Punching and Kissing Read online

  by Helena Newbury

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  © Copyright Helena Newbury 2015

  The right of Helena Newbury to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, events, companies, organizations or products is purely coincidental.

  This book contains adult scenes and is intended for readers 18+. It contains scenes of violence and a scene that may be triggering for rape survivors.

  Cover photo: Mr Big Photography/iStockPhoto

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to:

  My fantastic street team!

  Liz, my editor.

  DB, Pearl, Jenny and Olivia, my beta readers

  And to all my readers :)

  Sylvie

  I didn’t belong there.

  The crowd was a baying, howling mass of wild eyes and open mouths, leaning far over the concrete balcony to gawp. The heat of a hundred frenzied bodies pressed in on me from all sides until I could barely catch my breath.

  I had to get out of there but I needed to stay. I owed it to Alec.

  I stumbled through the crowd, making my way around the edge of the huge, circular room. I kept my gaze fixed on the graffiti, on the rusted pipes...anything to avoid looking at what was going on below us.

  There was a cry of pain and I glanced down before I could stop myself. One man had the other on the floor, fists pummeling his face. There was only one rule: it went on until someone couldn’t get up.

  Welcome to The Pit.

  I looked away, disgusted, and tried to move faster. Elbowing or pushing isn’t in my nature and I was the lone woman in a roomful of hyped-up, drunk men. So I muttered apologies and sneaked through gaps. Luckily, they barely noticed me—not the rich guys who’d come there for an edgy walk on the wild side, not the local guys who were one bad bet away from disaster. Everyone was going nuts, jumping and yelling and punching the air.

  No, wait. Not everyone.

  I stopped in my tracks as I saw him. He stood like a rock in an ocean, a full head taller than the people around him and moving not even an inch as they ebbed and swelled against him. His broad back was like a cliff and his shoulders seemed twice as wide as mine. He was in a sleeveless top, arms folded across his chest, and the heavy swells of his shoulders and biceps led down to thickly corded forearms. Big, and ripped, as well. But it wasn’t his size or his muscles that made me stop, nor even the way he stood so still.

  His hood was raised, throwing his face into shadow. Who wore a hood, in this heat?

  I moved forward and lost sight of him for a moment. When I saw him again, I was closer. I was looking up into that shadowed face, now. I could just catch glimpses: a jaw dusted with dark stubble, a full lower lip pressed into a tight line. He was watching, but he hadn’t lost himself like the others. Maybe he was sickened by what was happening downstairs. Maybe, like me, he didn’t belong in this place.

  I passed behind him, willing myself not to look. I made it three feet beyond him before the urge got too much and I glanced back over my shoulder. At first, I could see only shadows under the hood but then—

  As one of the cheap fluorescent tubes flickered, I caught a glimpse of eyes: savagely blue and brutally hard. Starkly beautiful, they saw every weakness and gave no mercy.

  I tore my eyes away, panting like I’d just missed a speeding truck. I’d been wrong. He wasn’t immune to this place at all—he was already lost. And if I didn’t belong here; he could have been born here.

  I tried to move faster through the crowd. A drink. I needed a drink. I headed for the guy I’d seen on the far side of the room, the one who sold sodas out of a cooler at six dollars a time. He knew his market—six dollars was nothing to the guys who came here, the ones who bet thousands of dollars and then drove home in their Lexuses, speed-dialing their wives to apologize for working late. To me, six dollars was a day’s food. But I was going to pass out if I didn’t drink something.

  I bought a Dr. Pepper and ran the cool metal can over my forehead, closing my eyes, letting the chill soak into me and calm me, pushing away the remembered fear from when I’d glimpsed that guy’s expression.

  Fear and...something else.

  The eyes had been gorgeous—coldly beautiful beyond anything I’d ever seen. And that jaw, those lips, that body—the expression had sent ice down my spine but, when it reached my groin, it had turned into something else entirely. Cold had become hot. Fear had become—

  I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Stupid. Sure, from the glimpses I’d seen, the guy might just be hot as hell under that hood. But that expression...he was like the distilled essence of this place.

  Stay. The fuck. Away.

  I popped the top and drank. The cold soda foamed down my throat like liquid sex. A calming chill soaked through me and I felt my heart gradually slowing down.

  I drained the whole can before I looked up and saw him. The hooded man. Closer, this time, no more than ten feet away.

  And staring right at me.

  The momentary cool from the soda boiled away in an instant. A wave of heat shot through me, rippling upward from my groin. I wasn’t ready for how deeply sexual his gaze was, how it connected with me right where I lived.

  I told myself, of course he’s not looking at you. I’m not much to look at. My brother’s the eye-catching one, all blond hair and muscle, like my dad. I take after my mom—small and slender, with boobs like half-oranges.

  I wrenched my eyes from him and stared fixedly into the distance, waiting for him to look away.

  But I could still feel his gaze on the side of my face, never wavering for a second.

  Aedan

  There were about a million reasons I shouldn’t be there: it was too damn hot; I had to be up early for work the next morning; I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me at one of his fights.

