Deeply Destructive (Addicted To You, Book Four) Page 5

  Person after person got inside with me but nobody could make me quit.

  Finally, I’d started to make my way to the big boys, the guys who were much heavier and taller than me. These also happened to be the ones who were actually fighting in the UFF, and they weren’t nobodies. They were contenders.

  The first one I recognized was Virgil Jones, a lanky but muscular light heavyweight who was known for his vicious knees and elbows. I’d seen highlight reels of his knockouts.

  The crowd outside the cage started to chant: “Virgil! Virgil! Virgil!” They were sick of me beating everyone up.

  For the first time in a while, I felt tired again. My arms and legs were heavy. I was winded.

  Virgil seemed to recognize it. He grinned wickedly at me as he moved across the canvas.

  I went into a defensive shell, suddenly timid. Virgil took advantage of my weakness and wrapped his hands around the back of my head, grabbing me in what was known as the “Muay Thai Clinch.” This was a position where the opponent would trap you and keep your head in his hands so that he could deliver a series of brutal knees to your midsection. Eventually, if you bent over, the knees would begin landing on your face.

  Virgil began delivering the knees to my stomach. They felt like he was hitting me with a tire iron. I knew I couldn’t take many more of those. Somehow, I found the strength to break free from his clinch. He followed me back as I went to the cage. He threw a few dazzlingly fast punches. One of them caught me on the nose and I saw stars.

  It was the hardest I’d ever been hit in my life. I felt my knees buckle.

  The crowd erupted but it was faint in my ears.

  “He’s going down!” someone screeched.

  “Knock him the fuck out, Virgil!”

  Some part of me heard that and it brought me back to my senses. I refused to go down. I literally ran away from him as he chased me down inside the cage. But he got a little careless. He thought I was hurt, and I was hurt. But I was still dangerous. As he came forward, I threw a left hook that he never saw coming. It caught him on the temple and he actually crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  It was a one-punch knockout.

  The crowd went truly silent as everyone just stared.

  Even I was shocked by what I’d done.

  Quarry went over and knelt down beside Virgil, helping him get to his feet. He was wobbly and confused, and needed assistance out of the cage.

  Quarry glanced at me, his expression dark with fury. “Okay, let’s bring in the next guy. Somebody better put this fucking kid away. Doesn’t anyone in my gym have any balls?”

  This time, another pro stepped into the cage. It was yet another light heavyweight, Malcolm “The Pit bull” Stevens. He was an outstanding collegiate wrestler who was built like a tank, with a short blond crew cut and beady blue eyes. He wasn’t smiling. He wanted to crush me.

  Meanwhile, I was barely able to stand up and here was a guy who probably outweighed me by twenty or thirty pounds and had wrestled at an elite level.

  And he was fresh as a daisy.

  Malcolm came at me and shot for the double leg takedown. Somehow I was able to avoid it. Next, he rushed forward and got me against the cage. He was even stronger than I’d feared he would be. Suddenly, I was flying backwards through the air as he slammed me against the canvas.

  For a second, everything went blank. When I came to again, he was starting to get on top of me and throw brutally hard punches to my face and chest. He smashed an elbow onto my forehead. I was so tired. I knew it was almost over now. My energy was gone and he was too damn big and strong.

  Nobody would fault me for losing at this point.

  But something in me just refused to stop. Somehow I found another burst of energy. I didn’t even know where it came from. I arched my back and threw him off me, and then sprang to my feet as he charged forward again, like a bull. I stepped back and fired three or four hard uppercuts that landed.

  Malcolm stumbled backwards, his face a mask of surprise. Now I was coming forward. I hit him with a body shot and he sagged to the mat. I jumped on top of him. I was outwrestling him—outwrestling one of the best wrestlers in the country.

  “Time!” Shouted Quarry, just when I was about to finish him off.

  Malcolm got up and slowly walked out of the cage.

  The crowd outside was murmuring with surprise and discomfort. I was standing there, swaying a little on my feet. I could hardly lift my arms.

  Quarry was looking at me, and he had a strange gleam in his eyes. “This is our last man on the team,” he told me. “I think you probably know him.”

  As I turned to the entrance to the cage, I already knew who it would be. Tim

  “The Sting” Young. They called him “The Sting” because of his incredibly deceptive speed and power. For a heavyweight, he was on the smaller side, but when he hit guys, he hurt them. And although he might have been small for a heavyweight, he was much bigger than I was. And he held the title belt in the UFF. That meant he was pretty much the baddest man on the planet.

  He looked at me with a serious, watchful expression. Now he’d seen what I was capable of.

  “Let’s get it on,” Quarry said, and motioned for us to fight.

  Tim slowly stepped forward, in no rush to meet me. I stayed back as well, hoping just to avoid him for the two minutes. My legs were like jelly and I couldn’t catch my breath. I was soaked with sweat, and shaking from exhaustion.

  Nobody in the crowd was uttering a peep. It was the quietest I’d ever heard things during a fight.

  Slowly, Tim shuffled toward me, throwing a long jab to keep me at bay. I stayed away from him, circling first to his right, and then to his left as he stalked me.

