Battered Not Broken

CHAPTER 1

No freaking way. I told you I’m not interested in being a ring girl. Ally pulled her gloves off and let her hands breathe, tossing her head so that a sweat-dampened lock of dark hair was removed from her eye. Her hair never stayed put in a ponytail for more than two minutes, and she’d just finished a five minute round.

C’mon, Cameron said, leaning on the ring’s ropes. Stacey was going to do it, but she’s sick. Fridays are our biggest nights – you know that. Just one night. Please.

No. Ally shot a not-this-again look across the ring at Melissa, her sparring partner.

Melissa raised one gracefully-arched brow and shrugged, as if to say that’s Cameron for you.

I’ll pay you, Cameron said, gripping the ropes and peering up at Ally, locking her in eye contact. Double the normal ring girl rate.

Double nothing is still nothing. Ally shook her head, resolving to pay attention to the background noise instead of Cameron’s pleading. The steady whap whap of bags being hit was almost rhythmic, but not enough to drown out his voice.

It’s not nothing, he said indignantly. It’s generous for a few minutes of easy work. And you get free admission for that night’s fights.

"I already get free admission into all fights – it’s a membership perk, remember? Ally narrowed her eyes, hoping her sweaty face and head full of crazy, damp waves would help her to look intimidating instead of just sloppy. Ask someone else. Put an ad in the paper or something. You’ll probably get responses from some college girls who’d get some sort of thrill out of parading around in a bikini in front of a crowd." Maybe she was being a little harsh, but she was too short on breath to be anything but blunt.

College girls are flaky, Cameron said, frowning, and too picky. They see this place from the outside and they think it looks like a dump. They never give it a chance. Besides, there’s no time. Friday’s only two days away. He glanced from side to side, then donned a grin, as if a light bulb had just gone off above his head. Make you a deal – you help me out and I’ll give you some free one-on-one training sessions. We can start now – I’ll help you get ready for Saturday.

Look, Ally said, climbing out of the ring and settling her bare feet on the cold concrete floor, the answer is no. Stop hassling me or I’ll find another gym to train at.

That was an empty threat and Cameron knew it. His gym was near her house – a major plus considering the fact that she didn’t have a car – and she had friends here. Even Cameron wasn’t bad, normally. She admired his business sense and his persistence – just not when he refused to take no for an answer from her.

Luckily, she could be just as stubborn.

Cameron frowned, his lower lip jutting out. You wouldn’t leave Knockout! You’ve been here for over two years.

Fighting the snort of laughter that threatened to escape at the sight of his pout was harder than fighting Melissa had been, and that was saying something. There was just something bizarre about seeing a former middleweight boxing champion-turned-MMA-entrepreneur stick out his lip like a disappointed seven year old.

Fine, Cameron said. Fine. What about you, Mel?

Melissa shook her head, crossing her arms over a perfectly svelte figure that any red-blooded male would’ve loved to see in one of the skimpy bikinis Cameron required his ring girls to wear. You know I work Friday nights.

Cameron threw his hands up into the air, raising thick arms that evidenced the time he spent working the bags in his own gym. Fine. If either of you two know a cute girl who’d like to make a few bucks, give her my number. He turned on his heel and strode toward his office, shaking his head.

Melissa tossed back her head and laughed. The sound was rich but undeniably feminine, and several heads turned in her direction as the half a dozen or so guys present and training in the gym slowed or stopped altogether to stare.

Melissa acted like she didn’t even notice. God, he sounded like a creep when he said that, didn’t he? She stepped down from the ring with her head held high, like a queen descending from her throne.

Ally agreed and indulged in a few moments of laughter that were cut short when she turned around, nearly colliding with someone else.

Crap. She breathed an exasperated sigh as she was treated to a point-blank view of a sweaty male chest. Mel and I are finished with the ring. You could’ve just asked, you know. He – whoever he was – had sneaked up on her as silently as a cat stalking prey. Or maybe Melissa’s laughter had drowned out the sound of his footsteps. Either way, he clearly didn’t know the meaning of the words personal space.

