her bottom lip, and her fingers began pulling the hem of her blouse. When she got that look, I knew something was up. The last time I’d seen it was when she accidentally threw out the tiny container of gold foil I’d bought for a client’s wedding cake. It was actual gold, too. The edible kind. She felt awful for weeks.

“Macy…” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“I said I thought I knew him from someplace,” she blurted. “It came to me later, so we Googled it, and I mentioned it to Kevin…”

“You squealed to Merritt?” I exclaimed. “He’s a fucking journalist, Macy! Did you even stop to think I mightn’t want my name splashed all over the papers? Especially after finding out the man I’ve fallen for was convicted of assault against a woman. Fuck!” With a frustrated cry, I grabbed a knife and brought it down on one of my marzipan cows, severing it in half.

“You fell for him? Seriously?”

“Dodged a bullet,” I muttered.

“Callie… I didn’t realize…”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I replied. “I could’ve found out later in a worse way.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“Do you think it’s true?” she asked, looking agonized. “Do you think he really did those things?”

“How are you doubting it when you’ve never met the guy?” I retorted. “I met him all night long, you know.”

“Did he give you any indication that… You know.”

“That he might be a violent asshole? Not at first.”

Macy tilted her head to the side.

“He showed up to our last date with a split eyebrow and a black eye,” I explained, sitting across from her at the table. “He told me he’s a fighter.”

“Yeah, he was in the UFC. Ultimate Fighting. It’s a rough sport.”

“He was banned,” I replied. “He said he’s involved in illegal cage fights now. He warned me…” I shook my head. He’d wanted to remain anonymous for a reason. Was that just a story he’d told me, or was it the truth? Did he want to get back into the UFC, or did he really not want people to know about his past?

Nobody wants to listen. They just want to point fingers and blame. His words echoed in my mind with startling clarity. Something about his story bothered me. His inability to stand up for himself, his evasiveness, his blatant disregard for his own safety… Something wasn’t adding up, but it didn’t erase the fact that he’d purposely lied to me. Call me old-fashioned, but sleeping with someone actually meant something more to me than a good time.

Standing, I tapped my fingers lightly on top of the chocolate cake I’d taken out of the oven earlier. It had cooled enough for me to tip it out of the pan.

“Maybe you’re right,” Macy said. “Are you mad at me?”

Sighing, I tipped the pan upside down, and the sponge slid right out. Perfect.

“Maybe you should’ve told me first before running your mouth off to Merritt,” I said. “But I can’t stay mad at you. You know I can’t.”

“I’m really sorry. You seemed really into him.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, grabbing a knife and slicing the chocolate sponge. “I really was.”

That night, after I’d finally dragged myself to bed and my cake was complete, I started dreaming of fire again.

This time, Mark didn’t come, and I lay on the storeroom floor as flames licked at my body, searing and melting me alive.

Jerking awake with a cry, I began to sob, my hands batting at imaginary flames. My blankets were tangled, and sweat covered my body, sticking my nightie to my skin.

The light flicked on, and Macy appeared in the bedroom door. “Callie? Are you all right?” When she saw me in hysterics, she ran over, flopped onto the bed, and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping at my tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t be,” she replied, drawing back. “Did you have a dream?”

“I was on fire… I was…” I hiccuped and rubbed my palms over my arms. “He left me…”

She sighed, lost for words, and hugged me again.

“If it’s so wrong, why do I feel like shit?” I blurted, realizing I hadn’t cried once over Mark’s betrayal. I’d forced it down ever since I found out, and even more since he’d come by the shop, and still, I hadn’t let go.

“Because you cared about him,” Macy replied. “He saved your life, Callie. That’s gotta leave some kind of mark.”

“I wanted him to be the one so badly…” I muttered. “I’m tired of being alone, Mace. I’m so tired…”

“It’ll happen one day.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I argued. “What if this is as good as it gets?”

“Then it’s pretty good,” she retorted. “You’ve got your shop, your friends, and you’ve got your success. Not everyone gets to do what they love for a living. You’re lucky.”

I nodded, my heart still feeling heavy. I knew I should be happy. All of those things were great, and life had dealt me a good hand, but something was missing. I didn’t feel complete. The maw inside me yawned, and I began to ache.

I wanted Mark to be the one so badly… I had terrible taste in saviors, not to mention men in general. Just my luck.

“Will you be okay? Or do you want me to stay a little longer?” Macy asked.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’ll be okay.”

“Well, okay. Wake me if you need me.” She gave me one last hug and left, turning off the light as she went.

When I was alone again, I buried back underneath the covers and curled up into the fetal position. It had felt so real. The dream and the other bit… The heart thing. What a mess.

I fell back into a fitful sleep, unable to shake the awful tingling down my spine.

16

STORM

After a week of staring at the walls in my apartment and showering with my arm wrapped in a plastic bag, I’d had just about enough.

Callie was everywhere I turned. She was the woman in the line in front of me at the supermarket. She was the woman I passed on the street. She was the woman inside a shop I passed. She was the woman at the gym. She was the woman in my dreams.

Fucking hell.

I’d messed up, and this time, despite trying my hardest, I cared. I actually cared, and to make matters worse, I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t fight, I was limited to what I could do at the gym, I couldn’t ride my motorcycle, I couldn’t do anything. I’d even taken to avoiding Callie’s shop after I’d walked past the other day and saw a notice pinned to the window. The opening was in three weeks.

I was on my last legs. Grabbing my keys and jacket, I slammed the front door closed and strode out into the crisp autumn air. The sun was shining, but heavy gray clouds loomed in the distance. Throwing my coat on, I draped it over my left shoulder. I was still unable to wear it properly because of my cast and cursed every time it slid off.

Walking down Brunswick Street, I weaved through slow walkers and powered toward the city. When I reached Victoria Parade, instead of heading toward the CBD, I turned left. I walked and walked, not knowing where I was going, but my feet seemed to know the destination.

What was I supposed to do now? Losing Callie had hurt more than I knew it would, and everything after her seemed pointless. I couldn’t fight for at least another five weeks, I had no job prospects, no friends, no nothing. Where could I go? There was nobody who would listen to a washed-up arrogant son of a bitch like me. No one.

It took me the best part of an hour to walk from Fitzroy to Abbotsford. That was when I realized where my subconscious had led me. Pulse Fitness. My ex, Lori, worked there. I wasn’t sure if it was suffering from some kind of insane desperation or I was looking to prod at an open wound, but the death wish in me was strong today.

Pulse Fitness was like a mecca for fighters, but it was a heaven I was barred from. I wasn’t welcome here, and I knew it. I felt like I was knocking on the Pearly Gates, knowing the bouncers would come out at any moment and haul me back to the bowels of Hell where I belonged. Still, I was a moron in all senses of the word, so I stepped into the foyer.

I couldn’t go any further without a security tag, so I lingered like a desperate hanger-on. Staring through the window into the gym, I saw some familiar faces and curled my lip. Hamish fucking McBride was everywhere. He was going hard with some weights while in the background, I could see some fighters from the AUFC.

It was just another place I didn’t belong, and standing here made it even clearer. Mark Ryder, always on the outside looking in like a worthless piece of shit. They always told stories about your downfall but never about the bit that came after. The nothing.

I shouldn’t have come here.

Turning, I stumbled slightly as I came face-to-face with Lori Walker. The stunning, blue haired, tattooed knockout I was foolish enough to cheat on. And foolish enough to come and see.

She looked really good. Her hair was still her trademark shade of cobalt, and I wondered if all her towels were still stained. It looked cool, but the dye used to rub off on everything, not to mention the bottom of the shower. Her arms seemed more colorful than I remembered. Had she gotten more tattoos to add to her collection?

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, staring me right in the eye.

She was pissed and had every right to be. In a moment of desperation, I’d broken my promise, and my hole just got deeper and deeper.

When I didn’t reply, she rolled her eyes. “If you’re here for money, I don’t have any. And if you’re here for sex, you can forget about your balls because I’ve got a dozen fighters in there that’ll rip them off before you even get close.”

“No, it’s not like that…” I scowled and shook my head. Forever making mistakes. Turning, I muttered, “Forget about it.”

“Wait, Storm…”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said, reaching for the door.

“Storm.”

I glanced at Lori over my shoulder. I was such a bastard even when I was trying to do the right thing. I had nobody, and whose fault was that? Mine.

“What’s wrong?” Her gaze fell on my arm and back up again.

I did what I did best and remained silent. That way, my mouth wouldn’t get me into trouble.

“You broke your arm,” she stated as I turned to face her.

“Hamish took me to the hospital,” I said. When her eyes narrowed, I snorted. “He didn’t tell you.”

“No.”

“I’m not surprised,” I drawled, falling back on old habits. “Ginger always knows how to play his cards.”

“Stop it,” Lori said, snarling. “Just stop it, Storm.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop covering up your pain like that.” She shook her head. “It’s not helping anyone.”

“So?”

“So?” she scoffed. “That’s a flat-out lie, and you know it. You wouldn’t have come here if… Why did you come here?”

I shrugged. I was beginning to wonder myself.

“Does it have something to do with that fire?” She watched my reaction closely, and when I scowled, she added, “It must be hard having all that shit dragged up again. I’m sorry.”

“What? You’re not going to accuse me of staging it?” I cradled my arm against my stomach. “I could have used it to get back into the UFC’s good graces or at least tried for the AUFC.”

“The two most important words in that tirade was could have.”

Lori sighed, pushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear. Just like Callie did. At the thought of her, my pain seemed to intensify. My arm throbbed, and I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. I stared at Lori as the foyer seemed to shrink, and the noise from the gym dulled.

“This is about something more, isn’t it?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

I didn’t say anything.

“You know, it’s infuriating when you do that.”

“So I’m told,” I drawled.

“What’s happened to you?” she murmured. “When you came to see me that day… When you told me the truth…” She sighed and glanced away. “I thought you would be okay, but it seems like the opposite happened.”

“I suppose it did.”

“That woman in America…” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, it does,” she exclaimed. “The woman you saved from the fire…”

“Don’t,” I snapped.

“You care about her, don’t you?”

“I said don’t.” My hackles rose, and I felt like storming out of there and never coming back, but I was stuck to the spot. Maybe deep down, I wanted her help, and that was why I came here in the first place. Or maybe I wanted to see what her life was like after dumping me because that would be Callie…getting on with shit without me. Her life was better without me in it.

“You know, I can read you like an open book,” Lori stated. “She found out before you could tell her, and you didn’t stick up for yourself. You’re still punishing yourself for no good reason. You’ve isolated yourself, and for what? Yeah, you hurt me, but you made amends. I forgave you. And that other thing… It wasn’t your fault.” She took a step closer and inspected the cast on my arm. “You made mistakes, Storm. You’re human. The difference now? You know you did, and you made up for it, but pushing everyone away, being hostile and believing you’re the bad guy? You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” I said, my throat tight.

“Fuck, you’re such a dumbass,” she cursed. “You deserve to be happy, Storm. If you care about her, go tell her the truth. Fight.”

I stared at her, not believing the shit that was coming out of her mouth. After the awful things I’d done to her, here she was telling me I deserved to be loved? She was on crack.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

“Storm!”

She called out after me, but I didn’t want to hear any more bullshit. I was done. I had to forget about Lori Walker, Callie Winslow, and whoever else wanted on the list. I had to forget and move on. Maybe I should move to another city, but what would I do for money, then? Oh, yeah, with my newfound hero title, finding work would be a breeze. What would Callie say about me, then? I won’t be anyone’s stepping-stone.

I stormed outside and kept walking. Lori didn’t follow.

I deserved to be loved? Fat fucking chance.

17

CALLIE

The heartbreak Twister cake went viral. Not in a salmonella poisoning way, but an Internet sensation way.

It was ironic in a way. The story of Mark and the fire had exploded after that first article, and as a result, interest in my cakes and the shop opening was a hot topic. I’d accused him of using my near-death experience as a stepping-stone, and here I was profiting off it as well.

There was nothing I could do to stop it, no matter how hard I tried to fend off messages and comments about the asshole Mark Ryder and his shady past. Once the train had left the station, someone had severed the breaks. I’d complained for years about my mediocre, lonely life, and now that something was happening, I wanted to get off. Stat. This was not how I wanted to be discovered.