  But there was something that mattered more than any of that. That itch, that deep-down itch that can’t be scratched any other way but feeling your fists connect. The rush you get as you duck and weave, hands up, taking the punishment and then returning it tenfold.

  I don’t do that anymore. But the itch is still there. Watching it is the next best thing.

  By rights, indulging myself like that should have brought something bad down on me. A lightning bolt from above, maybe. But someone saw fit to send me a whole different kind of divine intervention.

  She was the only woman in the place, but she would have stood out if she’d been in some uptown club filled with supermodels. Long, black hair, maybe even darker than mine, so dark it was almost blue-black. A slender, lithe body that made me want to take the flat of my hand and run it all the way down from her neck to the curve of her calf, like stroking a cat. She was wearing a bubblegum-pink Curious Weasels t-shirt and it molded to the soft swells of her breasts in a way that made my breath catch.

  No. Not her. I wasn’t going to torture myself with a girl like that. Too beautiful. Too pure. I didn’t deserve someone like that. Oh, sure, I could grab her wrist and pin her with my Irish eyes and tell her she was coming home with me, now. Maybe she’d see what was underneath the hood and freak out, but maybe she’d be okay with it. Then we could go back to my apartment
. My body between those sweet thighs, driving up into her, those cute little tits filling my hands—

  Jesus, would that really be so bad?

  Yeah, it would. In the morning, she’d realize I wasn’t some fantasy bad boy; I was just bad. Not an exciting walk on the wild side but a full-on savage, only good for two things. She’d look down at my big, calloused hands as they roved over her naked breasts and start to think about what else they’d done—how much pain and damage I’d dealt. She’d panic and make excuses and run back to her safe little life, wherever the hell that was, and it’d be over. Or, worse, she’d hang around just long enough for me to fuck up her life. I wasn’t going to risk that. No matter how perfect her tits were.

  I watched her moving through the crowd. Damn, she was just a scared little thing. Why didn’t people make way for her? I pegged her for about twenty, five years younger than me. It was only when she glanced my way again that I saw the pain in her eyes. She was about twenty, but she’d seen more bad shit than someone her age should.

  She bought a soda and ran the can over her forehead—right there, in front of me, like it was nothing at all. I drank in every detail: the slow roll of the can as it kissed her skin, the soft, long lashes as she closed her eyes in pleasure, the drop of ice water that fell from the bottom of the can and fell—

  Jesus onto her upper boob and then trickling down into the scoop neck of her t-shirt, painting a trail of moisture over the soft flesh.

  I could feel my cock swell against my thigh. Damn, she was hot.

  She opened her eyes and I finally got a look at them. Big and liquid and the color of some lush, enchanted forest grove. And her lips! Soft, perfect pillows, flawless and pink. She popped the top of the can and drank. I couldn’t take my eyes off that elegant throat, flexing and swallowing. God, she was beautiful. What the hell was she doing here? Some rich kid, slumming it? Her clothes didn’t look expensive, but she must be some rich guy’s girlfriend. What else would a woman be doing here? This was a guy’s world—women had more sense.

  And then she looked up and, for maybe half a second, she was looking right at me. A jolt went through my body, as if I’d touched a live wire. I felt every muscle go tense, my hands making fists so tight my knuckles ached. It was like I’d dropped right into a fantasy world for an instant, a heaven where I knew her, where we could be together. I felt like I was coming alive, the last few years beginning to slough off and fall away from me.

  An angel. Fate had sent me an angel.

  Then she came to her senses and looked away and I felt like an idiot for staring at her. I was pretty sure she couldn’t see much, under the hood, but maybe she’d seen. Or maybe she’d sensed what I was like and that had scared her even more.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from her, though. I drank her in because it might be the last time I ever saw her. I watched until she finally finished her soda and headed out of the main room, down the long, dark hallway that led to the bathroom. I caught my breath. The sight of her ass in those jeans, pert and tight and just the right size of my hands…I had a new favorite part of her.

  She disappeared into the shadows and the spell was broken. Reality returned like a punch to the side of my head. Yeah, and you’ll never even touch her, you feckin’ idiot.

  I liked her and that was why I had to stay away from her. Because if I got tempted and actually got close, all I was going to do was hurt her.

  And then I frowned, because I saw another guy watching her retreating back. Not one of the rich guys in a suit, one of the locals. He nodded to his two buddies and all three of them disappeared into the shadows.

  Oh God, no.

  Sylvie

  The Pit was some kind of industrial building, once. Most of it is just bare concrete and graffiti, but some of the fluorescent lights still work and there’s running water. The crowd has to be able to see; the organizers have to hose the blood off the floor.

  Hidden away down a long hallway, in what I guess used to be the office area, there’s a bathroom. Not many people know about it. I normally avoid it because I don’t like being off on my own in The Pit. But after draining a whole Dr. Pepper, I suddenly needed to go.