Sorry, he said, not sounding at all like he meant it as he remained planted firmly in front of her.

Ally raised her gaze to meet a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes. They were cool, almost icy, but lit with a hint of amusement. A brief glance at the rest of his face revealed a perfectly straight nose and surprisingly full mouth. She ignored those features, refusing to break eye contact as a spark of surprise lit somewhere in her middle. Are you a member? Because the ring and bags are only for members.

Every once in a while, some wanna-be MMA fighter would wander into the gym and try to prove his manliness by challenging the guys who trained there. It was weird, but it had happened before. The fact that he was good-looking didn’t mean he wasn’t an idiot.

Just joined this morning, he said, surprising her by extending a hand. Ryan Moore.

He more or less seized one of her hands and gripped her fingers before she could move. What he did then was more of a squeeze than a handshake.

Nice to meet you, she said in a flat voice, taking a little satisfaction in the knowledge that her hands were still hot and sweaty from her gloves. You can have the ring now. Who’s your sparring partner?

That’d be me.

Ally looked past Ryan Moore’s shoulder to see Daniel Sanchez, a long-time member of the Knockout MMA Gym, abandoning his bag and stepping toward the newcomer. He flashed Ally a devious grin and a wink.

She smiled. Good luck, Sanchez. Withdrawing her hand from Ryan’s grip, she stepped aside, taking up a post at Melissa’s side, near one corner of the ring.

I think you’ve got an admirer, Melissa said, tipping her head to speak into Ally’s ear as the two men climbed into the ring.

Ally rolled her eyes. He’s probably one of your fans. Melissa was built like a supermodel with a weight-lifting hobby. Slender but noticeably toned, her long limbs gave her a height advantage of several inches over Ally and accounted for her incredible reach. Her figure combined with her long ebony curls and smooth cocoa-colored skin made her one of those women who attracted men without even trying, and Ryan Moore wouldn’t be the first gym rat to crush on her.

In comparison, Ally was shorter and definitely curvier, her skin a significantly-lighter caramel tone. She and Melissa didn’t look alike, but they thought so alike that they’d become best friends after meeting at Knockout two years ago.

I don’t know, Melissa said as the men faced each other in the ring, he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you up.

Ally’s stomach did a funny little flip-flop maneuver. Her reply was lost as Sanchez and Moore assumed their positions and an almost tangible air of interest settled over the gym. The whap whap noise of fighters working bags stopped abruptly as every head in the building turned toward the ring.

Everyone wanted to see what the new guy was made of, and Ally was no exception. Not that she expected much. Lots of guys came and went. Some paid the first month’s membership dues, signed the required waiver and then left for good when they got their butts kicked on the first day.

Ryan Moore would probably be one of those guys. He was tall, cut and broad across the shoulders – surprisingly broad – but that didn’t mean he knew how to fight, or even how to tell a hook from a jab. It was amazing how many guys watched a few rounds of MMA fighting on TV and then thought they were ready to take on the world. And then there were the self-proclaimed street-fighting champions who were usually just guys who’d gotten into a few bar fights and were just as bad if not worse.

Who are you betting on? Melissa half-whispered in Ally’s ear.

Are you kidding? Ally kept her voice low.

Melissa shrugged. The new guy looks like he’s in pretty good shape, and he’s not standing there flat-footed like most of those guys who walk in here after watching MMA on TV do. He might know what he’s doing.

Ally hadn’t even looked at his feet – not really. She’d been too busy staring at the flamboyant design that stretched from his shoulders to his hips, an intricate blanket of ink that took up his entire back. It wasn’t the usual obligatory skull or tribal armband tattoo that so many of those sports channel-addicted tough guys had, but it rubbed her the wrong way nonetheless. Maybe because she’d spent too much time staring at it and hadn’t noticed the obvious fact that Melissa had just pointed out. I guess we’ll see.