  Soon, he was getting more confident. His long jab started to hit me. Even when I blocked it, the punches sent shivers of pain down my arms.

  He threw a one-two combination and the right hand landed on my jaw, snapping my head back. And it hurt. It was sheer pain. I tried to move away, but he threw a kick at my midsection that landed with terrorizing force.

  He threw another kick that smashed into the meat of my thigh and buckled my leg. Then he threw punches to my body that took my breath away.

  I slowly realized that Tim was punishing me for what I’d done to his teammates.

  He wasn’t trying to finish me—he was trying to give me the most pain he could.

  That filled me with anger. Anger was all I had left.

  I hadn’t wanted to fight like this. I had just wanted to join their team, and they’d insisted I fight. Now they were angry that I had done my best and that they couldn’t beat me.

  Well, fuck them. And fuck Tim, too, I decided. Let him knock me out. Nobody ever had, and I was willing to let it be now, if that was what needed to be. But I wasn’t going to just stand there and be Tim’s punching bag.

  I started throwing my own punches back at him, and he wasn’t expecting it. I caught him with a shot on his nose and his nostrils flared.

  “Don’t like getting hit, do you, Timmy?” I shouted, firing another few shots his way. He avoided them.

  “You little shit. I’m going to wreck your face.” He started winging punches at me, but now he was angry. He started missing.

  I easily avoided his punches and started showing off. “What’s wrong, Tim?

  Getting beat by a little guy hurts, don’t it?” I laughed.

  I threw a kick that hit his thigh and he grimaced. I threw another and hit him in the stomach. He took a step back. “Okay, motherfucker. Let’s go.”

  And then he came at me with everything he had.

  I didn’t realize he had another gear. In fact, I understood too late that he’d actually been going easy on me.

  But now he truly was punishing me. He landed a flying knee into my ribs and I cried out in agony.

  Then he threw a left and right hook and I fell to the ground. He backed away.

  “Get up. Get up, motherfucker.”

  Slowly, I g
ot up.

  Tim walloped me with a right hook in the jaw and I staggered backwards. The cage held me up. He punched me again, and I couldn’t defend myself. My head flew back into the cage.

  He hit me again and again.

  I heard the calls, dully, from the crowd. They were asking how the hell I was taking these shots. They were starting to cheer.

  They were cheering for me.

  Tim hit me again and again, but I never fell.

  Finally, Quarry called time. I was still standing.

  Tim was just looking at me like I was some alien being. As the rest of the team streamed into the cage, he finally came over to me and embraced me quickly before letting me go.

  People were slapping me on the back, congratulating me.

  I couldn’t respond. I could barely even think.

  They got a stool and sat me down on it, brought me water to drink.

  After a little while, Quarry came over and knelt down beside me. His expression was serious, but clearly impressed. “You made a statement here today,” he said.

  “I just did what I was born to do,” I told him.

  “I know that,” he said. “And now so does everyone else in this gym.”

  I took a long sip of water and wiped my face with a towel. “So I’m on the team?”

  “Hell, yes. And believe me, what you did today is going to go down in history.

  People will hear about this. People are going to know your name, Justin Brown.”

  I nodded, grateful for it to be over, and to have proven myself.

  But somehow, as I basked in the glory of my victory, I couldn’t stop thinking about those greyhounds racing around that track, never quite able to catch that rabbit.

  LINDSAY

  When I got back to my room, I was giddy.

  I had taken a chance, and it couldn’t have gone better.

  Rachel still wasn’t home, so I blasted a silly pop song through my iPod speakers and twirled around the room, celebrating my small victory.

  I decided I deserved to treat myself a little bit, and so I packed up my books and decided to go out to dinner. My bank account was pretty sparse – I’d saved up some money from my summer job, but it needed to last me the whole semester. Or at least until I could find another job. My parents would help me as much as they could with spending money, but they didn’t have that much to spare.

  But I couldn’t sit in this room all night – I needed to get out.

  I found a cute little café near campus that had cheap sandwiches. It was one of those places where you ordered at the counter and the staff didn’t care if you stayed all night. I curled up in a cozy corner booth and ate and read and just enjoyed my night.

  When my eyes were blurry from studying, and I’d had more cups of coffee then I should have, I headed back to the library, where I studied some more. The walk across campus in the cool night air had refreshed me, and I was able to regain my focus.

  When I finally got back to my dorm room, it was completely dark out, and I was exhausted. I felt accomplished and happy.

  But, as seemed to be the case lately, I had one niggling thought at the back of my mind that prevented me from completely relaxing.

  Justin.

  He hadn’t texted me, and I wasn’t sure why.

  Was it normal boy stuff, the way guys were always saying they would text and then not doing it? Or was it something else? Had there been something I’d done in the movie theatre that had grossed him out or made him want to get away from me? What if he’d thought about kissing me, and then realized he wasn’t attracted to me, and so he’d just decided he didn’t want to see me anymore? What if I never heard from him again?

  Stop it, Lindsay, I told myself. You’re spiraling.