So, when I got a message from Justin the firefighter asking me out for a drink, I immediately replied with a yes. Justin…well, he was normal. I needed normal. Normal was the antidote to drama, right?

We met at a bar on Brunswick Street the following Thursday. It was exactly a month after the fire and two weeks after the article about Mark broke. Which meant, it was two whole weeks since I’d seen the fighter. Our whirlwind romance had blown the roofs off the neighborhood, and now the cleanup was in progress. It was a strange notion when destruction only took seconds while the aftermath could take years to deal with. What a pain in the ass.

Justin arrived before me. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, watching the door anxiously, and when I arrived, he stood and smiled from ear to ear.

“You look beautiful,” he said, raking his gaze over me.

“Thanks.” I flushed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I was doing the awkward thing. Mark had said I did it when I was into someone, but I was beginning to believe it was a symptom of being the center of attention.

“What are you drinking?” Justin asked.

“Gin and tonic.”

I stood beside him, giving him the once-over as he placed an order with the bartender. Justin scrubbed up nice out of uniform. He was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans with his boots tucked underneath. His black shirt was buttoned up to the collar, and the arms were rolled down all the way. His hair was artfully messy. The kind of rough and ready look that probably took a good fifteen minutes to arrange each strand just so. And he was clean-shaven. Everything about him was the opposite of Mark.

Paying for our drinks, he picked them up as we scoured the little bar for a spot to sit. Finding a table among the crowd, we sat opposite one another. I perched awkwardly in the corner, nursing my bag on my lap.

“How’s the shop coming along?” Justin asked, attempting to get the conversation started.

“Good. They should be ready to start the fit out soon.”

“So back on track?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s almost back to the point I was at before the fire. I just need my oven and a fridge or two installed, and I can start using the kitchen again.”

“That’s great,” he said with a smile. “I often pass by and see tradies working in there. How are you after the fire? Have you been feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I was fine after a little oxygen. No sweat.” Apart from a few nightmares. I didn’t add that last part on account of not knowing the guy. Best way to put a dampener on a first date was to talk about the dreams where you were being burned alive. That would go down a treat.

“You ended up finding the guy?” Justin asked, bringing up the inevitable.

“Yeah. Before it was in the papers,” I replied with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly know.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Justin said with a reassuring smile. “No one did. He hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”

“No.” I eyed him warily, sensing he wanted to go in to bat for me. It was a little too much, too soon. Calm down, I thought to myself.

I swirled the straw around in my drink, the ice cubes clinking against each other, then I stabbed the slice of lime repeatedly.

“That cake you posted online is amazing, by the way,” Justin said, attempting to change the subject.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you come up with your ideas, but it looks complicated.”

“It’s not really,” I said. “It’s just chocolate sponge with a boysenberry jam filling. Then fairy floss and lots of icing and lollies.”

“You lost me at sponge.” He flashed me a dazzling smile.

“So how long have you been a firefighter for?”

“Five years,” he said, his face lighting up. “It’s a really difficult selection process. There’s a written exam, a fitness test, medical, psychological evaluations…”

He began to rattle off his life history in the Melbourne Fire Brigade, and I stared blankly at him, nodding and smiling at the right intervals. He was nice even though he was a one-dimensional guy, so why did I feel so disappointed? The moment I left, I had the odd feeling running up and down my spine that I would burst into tears.

Deep down, I knew nothing would come of Justin and me. Nothing at all. When I looked at him, I didn’t feel the spark I’d felt when I looked at Mark. When he spoke, my thoughts drifted away, and when he asked me a question, it was an effort to answer. I was such a bitch.

Glancing at my phone, I saw it was ten p.m.

“I’ve got to get going,” I said, showing Justin the screen. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Shoot,” he said. “Me, too. I lost track there.” He smiled again and pushed his chair back. Holding out his hand, he helped me to my feet like a gentleman. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“Uh… I’m not far. I have to make a stop on the way, anyway,” I replied, deftly dodging his attempts at getting me alone. He would try to kiss me, and I would have to let him down. I just couldn’t do it.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’ll see you then?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

“Sure,” I replied as we walked through the bar and out onto the street. Damn, he even held the door open for me. Why couldn’t my bits zing for him? He was hot, sweet, and all the things a girl could ever want in a guy. What was the problem?

We hugged goodbye and parted ways, and the date was over.

Walking down Brunswick Street, my shoulders sagged. There had to be something wrong with me.

Standing outside my shop, I smiled when I saw the signs had been put up in the windows. The glass was still blocked out with newspaper, but the gold decals were in place. The Fitzroy Cake Company was that much closer to becoming a reality, and for the first time since the fire, my heart began to race with excitement.

Grabbing my keys from the bottom of my bag, I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Darting behind the counter, I flicked on the light switches and took a deep breath. It was exactly as I’d envisioned it. Better, actually.

All that was missing was the shop fixtures. The counters, the shelving, display cabinets, tables, and chairs. And out in the kitchen, the ovens, fridges, and appliances were yet to be delivered. Then once the doors opened, it was time to start paying back my business loan.

I was on the downward slope of the speed bump. The one and only decline I was grateful to ride. This was the tipping point. The last month was an ugly pimple between my eyes, and now it had popped. This was it. Finally.

Turning, I envisioned the place where I would put the Twister-themed cake. Maybe I could do a special display every month and make a feature out of it. Spinning around, I could see the display cases lit up and stuffed full of colorful cupcakes and macaroons. Mix and match, pick and mix, twenty different flavors. Christmas-themed cinnamon spice, pumpkins at Halloween, mangos in summer, sparkles at New Year’s, rainbows for Gay Pride.

Turning, my elation popped and fizzed, then died completely as I came face-to-face with Mark ‘Storm’ Ryder. He stood inside my shop, his jacket half hanging off, his left arm in a cast, looking like a lost puppy that had been fossicking through a dumpster.

I opened my mouth, but he beat me to it.

“Before you get that restraining order, you need to know one thing.” He stared at me, his brow furrowed. “It was a lie.”

“What?” My gaze fell to the cast and back up again. I didn’t understand.

“What happened with that woman in America. It was a fabrication. I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” I asked. “Am I just supposed to take your word for it?”

“What would you like me to say?” he asked. “I wasn’t the first person she conned. It was her word against mine, and the evidence was stacked against me. A few photographs, a few tears, and all of a sudden, she was a hundred thousand dollars richer, and I was broke. She didn’t care what happened to me. I was destroyed. My reputation, my career, everything. I can’t even get a minimum wage factory job.”

It was my turn to stare at him. It was the most I’d ever heard Mark speak in back-to-back sentences, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Those sad eyes that had haunted me the night of the fire were back and in full force. Was this his version of broken? Was this his truth? I didn’t know.

“Callie, I would never hurt you,” he went on. “I’m fucked up, but I would never hurt you like that.”

I wished there was a chair for me to sit on because my knees were wobbly like jelly.

“I want to believe you,” I whispered. “But… I went out with Justin tonight.”

His expression fell.

“If the story was a lie, then why did you let me believe it?” I asked. “Why didn’t you say anything when…”

“Because…” He took a deep breath. “Because…”

“Because?” I prodded.

“I didn’t do it, but maybe I deserved the punishment.”

“What are you talking about?” I scowled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I was a jerk. I still am.”

I shook my head, not even knowing what to say to that. “I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you, Mark.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else, so I stay away.”

I snorted. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You say you’re pushing people away to protect them, but who’ll protect you? Huh? You can care about other people but won’t let anyone care about you?”

“You sound like Lori,” he muttered.

My scowl deepened. I didn’t know who that was.

“It doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me,” I said. “Not outright but by omission. Now you’re asking me to take it on faith you’re innocent, and you’re admitting to hurting people to save them. From what? Being associated with that domestic violence story?” I shook my head. “This is fucking crazy, you know that?”

He lowered his gaze. “I know.”

“So what changed?” I asked. “Why did you come back?”

“I’d given up,” he muttered. “I’ve got nothing, but when I was with you…”

He trailed off, and I waited, my heart jackhammering in my chest. This was the zing I was hoping for all night. The snap, crackle, and pop of electricity that signaled I was attracted to someone. Like a sordid joke, it was a complicated, brooding, messed-up man like Mark. How could I survive this?

“Callie…” he whispered, taking a step closer. “You’ve gotta believe me.”

His chocolate eyes were sparkling. Were they tears? For real?

Before I could reconcile my thoughts, Mark strode forward and pulled me against his chest. When his lips met mine, I wanted to push him away, but I melted. He was the fire, and I was molten metal. His desire bent me to his will, and I was a goner. The trouble was, I wanted him.

His tongue ran along the seam of my lips, demanding entrance, but it was I who forced my way forward. I buried my hands into his scruffy hair and held him close, kissing him back just as deeply. My body reacted to his, my nipples tightening and my clit aching as his taste overwhelmed me. This was what I was hoping for all night. Justin wasn’t Mark. That was the problem.

His left arm was tight around my waist, the cast feeling strange against my lower back, and his right hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place as his lips caressed mine. What should I do now? Believe his story and give him a chance?

“How could this be wrong?” he asked, his mouth brushing against my swollen lips. “How could it be when it feels like this?”

“Like what?” I whispered.

His eyes were hooded, his jaw tight.

“Like what?” I asked again.

“Like nothing else matters.”

We stood in the middle of my shop, tangled in each other, for a long time. I studied the flecks of black in his chestnut-colored eyes, memorized the line of his jaw, traced the curve of his cheek, and took in the last yellow tinges of the black eye he’d shown up with on our second date.

He was deeply complicated and a puzzle I might never solve, but I found myself wanting to give him a chance. One final chance.

Finally, I sighed, cupped his face in my trembling hands, and spoke the words in my heart.

“I believe you.”

18

STORM

“Come home with me,” I said, holding Callie close.

She was trembling, her eyes downcast. The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, her shop looking a lot better than the last time I’d seen it.

“I want… There are some things I need to explain about myself and…” I hated how I was lost for words, but I suppose it was meant to be this way. Fighting was tough, and even in the cage, an easy win wasn’t as satisfying as a hard-won battle.

“Mark…” She was hesitating even after she’d said she believed me.

“I just…” I swallowed hard. “The only thing that matters to me is you. Your opinion. Your feelings. I didn’t expect to leap into that fire, and least of all to find you. You could have been anyone, but you’re Callie.” I brushed my fingers through her hair and breathed in her sweet scent. “You’re Callie.”

Her entire body shuddered, and her grasp tightened. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

My heart twisted. “Then don’t.”

Her fingers uncurled from around my shirt and found mine. Grasping my good hand, she nodded toward the door. She didn’t have to ask me twice.

Outside, we walked through the streets side by side, barely touching. Something had changed between us, something I didn’t understand, and there was no telling if it was good or bad. She was willing to listen, and that was the first step. She would listen and then decide if she would leave me or stick around.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked as we turned into my street.

“It got stood on.”

“Stood on? During a fight?” She seemed outraged, but I knew the cost of fighting at The Underground. If this was the worst it dished out, then I got off lightly.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s fucked up, you know.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I retorted.

“I’m not even going to ask why.” She turned her face away but didn’t stop walking.

Callie was not impressed by my chosen profession, but I didn’t really have a choice unless she wanted to give me a job handing out cupcakes at her shop. Imagine that. A cage fighter wearing an apron.

Approaching the entrance to the block of apartments, I let us into the communal area and led her upstairs. I was number five, right at the end, and for the first time since moving in, the trek down the hall felt like a million miles.

Finally, we reached the door, and I unlocked it. Inside, I flicked on the light and held the door for her, closing it once she’d stepped across the threshold. Noticing her shiver, I turned on the central heating.

“This is yours?” she asked, looking around.

“This is mine.”

The loft-style apartment was unique for Melbourne, the brick feature walls and industrial-style windows were a feature of the original building. It was a renovated warehouse some developer had converted into five separate two bed, two bath, open-plan living, and small outdoor terrace apartments. Below us were lock-up garages and a two-minute walk to Brunswick Street.

“When I got back to Melbourne, I was crashing on couches,” I said, watching her wander through the place, her fingers brushing over the furniture I’d gotten some stylist to choose for me. “I was skint…and broken.”