Ryan Moore did know how to move – that much was evident as soon as someone signaled the beginning of the match and he was forced immediately to bob, avoiding a jab that Sanchez aimed at his face. Half a moment later, he shifted to the right and landed a hook against Sanchez’ ear. The muffled sound of impact resounded throughout the unusually quiet gym.

Ally couldn’t help exchanging a glance with Melissa, who looked significantly less surprised than Ally felt.

Damn Ryan Moore’s distracting tattoo. It blurred as he moved, surprisingly light on his feet for someone who had to be six feet tall. The design was a complicated blend of a line of script that spanned his shoulders and scrolling Celtic knots that covered his entire back. It was impossible to tell what the words said from a distance, especially while he was moving. One would have to get close to read the script – almost close enough to touch him.

Oof. Sanchez’ breath rushed out with a startled sound as Moore’s knee hit his stomach and he began to double over. He got ahold of himself quickly and straightened into a fighter’s pose again, his shoulders rounded and his eyes wiser.

Clearly, it wasn’t Moore’s first time in the ring. Sanchez toned down his aggressiveness, taking a more defensive approach and guarding himself against his opponent’s strikes. Soon, he landed a hook that tipped Moore’s head of short-cropped brown hair.

Moore took the punch well and hardly paused before launching into a leg sweep that nearly sent Sanchez to the mat.

Nearly. Sanchez managed to break the clench after a couple tense moments and was back on his toes, his eyes flashing with calculation.

All of the gym regulars knew that Sanchez considered scissor takedowns a specialty of his. Moore had no way of knowing, so maybe that was why he seemed taken by surprise when the other man threw himself into the air, pulling off the move flawlessly.

It was one of the best scissor takedowns Ally had ever seen, even for Sanchez. It floored Moore, shaking the ring with an audible smack as his back hit the mat.

An intense struggle for power ensued and Moore managed to work his way to the top. Sanchez weighed in at one eighty-five. Moore couldn’t have been much heavier, if at all – he was taller, but Sanchez was built like a brick house.

Moore landed a few blows to Sanchez’ ribs and the other man hit back, striking Moore across the jaw once. Then their limbs tangled, discernible only because of differences in skin color – where Sanchez’ was a rich, sienna-like shade, Moore was both lighter and darker, his naturally fairer skin lightly tanned where it wasn’t covered in black ink.

It ended in an armbar, and the victory went to Moore. By that point, the gym was so silent that Sanchez’ tap out echoed throughout the whole open, high-ceilinged room that made up most of the gym.

Lucky you, Sanchez. Cameron’s voice rang throughout the gym. You’ve finally got a sparring partner in your weight class who’ll keep you on your toes.

Sanchez didn’t look as pleased about his loss as Cameron sounded, but nodded in Moore’s direction anyway as he rose, sweat-slicked from head to toe.

Good thing we never placed an official bet, Melissa said under her breath.

Yeah, Ally conceded. Dinner’s on me anyway. We’re having enchiladas tonight. You should come by and have some before you leave for work.

Ryan Moore’s gaze had inspired her to invite Melissa to dinner. He was staring in their direction like he’d never seen a female before, and the intensity of his gaze sent a prickle of protectiveness down her spine.

It was hard to tell whether he was gaping at both of them or one of them, but either way she wasn’t going to let Melissa walk out of the gym with the new guy staring in their direction like that – not after she’d watched him wipe the floor with Sanchez. Melissa was tough, but she couldn’t have been much more than half his weight. And Ryan Moore might be a gym member, but he was still a stranger.

Melissa flashed Ally a dazzling smile. Sounds great.

They headed to the women’s changing room together. As usual, they were its only occupants. The gym only had two other female members, and the grand total of four was the highest it had ever been, according to Cameron. The fighting events he sponsored on weekends had been drawing more and more female competitors though, and he hoped to recruit some of them to train at Knockout.