  My phone vibrated with a text, and my pulse quickened.

  But it was only Rachel.

  Had a little too much to drink, it said. Going to spend the night at BU.

  Sounds good, I texted back. Thanks for letting me know.

  I looked around my room, feeling a little lost.

  What was I supposed to do now? I was burnt out on studying, but I didn’t feel tired. The whole day – being with Justin this morning, then again at the movie theatre, then dropping my paper off at Dr. Klaxton’s office and meeting Carter – had left me wired.

  I got into my pajamas and climbed into bed, then turned on the little TV Rachel had brought with her. There was a bunch of Vampire Diaries reruns on, and I zoned out for a while, watching those. I had to admit that it felt kind of good to not think of anything. My brain definitely needed a rest.

  Even so, the whole time, I kept checking my phone.

  And every time I did, I hated myself for it.

  Just because he didn’t text me tonight didn’t mean anything. He’d told me he was going down to the gym. Maybe he’d gotten caught up there, doing something.

  I wasn’t going to text him.

  I’d texted him first the other day, and I wasn’t going to do it again.

  I thought about shutting my phone off, and then finally, I did.

  But ten minutes later, I’d turned it on again.

  I was starting to hate my phone. It was really starting to control my life.

  One little text, a voice in my head whispered. Just do it.

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  Yes.

  It was like a scene in a movie, where someone has an angel and a devil on their shoulder, fighting over what to do.

  In the end, the devil won out.

  Hey, just wanted to see how the rest of your day went? I typed. I’m going to bed soon, just wanted to let you know.

  I thought that made it seem like maybe I was just letting him know I was going to bed, and that way he knew he didn’t have to text me.

  But he didn’t text me back, and that’s when I started to think that maybe he saw right through me. Or maybe my first thought had been right – maybe he’d gotten grossed out for some reason, and now he wanted nothing to do with me.

  Was this how it was going to be from now on? I wondered. Was I turning into one of those girls, the kind that obsessed over their phone and dropped everything for some guy? In high school, I’d prided myself on being completely above all that kind of stuff.

  My phone vibrated.

  Justin. I couldn’t help but hate myself a little for the wave of ecstasy that I experienced when I saw he’d responded.

  His text was totally bizarre. It occurred to me that perhaps he’d texted me by accident .

  Sorry – was throwing up.

  I frowned. What did he mean, throwing up?

  What do you mean, throwing up?

  Was he sick? Maybe he’d eaten something sketchy earlier in the day.

  A minute passed, then two, then three, then four.

  Hello? You okay? I tried again.

  Again, no reply.

  I sat up in bed. What was I supposed to do now?

  I lied down again. There was nothing I could do. If he was sick, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He was a fighter for God’s sake. I’d seen him getting stitched up like it was nothing. And the fact that he hadn’t texted me back didn’t mean something was wrong. He’d probably fallen asleep.

  I turned my light off and closed my eyes.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  What if he was really sick? He was crazy. You couldn’t tell what kind of scrape or sketchy situation he might have gotten himself into.

  But it wasn’t my concern. He wasn’t my boyfriend. I’d only known him for a few days.

  Even so, I’d slept in his bed with him last night, and he’d made me feel things I’d never felt about anyone. I cared about him, even if I didn’t know what exactly that meant or what exactly our relationship was.

  I got out of bed and dressed quickly, thankful Rachel wasn’t there to ask me where I was going or what I was up to. As I walked to the T, I sent one last text.

  If you don’t let m
e know you’re okay, I’m coming over.

  By the time I got on the train, he hadn’t responded.

  When I got to his building, I was able to walk right in the front entrance. Great security around here, I mused.

  A few moments later and I was standing in front of his apartment door. I listened for a long moment, trying to decide if I should just turn around and leave. There was no sound, like no one was home.

  Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe he was out somewhere, maybe at a crazy drunken party or something, and he couldn’t hear his phone, or he just didn’t want to talk.

  I knocked on the door.

  Nothing.

  I knocked again.

  Nothing.

  I was just about to leave when I heard a scuffling sound coming from the back of the apartment.

  “Hello!” I called. “Justin?”

  A light flicked on.

  And a few moments later, a dark figure lurched to the door.

  “Thank God,” I said as he opened the door. “I’m sorry I came over, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Justin took a step forward, and his face became illuminated in the glow of the dim light from the kitchen doorway.

  I gasped. His cut was broken open almost completely, with only the edges of it held together, like a broken zipper.

  There were angry purple bruises under both of his eyes. His lip was puffy, and there was dried blood under his nose.

  “Justin,” I gasped.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a few bumps and…” Suddenly, he staggered backwards and fell to his hands and knees. Blood was dripping from somewhere on his face and pooling on the floor beneath him.

  I ran to him and tried to help him to his feet. He looked up at me. “Don’t leave me,” he said. “Lindsay, don’t leave me. I need you.”

  I knelt beside him, trying to figure out what to do, and my thoughts kept tumbling around my head.

  I need you, he’d said. But the thing that terrified me the most was that in that moment, I’d realized I needed him too.

  END OF BOOK 4

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