“Then how…” She stopped by the leather couch, her hands gripping the back.

“Cage fighting.”

She glanced at me. “You earn that kind of money there?”

I nodded.

She snorted and shook her head. “And here I am doing it the hard way.”

“The honest way,” I said firmly. “If I could, I would be doing the same thing, but I’m stuck.”

“Right…” She didn’t say it, but it was written all over her face. No one wanted to hire a guy accused of bashing a woman regardless of guilt.

“Can I get you a drink?” I asked lamely.

“No. I think you had better start explaining.” She rounded the back of the couch and sat gingerly on one end. “I can’t… I’m not sure how this is going to go. I can’t promise you…”

“I know,” I murmured. “I get it, Callie. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want, but…I want this. I want you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she patted the couch beside her. “Then tell me all about it. Tell me why I should believe you and not them.”

Her words cut, and I almost fell back into old habits. It was easier to walk away and marinate in my own misery than to stand up and fight. Not with my fists but with my words. My heart had been closed for business for a long time, and I wasn’t quite sure how to use it anymore. I wanted to…it was just… It was rusty as fuck.

Sitting beside her, I tossed my phone and keys onto the coffee table. Shucking off my jacket, I lay it over the arm of the couch and nursed my broken arm in my lap.

“I started out fighting at The Underground,” I began.

“What’s that?”

“It’s where I fight now. It’s this warehouse in Abbotsford. The whole thing is illegal, from the bar, the betting, the fighting, and a great deal of other shit that no one talks about. A fighter can make good money there. Hundreds of thousands, even millions.”

Callie’s eyes widened. “But it’s criminal?”

“No rules. No accountability,” I replied with a nod. “I had a talent for fighting, and when an opportunity came up to train for an opening in the UFC in America, I took it. Money was great, but I wanted fame. I wanted to be in the big leagues so bad I did everything in my power to get there. Anything.”

“Anything?” She swallowed hard.

“I double-crossed, I cheated people out of money at The Underground, I bragged, I…” I ran my good hand over my face. “Lori was my ex. I cheated on her.”

Callie visibly stiffened.

“I’m not proud of it,” I went on. “I regret treating her the way I did, but she’s happy now. She moved on with this guy Hamish. He fights at The Underground, too.” I lifted my left arm. “I used to think he hated my guts. Well, he did, but he took me to the hospital.” I shrugged.

“It sounds like… People don’t like you very much.”

“They don’t. I didn’t give anyone a reason to think otherwise. I thought it would be easier if everyone went on hating me. If no one got close, then I couldn’t drag them down with me. I never thought it was possible to be dragged up.”

“Tell me about the woman,” she said.

“I was naive,” I said, gritting my teeth. “When I first got to the States, I smashed my qualifier and was set to be the next big thing. People were all over me, offering me endorsements, money, cars, inviting me to parties, offering me drugs… Women wanted me, guys wanted to be mates… I realized too late it was all empty. They wanted to get in on the ground floor. You know what I mean? Ride me all the way to the top, sucking me dry like a pack of leeches. That woman, that ring girl…she was the biggest leech of all.” I glanced away, the memory of the cops knocking at my door clear as day. “We went out for a couple of weeks…” I glanced at Callie. “Do you really want to hear all this?”

Her eyelashes fluttered like she was fighting back tears. “Yeah,” she said. “I need to hear it.”

Sighing, I continued. “Every time we met up, she would have a new bruise. I didn’t think anything of it because she trained as well, you know? They have to keep their bodies in top shape, and at the time, she was learning MMA. Bruises happen. They’re part of the job. She also… She also liked being rough…in bed. She never once said no or stop. It was always yes. Always.” I shook my head, the humiliation of my downfall washing over me. It was as raw as it was the first time around. “I wasn’t the nicest guy, but I never hurt her. The first I heard of the allegations was when the cops knocked on my door and arrested me.”

“You choked her,” Callie whispered.

“She asked me to.” I shoved down the urge to shout it at her. “She asked me to, so I did. It was her word against mine. The evidence was against me, so it was either serve time in an American prison or settle out of court. So I settled and came home.”

Callie didn’t say anything. She just stared at her hands as her fingers worried the hem of her shirt.

“I lost everything because of that woman. My reputation, my money, my career, my relationships. It was all gone. The only place I had left was The Underground. I fought there under an alias, but my downfall soon caught up with me. Soon, the entire world hated me for something I didn’t do. It was still my word against hers. Nothing will ever change.”

I stood abruptly and strode over to the window. Staring at the street below, I tried not to dwell on the awful thought going through my mind. Maybe I should just end it. But that would be too easy.

“So why do you push everyone away?” Her voice was quiet. Tentative.

“Because I’m tainted,” I replied, not turning around. “Everyone who touches me gets hurt. Either by my hand or by association. This is my karma.”

I wasn’t smart enough to think of a word to describe the sadness in my heart, but it ached worse than my broken arm. It was…darkness.

“I’m a self-destructive piece of shit,” I muttered, knowing she could hear every word. “I can’t promise you easy.”

Leather creaked, and a moment later, Callie appeared beside me. Her arm slid through mine, and her emerald eyes burned into the side of my face.

“So?” she asked. “What are you going to do now?”

I glanced at her, my brow furrowing. What was I going to do? Bow down at her feet and lick her shoes pretty much.

“Try,” I replied. “All I can do is try.”

“I’ve never felt like this before,” she began, her voice wavering. “I’m not sure what to do either, you know.”

“I don’t believe it. A woman like you?”

“Like me?” She scowled.

“Yeah. A woman like you,” I said more firmly. “Intelligent, driven, successful…beautiful.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“I want to live up to that,” I murmured. “For the first time in my life, I want… I want to be a better man. For you. For your heart, Callie.”

Her eyes sparkled as she turned to face me completely. “You really believe those things about me?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then listen to me,” she declared. “You deserve to be loved, Mark Ryder.”

I froze, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

“I don’t know what’ll happen next,” she went on. “But all I can do is try. Are you with me?”

“You believe me?”

“I believe you.”

My heart soared. “I’m so with you I’m already there.”

Sliding my hand over her waist, I tugged her against my body, and the moment our lips touched, I was a goner.

19

CALLIE

When the sun rose the next day, things seemed different. Like I’d gathered a ton of life experience points and had leveled up.

I went on a date with a nice man—that didn’t really do anything for me—then went home with another on the same night. When did I become so…in demand?

I was torn in three very different directions. Mark was complicated and broken, but I was attracted to him to the point of agony. Justin was nice and considerate, and I might come to like him more than a friend given enough time. My business was demanding most of my time, and the dream I’d had since a child was finally manifesting.

But the promise I’d finally made was to Mark.

After a night asleep in Mark’s arms—with no added funny business—I cabbed it home all bleary eyed. It had been years since I’d crawled in at seven a.m. Not since my late teens and early twenties when I used to go out all night clubbing and seeing live bands. My tolerance for lack of sleep was completely shot. I was the walking dead.

Opening the front door, I shuffled down the hall to the kitchen, desperate for a little caffeine to kick-start the synapses in my brain. Macy was sitting at the table finishing her breakfast, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, dressed and ready for work. Ugh, sometimes her perfection pissed me off, but at least she was dwarfed by my Twister heartbreak cake that took up three-quarters of the table.

“You’re getting in late,” she said with a wink.

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled, shuffling toward the coffee machine. Grabbing a pod, I popped it into the top, shoved a cup under the nozzle, and pressed the button that made magic happen.

“Then what’s it like?” Macy asked, hiding a grin. “Did you bag the firefighter?”

“No.” Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and topped up my coffee. “He was as much fun as a dirty dish rag. Ugh, I’m such a bitch. He was really nice and polite and all of those things, but there was just… Nothing.”

“Hey, that’s not always an indicator, you know. Sometimes relationships take time to build, especially when you don’t know the guy very well.” She raised her eyebrows. “Unlike the fighter…”

“Speaking of Mark,” I said with a scowl.

“Shit, Callie! Has he been harassing you?” She practically stamped her foot. “I knew it!”

“No, he hasn’t been harassing me.” I blew on my coffee and took a sip. “I stopped by the shop last night to check the progress, and he found me there.”

Macy’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? He’s stalking you now?”

“It’s not like that. Just listen, okay? We had a long talk where he explained everything.” I stared into the mug, breathing in the scent. “He said it was all a lie. What that woman accused him of.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“He was pretty convincing,” I went on. “Extremely detailed. Though, you were right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s got a ton of broken happening. A real shitload. You know he turned up last night with a broken arm?” Remembering the cast and his explanation—it got stood on—I winced a little.

“He fights illegally,” Macy said warily. “And has had all these accusations made against him. It sounds like bad news to me. He probably broke it fighting some other bastard for money. Are you sure you want to get mixed up with him?”

I knew she was coming from a good place, but her standoffishness was beginning to irritate me. Mark had done nothing to hurt me, nothing directly, and his attempts at saving me from harm had backfired. I promised to give him a chance, but now I doubted even that. Thanks, Macy.

“I can’t deny what I feel for him,” I said after a moment. “I won’t be silly enough to fall into a situation that’s bad for me, but I can’t walk away when there’s a chance of something real and good with him. He needs someone in his corner. He needs someone to listen. Isn’t that a good start? It’s not exactly diving in headfirst into a pool of piranhas.”

“I’m just worried he’s lying,” Macy said.

“I saw the look in his eyes,” I replied. “I saw it, and I believe him. I just…” I stared into my cup of coffee. “There’s something there.”

“Just be careful, Callie.”

I nodded. “I always am.”

Macy smiled halfheartedly, and I knew she didn’t quite believe me. It didn’t matter though. This was between Mark and me, and only we knew the truth of what we felt.

“I’ve got to get to work,” she said after a moment. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I guess. No plans so far.”

“All right. See you later.”

Sipping my coffee, my stomach churned, and I made a face. Tipping it into the sink, I detoured past the bathroom for a shower before grabbing my laptop and settling on my bed.

Opening my email, I scrolled through my messages and notifications. I would have to get my cake to the shop somehow. I wondered if I could rent a van or con a mate into helping me transport it.

There was a message from a Hector Vanderhall, and my heart skipped a beat. Opening the message, I scanned the contents and almost vomited.

Hi, Callie, I saw your cakes online and heard about the fire at your shop. I’m terribly sorry to hear about the damage. I’m writing to see if you would like to come meet me. I would be delighted to hear more about your desserts, and perhaps we could help one another with future ventures in food? Here is my number. Call me anytime.

Hector Vanderhall? The Hector Vanderhall?

This had to be some kind of prank. This guy was a genius—he was the celebrity chef known for his theatrical food—and he was emailing me with his private mobile number? I fanned my searing cheeks. The only way to find out for sure was to call, right?

Picking up my phone, I dialed the number with shaking hands.

“Hello, this is Hector.”

His British accent washed over me, and I immediately knew this was not a joke.

“Hello?” I said haltingly. “This is Callie Winslow. I’ve just seen your email…”

“Callie!” he exclaimed, sounding rather excited for eight in the morning. “I’m so glad you called.”

“Thank you for the email. I’m rather curious…”

“Are you free today?” he asked, talking to me like we’d already met.

“Today?” I replied, a little shocked. “Sure, I, uh…”

“Great,” he declared. “Come see me at my restaurant in the city. Any time you’re able. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great! Oh, great cakes, by the way. Spectacular!”

The line went dead, and I stared at the screen, completely frazzled. I knew the guy was eccentric, but this was weird. I felt like I’d just been spun around by a colorful whirlwind and left dazed.

I was going to see Hector Vanderhall about a job. Holy fuck.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the bustle that was Fortune, Hector Vanderhall’s flagship Melbourne restaurant.

The warm and homely scent of food wafted around me, and my unsettled stomach began to ease. The entire tram ride over here, I was deathly frightened I might shit my pants I was that nervous. Total brown trousers time. My emotions were at an all-time high what with last night’s date with Justin, the deep and meaningful I had with Mark, our night together, my conversation with Macy…and now Hector.

Nothing for my entire life and then everything all in the space of a month. Talk about one hell of a roller coaster.