Ally wiped the perspiration from her face and body with the clean towel she kept in her gym bag. She always sweated like a racehorse – a trait she’d been unfortunate enough to inherit from her father. She hadn’t exactly cooled down while watching Sanchez and Moore spar, either. It had been pretty intense. She attributed the heat flushing her cheeks to Sanchez’ scissor takedown, refusing to consider that Moore’s broad, inked shoulders might have contributed to her internal heat wave.

Clad in jeans, a long-sleeved tee and jacket, she exited the changing room with Melissa at her side. They’d barely made it a few steps before Ally nearly ran into Ryan Moore’s chest for the second time that day.

He’d stepped out from behind a bag, directly into her path. This time, he didn’t seem to have done it on purpose, but she frowned anyway.

He’d apparently hit the bags directly after his sparring match with Sanchez. He was so sweaty that his skin practically seemed to glow, his chest and washboard abs ink-free and rippling. She stared at them for a moment too long, and when she raised her gaze to his face, his blue eyes met hers. Sorry.

It’s not a big deal, she said, every ounce of commonsense she possessed urging her to get out of his line of sight before her cheeks turned crimson.

Ally, right? He kept his gaze trained on her – a considerable feat considering that Melissa was standing right beside her, looking gorgeous as usual.

Yeah.

He didn’t try to shake her hand this time, but he didn’t move, either.

The prolonged eye contact was weird, but Ally couldn’t bring herself to break it. The muffled sound of heavy-hitting on heavier bags created a familiar, almost soothing blend of background noise, and she found herself noticing the striations of color in Ryan Moore’s eyes. They were a spectrum, really, of every shade of blue, from pale icy shades to deep navy, the color of the sea. And there were the thinnest rings of golden-orange around his pupils.

He tipped his head in her direction, looking at her down the straight, almost sharp line of his nose. Nice to meet you.

It became impossible to keep her eyes on his as he spoke. Her gaze drifted downward, rebelliously settling on the surprisingly shapely Cupid’s bow curve of his lips. If his sensual mouth hadn’t been balanced by a strong jaw, it might have seemed unmasculine. As it was, the contrast did strange things to the cautious coolness she’d tried to cultivate toward the newcomer. With each movement of his lips, each syllable he spoke, the room’s temperature seemed to rise by a degree.

She’d already met him – more or less – earlier, before his match with Sanchez. So what was there to say? A weird lump formed in her throat and she settled for nodding, as if that meant anything.

After several strangely agonizing moments, she found her voice. Maybe I’ll see you around.

You will, he answered without hesitating. You’ll be here Friday night, right?

I was planning to come watch the fights. She usually showed up to watch the open men’s MMA matches on Friday nights. Cameron organized them and held them right in the gym, pushing the bags back against the walls and setting up chairs instead. It was his dream to run Baltimore’s best amateur MMA circuit – Harbor City MMA Events – and his competitions had been growing steadily in popularity. I like to be here to cheer on the guys from our gym when I can.

Most of the gym members competed regularly – some for the admittedly modest cash prizes, others just to challenge themselves.

Ryan’s lips curved in a sly smile. I hope you’ll cheer for me too, then. I don’t think I could lose if you were screaming my name from the audience.

His words produced an effect similar to being side-kicked in the gut by Melissa. Combined with his smile, there was no doubting he knew exactly how they sounded. That’s not going to happen, she said, careful to keep her tone cool despite the fact that her insides seemed to be burning up beneath his blue gaze.

She started to step around him but paused to add something else for good measure before striding past. I hope Cameron doesn’t pair you up with Sanchez again. He won’t take it easy on you next time – especially not in front of a paying audience. The words did something to balance her internal equilibrium, slowing her palpitating heart just a little.

The March air was even colder than her words. A gust of it threaded its way through her messy ponytail as she opened the gym’s front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

So what’d you think of the new guy? Melissa asked, her tone light-hearted, as if she hadn’t been present for the exchange that had occurred only seconds ago.