  The roar of the crowd died away as I turned one corner, then another, hurrying past disused rooms with broken windows. It wasn’t much cooler than the rest of The Pit, but at least there was space to think.

  Had that guy really been staring at me? It didn’t seem likely—no one ever looked at me. I couldn’t help thinking someone could have rolled the genetic dice better. I could have been some tall, leggy blonde with bags of confidence and my brother could have been short, dark and shy.

  Because then maybe he wouldn’t be downstairs, waiting to take his turn in the ring.

  I locked myself in the bathroom. There was only one in the whole place, so it’s a good thing people don’t know it’s there or it’d get pretty nasty in there on fight night. I pushed my jeans and panties down around my knees. A few seconds later...relief.

  I understood why Alec was doing it. Without the cash from fighting, we’d be on the street already. But watching him risk his life each month was almost unbearable. I hated The Pit. But sitting waiting for him at home...that would be even worse.

  I was just about to stand up when the door rattled. Not hard, just like someone was leaning against it, but it made me jump. I cleared my throat. “Occupied!” I called out, wishing my voice didn’t sound so high and nervy.

  A low laugh, the sort that’s shared between friends. And then I saw the bolt on the door slide back.

  I grabbed for it, but it was too late. The door was swinging wide and the guy was already inside. Not much taller than me but wider, with heavy muscle under a layer of fat. He was still holding the coin he’d used to open the lock from the outside.

  I started to get up. I wasn’t all that scared, yet. My mind was still occupied with humiliation, one hand reaching for my jeans while the other tried to cover my groin. In my head, it was more on the level of some high school prank where the guys invade the girls’ bathroom and laugh at them.

  Then his hand slapped across my mouth, his sweaty palm tight against my lips. With his other hand, he lifted me off the toilet and pressed me against the wall. Two more men were crowding in, almost filling the small room. And the true horror of it began to sink in.

  One guy closed and locked the door. I could barely hear the roar of the distant crowd, now—even if I could scream, no one would hear me. And no one knows I’m in here.

  The guy holding me had wiry brown hair that lay in tangled curls. His foot, when he stamped it down on my jeans and panties to ram them down my legs, was in a work boot, white with dust. I felt my legs bared, then his knee between them, stopping them from closing.

  I tried to scream, but my lungs couldn’t get any air. In his excitement, the guy had pushed the edge of his hand right up against my nostrils. I tried to kick, but my ankles were still tangled in my jeans and the bundle of cloth was pinned to the floor by his foot. I heaved myself away from the wall, but his chest was pressed hard against me.

  I still couldn’t breathe. Every panicked attempt just sucked his hand tighter against my nose and mouth.

  His other hand pushed between my legs. Fingers on me. God...in me. I wanted to throw up. I clawed with my hands and managed to scratch his neck, but then one of the other men grabbed my wrists and pressed my hands hard against the wall. All three of them were laughing, the sound ringing in my ears. I heard a belt buckle being unfastened.

  I was still straining against their grip, but my vision was going dark. I wondered if I was going to pass out before it happened.

  The door gave a single, solitary creak, as if someone was leaning against it. I looked towards it—anything was better than looking at the men’s faces.

  With a sound like the end of the world, the door was ripped off its hinges and lifted away, trailing shattered wood. Then it was tossed aside and I saw—

  Him. The man who’d been staring at me.
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br />   The lead guy’s two buddies ran at my savior, yelling at him. Now my arms were free, but I barely had the strength to lift them away from the wall. My body had gone limp, my lungs burning for air.

  The hooded guy grabbed the first man by the t-shirt and hurled him across the hallway as easily as if he was tossing a garbage bag into a dumpster. The man hit the wall with a sickening crack and went down.

  The other man tried to land a punch. Mystery guy blocked it easily, then slammed his fist into the man’s side, right over his kidney. The man crumpled, just in time to get a knee to his chin.

  My vision had narrowed to a tunnel. My face was wet with sweat, my life measured in seconds, now. The guy holding me glanced between me and my rescuer like a predator unwilling to let go of its meal. He finally released me and turned to run.

  The hooded guy took a single step forward and slammed a fist up into the man’s chin. The uppercut lifted him off his feet and his head smacked into the top of the door frame. He crashed unconscious to the floor.

  I slid to the floor. I was wavering at the edge of consciousness, barely capable of taking a breath, but my tortured lungs managed one weak little gasp. The fetid air of The Pit poured down my throat and it tasted like it came from the Swiss Alps. I took another breath and another, each one a little stronger, until I was gulping it down. It took long seconds for my vision to clear and, when it did, nausea followed it. I wrapped my arms around myself and just sat there, staring at the floor.

  My rescuer’s boots stepped into my vision. Then his knees appeared as he crouched down. I didn’t look up at him—I couldn’t. I felt as if I was going to throw up. My jeans and panties were still around my ankles but I couldn’t pull them up while I was sitting and it didn’t feel like my legs would hold me if I tried to stand. I settled for pressing my knees together and hugging my calves tight to my thighs. I hoped most of me was hidden in shadow.