I approached the hostess, and she smiled, then looked me up and down. She was tall, thin as a rake, and beautiful with her perfect makeup, flawless complexion, and long chocolate-colored hair. I immediately felt like a tub of washed-out lard.

“Name?” she demanded.

“Winslow, I’m—”

“Do you have a reservation?” she interrupted, looking stern.

“No, I…”

“We’re fully booked,” she said, flipping her hair back over her shoulder.

“Oh, no, I’m here to see Hector. He’s expecting me.” I pointed to myself. “Callie Winslow.”

The hostess blinked at me, not looking very impressed. “Just one moment.”

Ugh. Would I ever get over my insecurities? Fiddling with the strap of my handbag, I watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. What kind of job was Hector talking about? Did he want me to work in the kitchen here? I had my own shop to think about, and taking on an apprenticeship seemed like a pretty large step back.

When the hostess returned, she pouted and said, “This way, please.”

Following her through the restaurant, she opened the kitchen door for me and ushered me inside. Within the staff-only area, it was a complete sensory overload. Hustle and bustle had nothing on the chaos that sat inches from the calm and delicate restaurant where people were currently enjoying their artfully arranged lunch.

Recognizing Hector by a stove, I approached him, forgetting about the haughty hostess entirely. He was very tall with a shaved head, pale skin, and a certain flair about him. He was known for his eccentricity, and everything he touched turned into an elaborate theatrical presentation. There was a reason he was a celebrity chef.

“Callie!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “So good to see you!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied, peering curiously at the stove. He was cooking something sweet, the scent of caramel becoming stronger the closer I came. Even though we’d just met, he welcomed me like an old friend, and it put me at ease.

“Here, taste this.” He grabbed a teaspoon and dipped it into the steaming pot of sauce. Holding it over his hand, he blew on it before moving it toward me. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Not sure what to do, I awkwardly let him hold the spoon to my lips. Tasting the sauce, my eyebrows rose. Caramel with hints of cinnamon.

“Classic, yes?”

I nodded. “Brown sugar, butter, cinnamon, and vanilla.”

“I thought it was only fair I brushed up on my dessert skills before I met you.” He smiled and turned the heat off. Clicking his fingers, a member of the kitchen staff came running and grabbed the pot as he guided me through the maze of prep areas. “Now, let’s find a quiet spot and have a chat.”

Glancing around me, I wondered where that would be. The restaurant was in full swing with its lunch sitting. Chefs and kitchen hands were running back and forth, shouting orders and bashing pots and pans furiously as they plated up. Outside, punters were talking loudly, the din almost too much to handle. Corks were popping off the top of wine bottles, glasses were clinking, and laughter abounded, and as Hector led me through it, my head spun. This was how a real-life successful restaurant looked.

We sat at a table by the window, set apart in a little alcove. It was shielded just enough that the noise from the restaurant was muffled slightly.

“Tell me, Callie, is food your passion?”

“Desserts are,” I replied. “Ever since I was a little girl.”

“And what is your favorite thing about desserts?” He waited patiently, and I wondered what he wanted to hear.

“They bring people together,” I said, just saying what I believed. “They make people happy. That’s a great thing. If it tastes amazing, then even better.”

Hector laughed, looking pleased as punch. “You’re right, you know. Food is all about sustenance. We need to eat to survive, but who said it couldn’t taste great? Art is everywhere, and you and I are artists.”

“Your food is certainly an inspiration,” I said in agreement.

“Why thank you, my dear. Now, you must be wondering what all this is about.”

“Yeah, I was a little surprised to receive your message.”

“I’m truly sorry to hear what happened to you and your shop,” he went on. “I’m so glad you’re okay and it is being rebuilt. Such an inspiration.”

“I just did what had to be done.” I shrugged.

He smiled mysteriously and then became rather animated. “To hell with it! I’m just going to say it. I want to work with you, Callie.”

I blinked, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“I have a string of restaurants all over the world,” he continued. “We specialize in theater. Every meal is an event, designed specifically to delight and amaze, not just through taste and delicious food but a total sensory experience. Your mind, your ideas, your creations. I want you to bake for me, Callie. Help me develop desserts for my restaurants, teach my staff, learn from me, and I’ll take you right to the top.”

I stared at him blankly, completely overwhelmed by his speech. “The top of what?”

“The food chain, of course!” He laughed. “Tell me, have you ever applied to be on a reality cooking show?”

I nodded. “I have, but I was never selected to audition.”

“Forget about being a contestant. After a year with me, honing your skills, I can get you a guest appearance. No competition required.”

“Do you really think I have the talent?”

“Yes, you certainly do, but I’ll be honest with you, Callie. This won’t be easy. You’ll hate me just as much as you love me. I’ll push you to the edge in my quest to make you the best. You will cry tears of frustration, but at the end of it, you’ll be surpassed by nobody.”

He said it with such conviction and passion, I believed him. Inspiration had been struck in my heart, and I began to think of all the places I wanted to see and people I wanted to learn from. I could be sitting where Hector was now. Never afraid of being bankrupt, not wanting for a paying customer, and having my name on the lips of the most influential people in food.

“You’ll travel the world, Callie,” he went on. “Paris, New York, London, Rome… I have restaurants in all those cities. In fact, I’m going to supervise the opening of a new site in Amsterdam in a few weeks. I would like for you to come.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. This was exactly what happened to Mark. He got an offer he couldn’t refuse, he did whatever it took to make it a reality, and it turned around to bite him in the ass. But I’m not Mark, I thought to myself. I can handle this.

“Just like that?” I asked, shocked. “You haven’t seen me bake yet…”

He laughed, throwing his head back. “This isn’t an episode of MasterChef. If you would like to cook for me, then you can. I won’t say no. Perhaps I can come by your shop and see this cake everyone is making such a fuss about?”

“Sure. If you like.”

“It’s a big decision,” Hector went on, not even taking a breath. “Take some time, and think about it. I’m willing to give you a break, Callie. I know your shop is opening within the fortnight. I can help you with finding a suitable manager to keep it going, not to mention staff from my own ranks. Training and new experiences are vital parts of the culture here. They could learn a lot from the simplicity of cupcakes. It’s a true art form.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded and forced out something polite. “I will. I’ll think about it.”

“Tell me, have you ever thought about expansion? Taking The Fitzroy Cake Company to the world?”

Outside, the air was clear, and I breathed in the crispness. Melbourne was bustling. I stood on the street corner, watching people walk to-and-fro as a steady clip of trams rumbled down Swanston Street.

One thing was certain. I wasn’t sure how to take Hector Vanderhall. Was he patronizing or encouraging? I just couldn’t place my finger on it. Everything he said was wonderful. Learning, traveling, expanding my experience…those were all things I wanted, but at what cost?

Thinking about The Fitzroy Cake Company, I sighed. Wasn’t a simple dream enough? I’d started out wanting a little shop where I could do my own thing, but now I was being told I needed a chain of them, along with a cookbook, television appearances, and a range of signature bakeware.

I wasn’t sure that life was for me. Then there was the elephant in the room. Mark.

If I took the job, I would have to leave him behind. There was no way we could continue the kind of relationship he needed with me on the other side of the world. Even if he came, my time would be severely limited. Coming home to a hotel room, exhausted and grumpy didn’t make for a healthy situation. Mark needed to be loved, and we were still new… Deep down, I knew it was him or the job. I couldn’t have both.

What was I going to do?

20

STORM

I had a weird feeling in my chest when I woke. Usually, I felt sluggish like a weight was sitting right on top of me, but today, it wasn’t there.

Maybe this was what hope felt like. What a trip.

Staring at the ceiling, I thought about Callie. My beautiful, ashen-haired, emerald-eyed Callie. I opened up and let her see some of the darkness inside my heart, and she believed me.

My phone pinged with a text. Like I’d call out to her telepathically, it was from Callie. If you’re free, come to the shop.

Sitting up on the couch, I pulled my boots on, grabbed my jacket, found my keys, and legged it downstairs. Any excuse to be with her was a good excuse. Actually, I didn’t need one of those. She was so passionate, bright, and damn cheerful about everything it was beginning to rub off. Even when she was deep in a serious conversation about my moronic ways, she was a ball of positivity.

I could learn a lot from a woman like Callie Winslow.

The back door was unlocked when I arrived at The Fitzroy Cake Company. The sweet scent of cooking filled my nose as I pushed the door inward and stepped into the stock room. This was where we’d met. This very spot. It looked a fuckload better without all the smoke damage.

“Hey,” I called out as I stepped into the kitchen.

“I have a kitchen,” she said with a sexy smile. “Isn’t it just perfect?”

She was wearing a cute little skirt that showed off her legs and a tight blouse. The top few buttons were undone, and my gaze fell to the swell of her breasts. Then there were her sexy as fuck lips…and the rest of her.

“I don’t know much about it, but if it makes you smile like that, I’m all for it.” I peered into the stainless steel bowl she’d put down when I’d come in and wondered what she was making.

“It’s chocolate ganache,” she said. “I’m making miniature fruit cakes with white marzipan icing with chocolate drizzle. Then on top, I’m putting little sculpted flowers and dusting them with these silver flakes.”

“Sounds complicated,” I said, picking up the container. The label read edible silver luster flakes.

“If they work out, I might add them to the menu for opening week.” She snatched the container off me and put it back on the counter. “They’re a little involved. It might be more trouble than it’s worth.”

I dipped my little finger into the chocolate and stuck it into my mouth. “Tastes good, though.”

“Hey!”

I went back for more, but this time, I wiped it onto her nose much to her horror.

“Mark!” She wiped at her nose, smearing chocolate on the back of her hand.

“What you going to do about it?” I asked wickedly.

Rolling her eyes, she picked up a spatula and mixed it through the chocolate like a pro. “Who am I to start fisticuffs with an actual real life cage fighter?”

“Even with the broken arm?”

“Especially with the broken arm.” Whipping the spatula into the air, she slapped the end against my cheek with a crack.

The kitchen fell silent, and her mouth fell open in shock. For a minute, nothing happened other than the chocolate running down my cheek, and then all hell broke loose. Snatching the spatula from her fingers, I gave her a taste of her own medicine as I wiped the other side down her face and shoved the end down her top…right between her breasts.

Callie stood there in stunned silence before bursting out into fits of laughter. “You didn’t just shove that between my boobs!”

“I’m going to have fun licking that off…” I said darkly, lowering my head. Tugging her blouse, the top button popped open, and I ran my tongue over the curve of her breasts. “You make a real fucking good ganache, by the way.”

She moaned softly before dipping her finger into the bowl. “Where can I put this? It seems only fair.”

“Wherever you like…” My cock might be a good place to start…

Her other hand went to my fly and started to fiddle with the button, but then she slipped her finger into her mouth and sucked.

“Tease,” I said.

“Did you just pout?” she asked.

“No way.” I puffed out my chest.

“You did! You pouted!”

Grunting, I darted forward and caught her with a kiss. This felt real fucking good. Things were beginning to become easier. I could talk to her, and she seemed to believe me. This could really work. Maybe, just maybe, I could be happy again.

“I went to a job interview yesterday,” she said sheepishly before sucking on her finger again.

My gaze dropped to her lips, and I swallowed hard. “But you already have a job.”

“Hector Vanderhall requested to meet me himself.”

“Hector who?” I frowned. I knew nothing about her world, and it began to bother me. I should pay more attention if I was going to keep her, right?

“He’s a celebrity chef,” she explained. “He’s got restaurants all over the world, has his own line of knives and pots and pans, and he’s been on TV a lot.”

“And he wanted to meet you? That’s great.”

“He saw the Twister cake,” she said.

I smirked and wiped my thumb over the chocolate on her cheek. “Was that the cake inspired by me?”

“The one and only.” She grabbed my wrist and pulled my thumb toward her lips. When she sucked and licked her tongue around the digit, my cock began to twitch.

“Shit, Callie,” I murmured.

“He offered me a job.”

“What?” My head was beginning to spin.

“Hector offered me a job. He wants me to go to Amsterdam and help him set up his new restaurant. I would be in charge of developing the dessert menu.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. She was going away? My heart sank, and it was all I could do not to let it show on my face. It was a great opportunity for her, but where did that leave me?

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, stepping closer. “I’ve got a lot to consider.”