Seriously?

Melissa donned a smile that was too knowing for Ally’s liking. Seriously.

He’s too cocky for his own good. At first, she’d been impressed by his lack of gloating after the fight. Then he’d ruined it as she and Melissa had made their exit. Maybe acting like a smartass to the nearest woman was his way of gloating. I bet Sanchez will wipe the floor with him on Friday. She said it, but her heart wasn’t in it. It was still too easy to remember his chiseled body in the ring, so brutally efficient that it was downright graceful. Truth was, Sanchez would have his hands full if Cameron paired them together for the weekend’s fight.

Maybe you’ll get to watch him fight someone from outside the gym. Cameron doesn’t like to pair members together if he can help it – most of the guys participate because they want to test their skills against someone fresh.

Maybe. Melissa was right. The opportunity to test one’s self against a stranger was what attracted most of the guys to the fights. For some, it was an opportunity to measure and better themselves. For others, it was a testosterone-fueled battle of egos. Either way, the fights drew in crowds. If the events got any bigger, Cameron’s dream would outgrow his venue. They’d almost run out of seats the week before.

Too bad I have to work, Melissa said. I wouldn’t mind seeing him fight.

Ally arched a brow at her friend. Because of his left hook, or because of his blue eyes?

The smug little smile that crept across Melissa’s face told Ally she’d walked into a trap. So you did notice.

* * * * *

Hey, mamá. Ally stepped through the front door of the modest little white one-story, three-bedroom house that had once been her father’s pride and joy, second only to his family. The smell of her mother’s enchiladas slipped over her like a warm blanket.

Hey, mija, her mother, Maria, greeted her as she turned from the fridge to smile at Ally, a container of sour cream in hand. And Melissa. I thought you might join us for dinner.

Melissa beamed. You know I can’t resist your enchiladas, Mrs. R.

Well, there’s plenty for all of us. Maria slipped on a pair of oven mitts and pulled a baking dish from the oven, depositing it on the small kitchen table.

What she’d said was true – the dish was more than full enough. She’d never stopped cooking for four.

Ally pulled three plates and a handful of silverware from a nearby cupboard and drawer and quickly set the table.

How did things go at the gym? Maria asked, placing glasses of water at three of the table’s four seats.

Not bad, Ally said. Mel and I got in some serious practice. Her kicks just keep getting better, and I swear her legs got even longer overnight. She nearly kicked my butt.

Melissa ignored the compliment as she took Maria’s cue and settled into one of the seats. It was a pretty typical day at the gym. She shot a teasing smile in Ally’s direction. Oh – and a new member joined today.

Another woman? Wielding a serving fork, Maria began doling out enchiladas. She attended enough Harbor City MMA Events functions to know that Cameron was striving to attract more females to the gym.

Melissa shook her head. No, he’s all male.

Sensing her friend’s intentions much like a seismometer measuring the telltale waves that signal impending earthquakes, Ally sent Melissa a warning look.

It wasn’t lost on her mother. Did this boy give you any trouble? She paused and frowned, her brows knit together.

Ally was quick to shake her head, crushing her mother’s train of thought before she could begin to freak out. It was her mother’s greatest fear that being involved in MMA – definitely a male-dominated sport – would somehow lead to Ally or Melissa being accosted by some overconfident musclehead. No, mamá. You know Cameron doesn’t allow things like that in his gym. Melissa’s just being a brat. She thinks the new guy is really hot.

Your words, not mine, Melissa countered.

Ally took a long drink from her water glass and leveled an exasperated look at Melissa over the rim.

Oh, really? Maria asked, still frowning faintly.

After a few moments, she was finally forced to concede the truth. Sort of. He’s pretty good-looking. Not that it mattered.

And is he any good? Maria had yet to take a single bite of her dinner. Instead, she sat poised with her knife and fork hovering in the air over her steaming plate of enchiladas. At fighting, I mean.