“It’s a great opportunity,” I said, sounding like a robot.

“I don’t know…” Her arms snaked around my waist, her big emerald eyes meeting mine. “It feels like I’m doing the exact thing I was accusing you of.”

I tilted my head to the side. “What’s that?”

“Using the fire as a stepping-stone.”

“They came to you,” I retorted. “You didn’t manipulate the situation to your benefit.”

“Maybe…” Her cheeks flushed pink. “It still feels rotten. I almost died, and you risked your life. Getting a big break off the back of that seems…slimy.”

“Don’t feel like that,” I murmured, smoothing her hair back with my good hand. “It’s a good opportunity. It could really help your business. No one would think badly of you if you took it.”

Fuck, why was I convincing her? Supporting her was the right thing to do, but it felt like shit. This job would take her away from me, and I would be back at square one, only this time, I knew what I was missing.

“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” she murmured, looking forlorn.

Was she regretting being with me? We hadn’t talked about exclusivity or any of that shit. We’d known each other for like a month. That was nothing in the grand scheme of things even though it had been an eventful could of weeks. If she wanted to cut me loose, now would be the time to do it. I didn’t like it. At all. She was forcing me to confront feelings even I didn’t understand yet.

“Mark…” Her fingers hooked under the waistband of my jeans.

Was this how Lori felt when I told her I was leaving for America? If it was, then I hated myself even more than I already did. Was there a word stronger than that? I was such a bastard.

“Mark, please say something,” Callie whispered, starting to panic.

“Amsterdam is a really long way from here.”

Her fingers buried into my hair, and she pulled me close. “I haven’t said yes, you know.”

“It’s not my place to tell you what you should do,” I replied.

“Fuck…” she whispered before placing her lips on mine.

She kissed me softly at first, then as I wrapped my arms around her, she demanded a more specific kind of attention. Opening to me, I deepened our embrace, my breathing picked up as I tasted chocolate on her tongue. We hadn’t slept together since our second date, and my body was humming with a pent-up energy I wanted to pour inside her.

“Callie,” I muttered against her lips. My cock was thickening in my trousers at the thought of having her right here, right now.

“I’m wearing a skirt,” she said breathlessly.

“I see that.” If she was going to leave, then I had to make the most of moments like these, right?

Tightening my grip around her waist, I lifted her onto the empty bench behind us. Her legs parted, and she wrapped herself around my waist and began moving against me as my mouth went back to her cleavage. Opening more buttons, I licked along the edge of her bra before tugging the material down and capturing her taut nipple between my teeth. Biting gently, she arched into me, a moan bursting from her pink lips.

Bunching up her skirt, I tore at her underwear, but I was hindered by the cast on my left arm. She lifted her ass off the bench so I could pull them down, then she greedily undid the button on my jeans.

Rubbing my fingers between her legs, I moaned, thoroughly enjoying spreading her wetness to her clit.

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured as I freed my erection.

“Done what?” I asked as I rolled on a condom.

“Had sex on my kitchen bench.”

“I hope you’ve got some disinfectant,” I retorted, stroking my shaft. “Your bare ass is on the countertop.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Industrial grade.”

I positioned myself at her opening, and her smile faded as I circled my thumb around her clit. The moment she relaxed, my crown slipped into her, and I couldn’t hold back. I thrust, burying my cock deep into her body. Sliding her forward to the edge of the bench, I pulled out and delved in once more.

I had her hard and fast, and her body quivered violently as she came. The sight of her coming undone in such primal way sent me over the edge before I was ready. My balls flared, and I emptied into her, my right arm cradling her against me as the last of my release ran its course.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her chest heaving against mine. “Zero to obliterated in under five minutes.”

“I usually have more stamina,” I retorted.

“It’s something to do with the level of horniness.” She smirked as I pulled out.

“I’ll say.”

Removing the condom, I found the bin and chucked it in, and by the time I turned around, the air had changed between us. Callie was watching me with an air of sadness…or was it regret? Shit, and my ass was still hanging out.

“Mark, I…”

Her eyes were sad, and I knew she was struggling with her decision. It was the job or me. She didn’t have to say it for me to understand. Did she have to choose? What if I took myself out of the equation? It would make things real easy for her then.

“I’ve gotta go,” I muttered, jerking my boxers and jeans back up.

“Mark…”

“I’ve got shit to do,” I fired back, fixing my fly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I pushed out the back door and into the alley, and she didn’t try to stop me. Not even once.

That night, I went to The Underground.

Two weeks had passed since I’d broken my arm, and I hadn’t been back. Until tonight. Until shit got rough. Seemed like the circle of life where I was concerned.

Leaning against the bar, I sipped absently at my bottle of Corona, ignoring everyone around me, especially Faye who was attempting to rile me up with her inane questions. How’s your arm? Free tonight? That chick is staring at you. I bet she’ll suck your cock then let you do her in the ass. Nothing got a rise out of me tonight. I was too miserable.

Callie’s situation bore a startling resemblance to mine in a way. I was offered a shot at the UFC, seemingly out of the blue, but from there, I knew our paths would be different. She was integrity personified. Her heart was strong, and she was determined to make her way on her own merits.

But even I knew not everyone was an island. Even the most cunning people were done over from time to time, and I was worried for her. Worried or selfish? I couldn’t tell the two apart anymore.

Simply put, I didn’t want her to go, so why couldn’t I say it to her?

Someone sat on the stool next to me, and I tensed. I wasn’t in the mood to let anyone down easily tonight. Glancing out the corner of my eye, I was surprised to see a shock of cobalt blue hair. Turning fully, I looked her over and scowled.

“Lori.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Storm.”

“I haven’t been here in two weeks,” I said. “I never took you for a gambling woman, so who told you?”

“Hamish texted me,” she said with a shrug.

“Now you’re in cahoots.” I rolled my eyes.

“I can see you’ve fallen back into bad habits, or are you still sautéing in them after our last conversation?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, ignoring her on purpose. “It’s been what? Almost a year and a half since you vowed not to grace The Underground with your presence?”

“Look who’s keeping count.”

“Is this an intervention?” I drawled.

“Nah.” She waved a hand at me. “It’s a friendly chitchat.”

“About?”

“Callie.”

I scowled and turned back to my beer.

“How are things there? Did you fight?”

“A little,” I muttered.

“And?”

“She believes me.”

“Why are you so shitty about it then?” she asked. “That’s fucking great, you know.”

“She was offered a job in Amsterdam yesterday,” I replied.

“Amsterdam? That’s very specific.”

“Some celebrity chef saw her cakes online.” I shrugged. “He’s opening a new thing there or something. Wants her to develop the desserts.”

“And?” Lori raised her eyebrows, prodding for more information.

“Why are you interested all of a sudden?” I asked, my hackles rising. “I apologized for the other week. I didn’t mean to drag you back here with a vendetta.”

“It’s not a vendetta,” she retorted. “This is going to sound like complete and utter bullshit, but I saw something in you the other day. You’ve changed, Storm. You might be going about it the wrong way, but you care about other people now. That’s a huge deal considering who you used to be.” She turned to face me and smiled. She actually fucking smiled after giving me that awful excuse for a compliment. “I never used to think it was possible. That people could change the core of who they were. I thought you would be a dick for eternity, but deep down, you’re not. You need to stop all this bravado and just be that guy.”

My scowl deepened. I was beginning to understand one thing about myself. I didn’t like taking criticism.

“Your Callie seems like a smart woman,” she went on. “I doubt she would be with you if she couldn’t see over all the walls labeled ‘bastard’ that you’ve put up.”

“Thanks,” I drawled, raising my beer in a mock salute.

“If you don’t want her to go to Amsterdam, then tell her.”

“It’s make or break,” I muttered.

“Seems simple to me,” Lori declared.

“Yeah? Enlighten me.”

“Tell her how you feel.”

I snorted and downed a mouthful of beer.

“You do know how you feel about her?” she prodded. “Storm?”

“I’m not sure it matters.”

Her expression fell, and she shook her head. Lori was still disappointed in me, and I felt bad she’d come all this way.

“I want to shake the shit out of you,” she declared angrily. “You’re so fucking dumb.”

To add insult to injury, I shrugged.

“One day, you’re going to regret not fighting, Storm,” she said before standing and walking away. “You’re going to regret it big-time.”

21

CALLIE

Watching as a pair of builders hammered the last nail into The Fitzroy Cake Company, I smiled. It was halfhearted considering how things had gone the day before.

Mark hadn’t taken the news of my job offer very well. He’d pushed me toward it and practically shut down in the face of it all. If he didn’t want me to go, he hadn’t said. My heart had cracked a little under the pressure, and disappointment had flared the moment he’d walked out. He hadn’t even tried to convince me to stay. Amsterdam is a really long way from here? Pfft!

“What do you think?” Ray asked, standing beside me. The builder assigned to the job by my insurance company had been a complete star. He’d consulted with me the entire time, and what he and his team had produced was nothing short of amazing.

“It’s exactly how I envisioned it,” I replied. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He patted me on the shoulder. “We have a few things to clean up, and then we’ll be out of your hair. Good luck with your opening, Callie.”

I smiled and thanked him again. Retreating into the kitchen, I ducked through the plastic sheeting that had been tacked to the wall to keep dust from floating into the food prep area. With a week to go, there was still a lot to do. My staff would be coming in on Tuesday to begin baking and training for the opening on the following Saturday. Before then, there was a lot of cleaning to do, boxes to unpack, advertising to track. The works.

And I had to make a decision about Hector Vanderhall.

I was actually considering taking it after yesterday’s disastrous conversation with Mark. If he didn’t want to take me seriously, then what was holding me back? There was only so much I could do for a guy like him before he had to do some of the work himself.

Oh, Mark… Why couldn’t you just give me a chance to love you? I could, you know.

“Hello?”

I glanced up to find a woman peering around the plastic sheet, her blue hair taking me by surprise.

“Can I help you?” I asked, frowning. People off the street walking into a closed shop wasn’t exactly kosher, and I tensed.

“Yeah, sorry. Your builder let me in. Sorry to barge in like this.” She flailed through the drop sheet and smiled. “I’m Lori. I know Storm.”

I blinked, totally confused for a split second. I didn’t know him by that name, but he’d told me all about it. The Underground, his broken arm, his only means for supporting himself financially. I knew all about it…and didn’t like it one bit.

“Mark?” I asked. “What…” That was when I realized who was standing in my kitchen. Lori. The Lori. Mark’s ex.

“I didn’t really want to meet like this, but I’m worried about him,” she said.

I raked my gaze over her and couldn’t believe how different she was to me. Bright blue hair, nose piercing, and so many tattoos peeking out of hems and necklines I wondered if her entire body was covered. And what a body it was. Slim, athletic, big boobed, pretty eyes, smooth skin. Mark had been with someone like her? Why was he ever interested in me?

“You’re worried about him?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “The woman he cheated on?”

“It’s a long story.” She shrugged. “He only recently came back into my life.”

“You’re not helping,” I drawled, jealousy rising hot and fast. “What’s this about? Are you starting something with him again, and this is a shakedown? I thought he said you’d moved on.”

Lori laughed like I’d told the funniest joke she’d ever heard and shook her head. “No way. I’m so taken with another guy it’s not funny. I’m here because I want Storm to be happy.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say, he treated me like shit on his shoe, but I’m still here sticking up for him when he’s all but given up. Not to toot my own horn or anything but wow. Forgiveness from someone like me is a real indicator, you know?”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

“He thinks he’s already lost you,” she stated.

I stared at her, my expression falling. “What?”

“He was at The Underground last night,” she explained. “First time in a while, and he was a mess. The bastard in him was out in full force.” She made a face. “Man, can he lay it on thick. Listen, I know this is completely fucking twisted, me coming here, but Storm… He doesn’t believe in himself anymore. He’s just given up trying to fight. He’s going to let you go to Amsterdam without even telling you how he feels because he’s stuck in this stupid cycle of self-punishment. I don’t know you, but the look in his eyes when he spoke about you…” She sighed. “I’ve never seen him look like that.”

I was frozen to the spot, unable to speak, think, or even move to save myself.

“I guess the short version is I came here to beg for you to fight for him. If I, of all people, can turn around and do that for the guy who broke my heart… Shit.”

This was so messed up. My throat burned with unshed tears, and I swallowed, attempting to sooth the ache. Was this how our romance was supposed to go? Callie Winslow, the pants of the operation. A sexy, buff cage fighter with an enormous chip in his heart needed me, the cupcake glitter queen to save him?

Stranger shit had happened, I suppose. Like almost being burned alive and being saved by the guy who was too afraid to love in case he inadvertently destroyed someone’s life. Yeah, real fucking weird.

“Would you tell me about him?” I asked. “I know the pieces he’s shown me, but I can’t help but feel it’s only a small selection…”

Lori smiled. “What has he told you?”

“Well,” I began, leaning against the bench where Mark and I had our quickie the day before. “He told me about The Underground and how he fights there. I’m not impressed, by the way. He told me about the kind of man he was back then and how he was selected for the UFC. He told me about the…you know.”

“He said you’d told him you believed his side of things,” she said.

“Yeah, but it was like pulling teeth to get any of this out of him.”

“That’s Storm in a teacup,” she said with a wink.

“Very punny.” I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide the stupid smile from appearing on my face. Despite myself, I was beginning to like Lori. A lot.

“He’s difficult to get to know,” she said. “But I can see you’ve already found that out. He’s made a lot of mistakes, but he’s done what he can to make up for them. We had ended before he went overseas, so a few years ago now, but after he’d come back, he sought me out to apologize. For a guy like him, full of bravado, it was a big deal. He’s been through some shit, but he’s grown because of it. I hardly recognize him.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing. He’s just got to believe it.”

I leaned back against the bench, my head spinning. Looked like I had to make my decision right now, but what was I supposed to do?

Okay, Callie, think.

If I took the job, I would be working for someone else. If I stayed, I would be working for no one else but me. I would be in charge of my little piece of heaven, my slice of the pie. It mightn’t be very large, but it was mine. I built it on my own with no outside help or stepping-stones or even a celebrity endorsement.

I never wanted a big life. All I ever wanted was something to call my own…and someone to share it with.

And just like that, I made my decision.

“I’ll go to his place,” I blurted, standing tall, my gaze searching for my handbag. “I’ll make him see…”

“Hell, yeah!” Lori watched me with a strange smile on her face. “But I don’t think he’ll be there.”

“Then where would he be?” I halted my frantic searching.

“It’s highly likely he’ll be at The Underground again. I can take you if you like.”

“The Underground?” I asked with a squeak. She wanted me to dive headfirst into a den full of criminals and violent cage fighters to proclaim my feelings for Mark? I felt like shitting my pants.

“Make or break, Callie.” She tilted her head to the side and gestured at the door.

Was I now in the same position Mark was when he was offered that spot in the UFC? I didn’t have a crystal ball, but I did know I didn’t want to play in the big leagues.

In a way, I suppose Mark had taken a leap of faith when he’d turned up to explain the story about the ring girl. I could have thrown him out again, but he’d bared the most painful and humiliating experience he’d ever been through in hopes I would give him another chance. He didn’t have anything else, and he’d chosen the hope of what we could be. I had no idea what he saw in me, but if I chickened out now, I would never know at all.

I glanced at Lori. “Who would have thought a pair of sad, chocolate-colored eyes could have started all of this.”

“Love sucks, right?” she asked with a wink.

“Big-time.”

Lori gave me a ride to The Underground and practically held my hand as we walked into the warehouse in Abbotsford, just north of the city center.

The sky was darkening as we approached, which seemed to signal the starting time for the debauchery within. People were streaming into the building, and I was shocked at the scale. A couple of hundred bodies were crammed inside along with the very professional looking bar, betting area, and digital noticeboard that listed all the fights happening that night.

Shit, even women fought in the cage! My eyeballs were practically popping out of my head.

“Mark fights here?” I asked, tugging on Lori’s arm. “How does this place even stay open? Don’t the cops try to shut it down?”

“Nah,” she replied. “With the amount of money being thrown around here, some of it conveniently gets tossed into a couple of choice bank accounts.”

“You’re talking about bribes, right?”

She winked. “Bingo.”

Staring at the cage, which was being cleared for the next fight, I stared at the splatter stains on the concrete and swallowed a pile of vomit. That had to be old blood. The entire structure was made out of plain old chain link, and there was no padding in sight.

“I don’t like it,” I said, wrapping my arms around my waist. “This whole place…”

“It’s pretty confronting,” Lori said in agreement. “I worked the bar here for about three years. That’s how I met Storm…and Hamish. I got out almost two years ago now.”

“Why?”

“A variety of reasons. The bar manager tried to rape me for one.”

My mouth fell open, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was raking the crowd, searching for Mark, aka Storm.

A voice boomed over the speakers as a fight was announced between two guys with weird names—Sabre and Boom. As the fight got underway, I stared in shock as the two men brawled. Fists smacked into faces, they wrestled on the ground, and they collided with the chain link, all while the crowd on the surrounding bleachers screamed for blood.

This was what Mark did here? Remembering the black eye and more recently, his broken arm, I felt vomit percolating in my gut. This is what he believed was his last resort. This horrible violence. Watching those two fighters go at it made my heart break in two.

“Can you see him?” I asked Lori.

“There!” She pointed to the bleachers where halfway up, sitting on the edge, I spotted his familiar head of messy overgrown hair.

I made a move, but Lori grasped my arm. “You’ve got my number if you need anything,” she said. “Just in case.”

I nodded and turned back to the bleachers just as the fight was being called in Boom’s favor. I didn’t care who won or what condition they were in, my only concern was the defeated man sitting alone in the crowd.

He didn’t see me at first. Not until I climbed the stairs and sat beside him.

“Callie?” He straightened, up his expression filled with horror. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t realize,” I said, breathlessly. “I didn’t realize this was what you did…”

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“Why?” I turned to face him with a scowl. “I’m here for you, you blockhead. I turned down the job.”

He blinked, completely lost for words.

“I met Lori this afternoon,” I went on. “She brought me here.”

“You met Lori?”

“She came to see me.” I sighed and placed my hand on his knee. “What a pair we are… Good intentions but always just missing the mark.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, allowing his gaze to fall to my hand. “I’m so messed up I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you want?” I asked. “Be honest with me, Mark. No hiding behind bravado or expectations or past experiences. Just say it. You know I won’t judge you. So, what do you want?”

He reached over with his right hand and threaded his fingers through mine. “You gave up the job?”

“Mark.”

He sighed and raised his chin. Seeing him so vulnerable was shattering. He was this big, bad fighter, and right now, he looked on the verge of something so poignant it was beautiful in its sadness.

Still, he didn’t answer, so I offered him the alternative Lori and I had spent the entire ride over discussing. “I know a guy who can get your story out there. The real story. If that’s what you want, of course. Then I know a girl who knows a guy who can get you an in as a personal trainer anywhere in the city. Get your qualification, and you’re set. You don’t have to fight here anymore if that’s what you want. If you want to fight again, I can’t stop you. I won’t like it, but it’s your choice.”

“It seems like you’ve got this all worked out,” he said, the chip on his shoulder growing larger by the second.

“It’s not a bad thing to admit you need help,” I retorted. “It’s not going to make your balls shrivel up and fall off. Nor is accepting a hand up if it’s offered to you. A legitimate hand up.”

“Is this what you want?” he asked. “What you really want?”

“What I want is The Fitzroy Cake Company and a chance to fall in love with you.”

He snorted.

“You and me? I wouldn’t know just yet,” I said. “You haven’t given me a chance, but I’m pretty sure it’ll happen.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. Not really. You have to meet me halfway.” I moved closer and rested my forehead against his. “All I ever wanted was the shop and someone to share it with. Someone to share my life, you know? Be my partner in crime. My best buddy. A man who could make my knees tremble and kiss me when I’m sad. I know it’s you, Mark. You already do all those things for me. Please believe me when I say…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Please give me a chance to love you.”

He screwed his eyes shut before fixing his gaze on mine once more. “I should have been the one saying that.”

“Whatever. So are you going to answer my question, Storm?” I raised my eyebrows expectantly. “Here’s your chance. Make or break. What do you want?”

Leaning forward, he kissed me softly on the lips. “You,” he said. “All I want is you.”

22

CALLIE

Standing in the kitchen of The Fitzroy Cake Company, I put the finishing touches on the batch of cupcakes in front of me with a flourish. Swirling the last dab of rainbow buttercream icing, I put down the piping bag and sighed.

“Are these ready to go out?” Melissa asked. She was the first employee I’d ever hired, and so far was just as keen as I was.

“Yep. Load them into the display.”

“They look amazing,” she said, sliding the tray off the counter before disappearing out front.

“Am I interrupting?” a deep voice rumbled behind me.

Spinning on my heel, my gaze collided with Mark’s, and I grinned at the sight of him. My entire body zinged, and an image of what we’d done on the bench—which I’d disinfected—came to mind.

Since our confrontation at The Underground a week ago, things had settled. Well, the best they could with the shop’s opening looming. We were much more open with each other, his comfort levels had increased tenfold, and we were on the up-and-up. Those walls he’d built after his return from America were beginning to be dismantled, and the real man was shining through. The changed man.

His experiences had shaped him more than he’d realized, and I really fucking loved what was underneath. It wasn’t just in reference to his sexy as hell sculpted body but the heart he’d denied having his whole life. The heart that beat with mine. Hell, I was turning into a complete sap.

We’d been through a lot of emotional turmoil since the fire, and even though our story was unconventional, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Things happened exactly as they needed to. We’d both needed a hell of a kick up the ass to get us moving. It kind of paralleled my current zombielike state, if that was even comparable.

“Mark!” I exclaimed, opening my arms as he approached.

Pulling me into his embrace, he chuckled. “You look sexy in that little apron.”

“Shut up, I look like shit. I’ve been up half the night baking, and we were back here at six a.m.‬ I’m pretty sure there’s icing in my hair.”‬‬‬‬‬

“So? You look pretty fucking hot if you ask me,” he retorted. “Hey, did you know there’s a line outside?”

I leaned back with a frown. “There’s a what?”

“Man, you are dedicated to your work.” He shook his head with a playful grin. “I bet you haven’t even looked up even for one second.”

“Not really. I want this to be perfect…” Extracting myself from his arms, I moved over to the door and peeked through the opening. Melissa was placing the rainbow cakes I’d just made into the display case while Stephan and Mallory, the front of house staff I’d hired, were tidying up the counter and arranging the last of the decorations for the opening. Beyond them was the outside world—a place I’d forgotten existed in the last few days—and it was equal parts alarming and exhilarating.

People were lined up along Brunswick Street, filling the entire length of the window. If they went any further, I had no idea, but it didn’t matter. There were people waiting for the store to open so they could taste my cakes. I began to wiggle on the spot, shifting my weight from one foot to the other like I had ants in my pants.

“They go right down the street,” Mark said. “Have you got enough cakes?”

“Oh, fuck!” I cursed. “I made a schedule and have inventory, but… I don’t know… Oh, fuck!”

“Calm down,” he said, grasping my shoulders and turning me around. “Enjoy this moment, Callie. They’re here for you and your cakes. This is your dream, remember?”

I sighed, melting into his touch. “You’re right. Mark, I…”

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” He cupped my face with his good hand and gently cradled my back with his cast. The two girls I had helping me in the kitchen rushed around us, giggling as Mark and I kissed.

“I’m here! I’m here!” We turned as Macy appeared through the back door, shucking off her coat and looking completely frazzled. “The tram was stuck behind a wall of traffic. Then I see the fucking line outside! Holy Fuck!” She froze when she saw Mark, and her lip curled. “Still not a fan.”

Mark tensed. “Let me see if I can help out front.” He moved through the door and into the shop, leaving my overzealous housemate and me in the kitchen.

“Leave him be,” I said. “We’re a work in progress. I made my choice.”

“By dumping Hector Vanderhall?”

“I told you the other day,” I said, putting my hands on my hips, “I didn’t turn the job down because of Mark. I turned it down because I didn’t want it. This is what I want my life to be.” I gestured to the kitchen and glanced at Mark, who was lingering just through the door. “This.”

“I really thought you would’ve dropped him,” Macy said, clearly aware he was right behind her. “Not run off to some criminal establishment.”

“Macy,” I scolded. “I explained it to you.”

“How pushing everyone away was easier than actually, you know, living?” She rolled her eyes. “You can’t push a rock uphill.”

“I am a resistant asshole,” Mark said with a smirk.

“And just so you know,” she declared, turning to face him, “if you hurt her again, you had better watch your back.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced at me. “You’ve got good taste, Winslow.”

“Is he being patronizing?” Macy asked, glancing at me. “Because I can’t tell if the brain is working in connection with the brawn or if there’s one there at all.”

“He’s being sincere, Mace.”

“You’ll like me one day,” he added before stepping around her so he could get to me. Sliding his arm around my waist, he pulled me close. “I was going to wait until later to tell you, but I got the call yesterday.”

My mouth fell open. “You did?”

“Yeah. As of next month, I’ll be working at Bodyworks Gym over on Smith Street.” I threw my arms around him and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “I’ll miss the money from The Underground, though.”

“Mark!”

“Joking, joking… I think…” He laughed, and the look in his eyes had all the right parts trembling. “The tradeoff is worth it.”

“Two minutes until ten,” Stephan called out from the front of the shop. “Callie, do you want to do the honors?”

I squeaked and ran my fingers through my hair, then took off my apron. “How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Mark said.

“Go get ’em,” Macy added. “We’ll be right here.”

Skipping out into the shop, I beamed at the sight of the people waiting. They perked up as I unlocked the door and threw it open.

“Welcome!” I called out as people began filing into the shop. “I’m Callie, the owner of The Fitzroy Cake Company. If you would like to gather around, I have a little opening ceremony I would like to share before our first sale.” People were smiling and hanging on my words as I directed them to the far corner of the shop front. “May I present the famous Twister cake. You may have seen it online or displayed in the window this past week.”

The assembled crowd gushed and clapped as I held out my hand. A moment later, Mark appeared with my instrument of destruction. An aluminum baseball bat.

“I made this cake in a moment of heartbreak,” I went on. “But I’m here to tell you my heart isn’t broken anymore. What this cake represents is a part of my life that I will never ever return to because trusting myself and the man who saved my life is more important to me than any stepping-stone. That’s why, as a symbol of new beginnings, I’m about to introduce this bat to that cake. You may want to take a step back.”

There were gasps and claps as I brandished my weapon of choice. Meeting Mark’s gaze, he nodded. At that moment, my heart swelled, my head spun, and I knew. I knew it would be him. Always.

I swung with all my strength, and the bat collided with the mountain of chocolate sponge, marzipan, fairy floss, and boysenberry jam filling. It splattered, making the assembled crowd shriek in delight. Luckily for me, I’d made the outer shell of the Twister heartbreak cake thin enough for the effect I was hoping for.

“Smash it!” Mark called out from behind me.

“Yeah!” Macy added. “Put your back into it!”

I hit it again, and someone shrieked in delight. “I caught a cow!”

It hit it again and again until there was nothing left but a pile of mush. Man, that was a real stress reliever.

Turning, I smiled widely and ran my finger over the cake splatter on the bat. “I now declare The Fitzroy Cake Company open for business!”

Claps and cheers washed over me, and I basked in the feeling, hoping and wishing it would never end. The warm and fuzzy sensation of pure joy and love. I’d made it. Scratch that. Mark and I…we’d made it.

“Hey,” I murmured, tugging on his arm. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure.” He blinked, clearly confused.

“I’m not sure how I’m meant to do this considering I haven’t said it before, but I’m pretty confident it’s all about the moment. Striking while the iron is hot because I’m ready. I want to live my life. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need any of that other shit. The line of signature bakeware nonsense. This is enough.”

“Callie, what are you getting at?” He glanced at the bustling shop as cake after cake flew off the shelves and were packed into boxes.

“I love you, Mark,” I blurted.

He stared at me, his eyes widening, and I began to fret I’d laid it on too thick, too fast.

A long moment passed, and then his lips curved into a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“I love you, too.”

Other Books in The Beat and The Pulse series…

**The series is complete!**

The Beat and The Pulse is a MMA Fighter romance series that’s full of grit, glory and love!

Follow the men and women of Beat and Pulse as they fight for love... in and out of the cage.

It’s time to fight for the broken hearted.

Beat #1 <—FREE!

Pulse #2

Crash #3

Spike #4

Rebel #4.5

Steel #5

Flow #6

Surge #7

Quake #8

Rush #9

Strike #10

Ignite #11*

*Please note: Ignite is exclusive to the Dark Desires boxed set until October 2017. It will be available as a solo title after this date, so please check back!

Keep reading for a sneak peek at IGNITE (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)!

JOIN AMITY’S VIP NEWSLETTER

If you would like to keep up with all the news from Amity Cross and The Underground, including new book releases, sales, cover reveals, pre-orders and all the exciting things you can possibly think of, please signup with your email address by tapping the link below.

Get a FREE novella when you sign up!

Never miss a new release again!

Sign up for Amity Cross’ VIP Newsletter.

#GritGloryLove

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amity Cross is the International Bestselling author of wicked stories about rock stars looking for redemption, gritty romances featuring MMA fighters and dark tales of forbidden romance. She loves to write about alpha males and the strong women who challenge them to fall in love.

Amity lives in a leafy country town near Melbourne, Australia and can be found chained to her desk, held at ransom by her characters.

Don’t send help. She likes it.

Follow Amity Online:

@amitycross

theamitycross

www.AmityCrossWrites.com

amity@amitycrosswrites.com

IGNITE (#11 THE BEAT AND THE PULSE)

A SNEAK PEEK…

CHAPTER ONE - ALISON

“They say the men there are hot as hell.”

I glanced up, my ears pricking. Another water cooler gossip session was in full swing, and no surprises…I wasn’t included.

Opening the cupboard in the kitchenette, I took down a tin of instant coffee and tried not to let it get to me. To everyone in the office, I was just the weirdo, Alison Anders. Only valuable because I didn’t complain about being overworked.

“It’s completely illegal,” Susan said. Susan worked in my department and made it her life’s mission to belittle me. She had stringy brown hair, thin lips, and a sour personality. “They throw money around like it’s confetti.”

“Would you go?” Fiona asked. She was one of the receptionists. Airy but not in an ethereal beauty kind of way. Airy as in there was a lot of vacant space in her brain.

“No,” Susan replied, looking shocked. “They fight till they drop, I heard. It’s barbaric!”

I rolled my eyes. It was always the same. Drama, hot guys, and more drama.

How did I even get here?

Three years ago, I was given the position of Customer Service Officer at a shipping company in the inner city suburb of Prahran in Melbourne. Things started off just fine. I turned up, learned the job, did my work, and I excelled. I was a good employee. I was never late. In fact, I was always early. Maybe that was why everyone hated me.

I’d quickly become isolated, not having the guts to stand up to the bullies or to quit. I needed the job to pay my astronomical rent, and because I was living pay to pay, I didn’t have enough money to move. It was a catch-22.

So I put my head down and did my work, often ending up doing enough for two people, so I didn’t have to deal with the snide comments. I would empty out my email inbox by lunchtime, and like magic, another pile of tasks would be forwarded to me. It was like IT knew and had an alert set up on my manager’s computer. I never complained even though I usually went home in tears because of stress.

I was pretty sure I was the definition of a pushover.

“You don’t want to take a little walk on the wild side?” Fiona asked. “Have a one-night stand with a Greek God?”

“A woman needs standards,” Susan replied with a humph and flicked her hair. “Pashing a man covered in sweat and blood? Ew.”

“I bet you wouldn’t say that if you saw them,” Fiona declared. “My boyfriend’s mate Tony went there once and said it’s hardcore. The guys who fight are ripped. Forget six-packs…apparently, they’ve got eighteen-packs.”

I rolled my eyes again and turned back to the tin of instant coffee. Prying off the lid, I stared at the granules inside, my shoulders heavy. I didn’t care much about their topic of conversation, but I cared about being constantly excluded. I was so isolated in all parts of my life it was beyond a joke.

I wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but I was interesting, wasn’t I? Even I was smart enough to know the answer to that question was a big, fat no.

“Hey, do you think Alison would go?” Susan asked, forcing the group to start giggling. She didn’t exactly keep her voice lowered, either. They knew I was listening. I always listened, pretending to be a part of something I was never invited to.

“Alison at The Underground?” Fiona sniggered. “Fat chance.”

“Do you think she’s ever had sex?” Susan asked.

“Eww!”

Embarrassment seared through me, my cheeks flaring. I was far from a virgin, but how would they know? They didn’t even see past their own noses, let alone care enough to want to know who I was.

Dumping a teaspoon of coffee into my mug, I poured in some boiling water from the urn. As it filled, the liquid turning the color of tar, I sighed again. What did I ever do to these people?

Looking down at myself, I could take a stab. For lack of a better word, I was frumpy. Frumpy, shy, overemotional, stressed…the list went on. I looked at the person I’d become, and I didn’t see one positive. Unlike the women who worked around me, I’d never been told I was beautiful.

My entire wardrobe was full of cheap skirts, scratchy polyester sweaters, and ill-fitting shirts that gaped over my breasts. My shoes looked like bricks, my chestnut hair was frizzy at best, my makeup was bland, and my hazel eyes were dull. I had no family, no friends, a job that was dragging me down, and no way out. My confidence was non-existent, and my spirit had died a long time ago.

Alison Anders was a shell.

Picking up my coffee, I went back to my desk, trying to ignore the sniggering at the water cooler. One of these days I was going to snap, and it wouldn’t be pretty. I would totally do a Carrie on them. The doors would slam shut, and body parts would fly. Or, more realistically, I would just gather up enough courage to finally tell them where to stick their shitty job.

With my coffee warming my hands, I stared at my computer and began to wonder about this mysterious Underground the water cooler bitches were talking about.

It sounded like cage fighting to me. Illegal betting, hot men, danger, and a place to score a steamy one-night stand with a bad boy Adonis…everything I would usually hide from.

“Alison?”

I glanced up and saw Susan hovering over my desk. Queen bitch herself.

“Did you finish those reports yesterday?” she asked, raising an eyebrow when I didn’t reply.

“Yes,” I replied. “They were submitted last night.”

Susan flicked her awful stringy hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Perfect.” She reached down below the partition where I couldn’t see and produced a stack of hard copy files. “If you’ve done those, then you won’t mind doing these.” She dumped them onto my desk without so much as a flourish.

They fell half on the desk and half on the floor, and I bit my lip to stifle the groan that was about to burst forth.

“Five o’clock‬!” Susan exclaimed, giving me a little wave before shimmying off to her own desk. ‬‬‬‬‬

What a bitch.

Setting my coffee down, I bent over to retrieve the folders, scooping up the papers that had fallen across the floor. There was a pop, and I groaned as the safety pin holding my shirt in place over my boobs fell to the floor. It hit the carpet, the metal bent out of shape, and I felt like crawling under the desk and never coming out.

I was a complete and utter mess.

That night, half an hour of Internet sleuthing gave me the location of The Underground.

The illegal cage fighting operation was set up in a warehouse in Abbotsford, just north of Melbourne’s central business district. Or just up a little from the bit with all the skyscrapers. It was a pocket of industrialization the inner-city hipsters forgot, and developers overlooked it for more accessible plots of land by the docks to the southwest. It was the perfect place to conduct shady business if you asked me.

I’d totally looked up the place with the intention of going. It was a terrible idea, but I was at my wits’ end. My life had been a slow simmer up until this point, and now the pressure had finally reached my brain. Something had popped today, the safety pin holding my boobs in place a metaphor for something a lot larger than my tits.

I had to do something because so far, excuses had gotten me nowhere.

This steaming pile could not be my life.

So, I got into my car—the car I only used once a week to go grocery shopping—and drove across the city. I was never out this late, and it was thrilling even if it was all a little sad.

I found a spot to park a block away, and when I got out, I was surprised to see quite a few people on the street for such a barren area. They were all moving in the same direction I was headed, and I wondered if they were there for The Underground, as well. Thrusting my hands into my jacket pockets, I followed them toward the warehouse.

I’d put on a pair of black jeans, a plain navy singlet, a silver necklace, a pair of boots I’d found at a secondhand shop, and a cheap leather-look biker jacket. My hair was scraped back into a loose plait that swung down my back, and my makeup was just as plain as usual. A bit of foundation and some mascara. Glancing at the people around me, I fit right in, and it was the first time I didn’t feel ashamed of what I looked like. Poor and ordinary.

Rounding the corner, I saw the warehouse ahead, and it was a hive of activity. Music filtered out onto the street where people milled, moving to and from the entrance. On first glance at the exterior, it was nothing like I’d expected. I was ready for cloak and dagger espionage and secret code words to get inside, not this. I wondered why the cops never shut it down because it wasn’t exactly a covert operation. Bribes—had to be.

There didn’t seem to be an entry fee, but a huge man with a shiny bald head eyed me as I slipped inside with the group of people I’d followed. I swore he rolled his eyes as I passed, but there was no way I was looking twice at the guy.

Standing just inside, I shifted nervously, my hands shoved into my pockets. I fiddled with my car keys, my gaze darting around, but no one paid me any attention. Just a normal day in paradise, then. I took a deep breath and did what I did best. Became invisible.

On the surface, The Underground looked like any sports club slash warehouse nightclub I’d seen on TV. There was a large wire cage surrounded by bleachers and a generous standing area—this was where the fights took place. To the side was a full bar that was pumping with customers and staff, and next to that, there was a lineup of bookies taking bets. A large digital board above them listed the fights for the night with odds being shouted out above the din. Toilets seemed to be further to the back, a set of doors guarded by a pair of security guards led someplace else, and there was plenty of other seating scattered around.

Passing by the bookies, I stared up at the board. All the fighters had names like Goblin, Viper, Storm, Sabre, and Roar. If the setup here weren’t so high tech, I would’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all. Calling yourself Goblin. Seriously?

“Hey, lady,” a man called out, causing me to pause. “You want to place a bet?”

I hesitated, glancing up at the board again.

“We’ve got Blade against Sabre starting in ten minutes,” he went on, trying to reel me in. “Blade is two to one. Good odds, low risk.”

I grasped the coin purse in my jacket pocket. Why not? What did I have to lose? Maybe twenty bucks. I would just have to eat a few packets of instant noodles instead of chicken drumsticks this week. In the spirit of winning back my life, I decided to give it a shot.

“Put me down for twenty, then,” I said.

“Twenty on Blade for the win?” he asked, and I nodded.

Handing over the cash, he gave me a ticket stub and immediately turned to call out the odds to another person behind me. Moving away, I stared at the bet and shivered. Who knew such a little thing could make me feel so…alive.

Deciding to find a spot on the bleachers to watch the fight, I sidled through the press of people, loving the anonymity. I didn’t know a single person, and they didn’t know me. I wasn’t the butt of anyone’s jokes, no one gave me bitchy side-eye, and no one definitely looked at me as if I was beneath them.

Finding a spot halfway up the bleachers, I sat, watching as a man walked into the cage with a microphone in his hand. The people around me craned their necks, their attention turning forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the ringmaster—was that even what he was?—roared into the microphone. “The next fight of the evening sees two of your favorites go head-to-head. Fighting for Championship points, this bout is going to be brutal.”

I squirmed in my seat, my body picking up on the energy in the air. This whole thing seemed like a big deal. People were invested, calling out the names of their favorite fighters…it was a whole underground movement happening right under the city’s nose. It was incredible.

“Our first fighter cuts like a samurai sword and moves like a ninja…it’s Sabre!”

The crowd roared, the bleachers shaking as everyone stamped their feet. Watching the cage, I saw the door open, and a man strode into the spotlight. Gasping as I saw how ripped he was, all my womanly bits zinged in appreciation. The fighter known as Sabre wore nothing but a pair of silk shorts with a wide waistband, a patch of some sort sewn on the front. His muscles rippled as he flexed, moving to the far side of the cage.

Wow. Just…wow.

“And challenging for the points is your favorite pair of fists, the man who’s right hook is sharper than diamond-cut steel, the man who’s remained undefeated in his last ten bouts…the one, the only, Blade!”

The second fighter prowled into the cage, and there were enthusiastic screams from the female portion of the crowd.

“Do me, Blade!”

“Fuck me!”

“Let me suck your cock!”

I narrowed my eyes at the blatant sexual advances and studied the fighter known as Blade.

Immediately, I could see the difference between him and the other guy. He was just as built, his muscles well defined and enhanced with two full sleeves of black and gray tattoos, but there was something in the way he moved. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

I studied his face, his short messy hair, his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw and decided he was completely my type of man. As if I would ever have a chance with all the glamazons throwing themselves at him.

As the two fighters faced off, I saw the stains on the ground—it was concrete, no mats or padding in sight—and realized the brown splatters were old bloodstains. Fiona’s boyfriend’s mate Tony wasn’t kidding, then. This place was serious business.

I began to feel uneasy about the fight, but I was here now, and it would look weird if I got up and left while everyone was glued to the cage. If I wanted to live, then I had to watch.

A bell rang, signaling the start of the fight, and the two men launched themselves at each other, punching, kicking, and dancing around one another like lethal weapons. The crowd cheered as Blade sank his fist into Sabre’s stomach. They called for blood as he slammed his opponent onto the concrete and chanted his name as he dominated the fight within minutes.

To me, the scared little mouse that I was, it was a bloodbath. Raw male aggression filled the air, whipping the entire place into a frenzy. I felt like a little fish in a pool of sharks.

Blood dripped from Blade’s face, but it poured from Sabre. He was on the ground, his hand slamming against the concrete as he spat to the side. Red smeared across his lips, and I felt sick. As the fight was called in Blade’s favor, I rose to my feet, horrified.

Pushing through the crowd, I turned, searching for the way out. That…it was confronting. The brutality of it all. People came here for fun? What was I thinking coming here?

In my haste to find the exit, I found myself in a secluded area of the warehouse. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking around in circles, but I was glad for a little breathing space. That was until I realized where I was. A few people lingered, but they all looked hard as hell. Bad guys and their women. It felt like I would be flogged with a chain at any second.

Turning, I smacked into a hard chest and squeaked as two big hands grasped my shoulders. Staring up into the scarred face of an extremely tall, built, and mean-looking man, I began to tremble.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, his gaze lowering to my breasts. “Lookin’ for someone?”

“N-no,” I stammered. He looked like Vin Diesel served with a side of ugly.

“Are you lost?” he asked, licking his lips. “I can help you find nirvana, baby. It’s right here on my cock.”

I froze, fear starting to overcome reason.

“No need to be frightened,” the man said. “I’m a fighter here. I’ll look after you. We’ll have a good time. I’ll even let you be on top for a while.”

“Hey, Mountain.” A loud voice from behind the man drew his attention, and he let me go as a hand slapped on his shoulder. “I see you found my girl.”

“She’s yours?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

I raised my head and hesitated when I saw the man who’d approached us. It was Blade. The guy from the cage with the right hook from hell.

His eyebrow was split from the fight, and a few drops of blood were smeared across his forehead. Up close, he was better looking than from my vantage point on the bleachers. He’d put on a T-shirt and jeans since, and his hair was damp.

“Thanks for keeping her warm for me, but I reckon you should fuck off,” he said to Mountain. “You’re going to scare her off, mate.”

“Pussy,” he growled. “Prove it.”

Blade sighed and then glanced at me. Before I knew what was happening, he reached out and wrapped his hand around my braid, pulling me against his chest. His mouth covered mine, his lips hard and commanding. When his tongue swept into my mouth, I melted, letting him kiss me like I was nothing more than a thing. And fuck me if it wasn’t hot as hell…and completely bloody stupid.

When he pulled away, he stared at me almost apologetically.

“Blade, mate, c’mon. Share your pussy around for once in your sorry life.”

“Fuck off, Mountain,” he said with a snarl, not breaking eye contact with me. “I’m not into group situations, and I definitely don’t want to see your cock.”

Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, Blade guided me away from the danger zone and back out into the warehouse. It felt safer out here, but now I knew it was an illusion.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I got lost…”

Turning, he looked me over and raised an eyebrow. “You here alone?”

I nodded, starting to feel exceptionally stupid.

He grinned like he already knew my answer. “What’s your name?” I opened my mouth to reply, but he placed a finger over my lips, and I shivered at the contact. “You can be whoever you want here.”

I was plain Alison Anders, the butt of all the office jokes, demure, straitlaced, alone, a shell of her former self. There wasn’t a wild bone in my body, but suddenly, I felt like I could be anyone.

“Ali,” I said through a heavy breath. The name rolled from my lips without hesitation, and I knew it was fate. Life had just been blown into my dead body, and it’d been delivered by the kiss of a stranger. A hot, dangerous, bloodstained stranger.

“Ali,” he murmured. “I think you’d better go home. This isn’t a nice place for a woman on her own.”

I froze, my mind pulverized into mush. Go home?

He smirked, his gaze lowering. Just when I thought he was staring at my boobs, he plucked the ticket stub out of my breast pocket and peered at the bet I’d placed. His lips curved into a grin, and he pressed the bit of paper into my hand.

“You’d better collect your winnings on the way out, darlin’.” He winked before turning away, and my gaze fell to his ass. “You’re welcome.”

Ignite (#11 The Beat and the Pulse) is OUT NOW

*Please note: Ignite is exclusive to the Dark Desires boxed set until October 2017. It will be available as a solo title after this date, so please check back!

Never miss a new release again.

Sign up for Amity Cross’ VIP Newsletter!

OTHER BOOKS BY AMITY CROSS

HAVE YOU READ ANY OF THESE ROMANCES?

ROYAL BLOOD

Xavier 'X' Blood is a hitman for motorcycle club, Royal Blood. When he meets Mercy Reid, things begin to unravel in the worst way possible. Will Mercy's love be enough to save him?

Royal Blood #1 <—FREE!

Bad Blood #2

Blood Rites #3

Devil’s Blood #4

Love Like Blood #5

Blood and Bone #6

UNEXPECTED

Unexpected follows the story of rock star Jake West and fiery 'wildcat' Blair Hayden. Come with them on a whirlwind European tour and find out if they fall in love or crash and burn.

Unexpected #1 <—FREE!

The Complete Collection #1-6

L IS FOR LUMINOUS

L is for Luminous tells the story of shy, geeky Lux Dawson and hunky superstar celebrity, Jude Atwood.

She wants to be seen and he wants to be real. Can these two lost souls from two vastly different worlds find what they most desire in each other?

L is for Luminous

THE THORNFIELD AFFAIR

Orphaned as an infant, Jane Doe has nothing, but desires everything life has to offer.

When she’s offered work at Thornfield, a grand English manor turned hotel, she meets her match in the dark and brooding proprietor, Edward Rochester.

Soon enough, tensions rise to breaking point, and they become embroiled in an illicit affair of the mind and body.

Welcome to Thornfield where two lost souls are destined to love…no matter the cost.

The Thornfield Affair is a modern reimagining of Charlotte Brontë’s classic Jane Eyre.

Euphoria #1

Paradox #2

Zenith #3

Check www.amitycrosswrites.com for new books and series!

Table of Contents

- Title Page

- Copyright

- 1. Callie

- 2. Storm

- 3. Callie

- 4. Storm

- 5. Callie

- 6. Storm

- 7. Callie

- 8. Storm

- 9. Callie

- 10. Storm

- 11. Callie

- 12. Storm

- 13. Callie

- 14. Storm

- 15. Callie

- 16. Storm

- 17. Callie

- 18. Storm

- 19. Callie

- 20. Storm

- 21. Callie

- 22. Callie

- Other Books in The Beat and The Pulse series…

- VIP Newsletter

- About the Author

- Ignite (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)

- Other Books by Amity Cross

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

1. Callie

2. Storm

3. Callie

4. Storm

5. Callie

6. Storm

7. Callie

8. Storm

9. Callie

10. Storm

11. Callie

12. Storm

13. Callie

14. Storm

15. Callie

16. Storm

17. Callie

18. Storm

19. Callie

20. Storm

21. Callie

22. Callie

Other Books in The Beat and The Pulse series…

VIP Newsletter

About the Author

Ignite (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)

Other Books by Amity Cross