He beat Sanchez in a sparring match, Melissa volunteered.

Maria knew Sanchez – Ally had introduced her to him before, and she’d seen him compete at several of the events Cameron organized. Hmm, Maria said, as if unprepared to totally believe the praise. Is he planning to compete in Cameron’s events?

Ally gave in and nodded. Yeah. You’ll see him for yourself on Friday. If you’re planning on attending the match, that is.

I’m planning on it. Maria’s frown faded, slowly giving way to a sly smile. This is the first time you two have come home from the gym and mentioned anything about a member being good-looking, and I’ve seen the men who train there. There are several of them who look like they could be on TV, if they didn’t have black eyes and busted lips all the time.

A muted thrill of embarrassment rippled through Ally’s consciousness. On one hand, she was glad Melissa had waited until dinner to begin her teasing rather than making a big deal out of Ryan Moore at the gym. On the other hand, she wanted to kick her own ass for being so obvious. If Melissa had noticed Ally’s reluctant attraction to the newcomer, it must have been obvious that she’d been staring at him back at Knockout.

It’s just looks, mom. Repressing a sigh, Ally did her best to infuse her words with as much dryness as possible. He’s not anything special – he seems like a smartass, and his back is covered in tattoos. Her mother wasn’t fond of tattoos, and Ally wasn’t afraid to use Ryan Moore’s body art as ammunition. Not when Melissa was playing dirty.

Maria’s smile disappeared as she sliced into an enchilada. That’s too bad.

Even Melissa had the grace not to say anything – she’d known the Rivera family for years and knew exactly why Maria disliked ink.

With a grim sort of satisfaction, Ally took a huge bite and washed it down with half a glass of water. No way was she going to spend the evening talking about the guy who’d told her he was looking forward to hearing her scream his name. Even if his blue eyes did send an unwelcome little shiver down her spine every time she thought of them meeting hers.

CHAPTER 2

The gym was too hot and smelled like sweat, but nobody seemed to mind. The place was packed, the Friday night crowd bigger than ever. Normally the large brick building, which had formerly been a warehouse, maintained a permanent chill throughout most of the year. Even in the summer, it was pleasantly cooler than the outdoors. But the body heat generated by about two hundred spectators had sent the temperature skyrocketing.

Cameron had found a substitute ring girl after all. A brunette Ally didn’t recognize paced around the ring in a skimpy bikini, wobbling on too-high heels as she held a large card overhead.

Sanchez and Moore hadn’t been paired together. Instead, Sanchez launched into his last round with an unfamiliar man of similar height and build. They went hard at each other, fists and elbows flying, with the occasional kick hitting the other’s ribs with a heavy smack. Sanchez held his own, but Ally couldn’t help but wonder how Moore would’ve handled the same blows. Would he have been hit by the stranger’s last hook, or would he have dodged it like he had Sanchez’, his movements fluid?

She pushed the image of Moore bobbing and weaving, his perfect body sailing through the moves like he’d been doing them his entire life, from her mind. She’d get to see him fight after this round. For now, she should be cheering Sanchez on.

She did, and couldn’t help but feel victorious when he ended the match by tapping out his opponent. Another win for the team, or at least, that was how it felt. Most of the Harbor City MMA Events competitors were strangers to Ally, and she always rooted for the fighters that trained at Knockout, even if she only knew their names.

Five minutes later, Moore was in the ring, looking just as she remembered him in black shorts, gloves and nothing else, save for his mouthpiece. His inked back drew her eye, and not for the first time, she found herself wondering what the words among the Celtic knots said. He bounced, shoulders rounded and perfectly-flat stomach pulled in. The words blurred, becoming that much more impossible to read. Still, she didn’t look away.

He turned abruptly and his blue eyes found hers with uncanny speed, locking her in eye contact with him before she could look away.

Her mouth went instantly dry and her stomach flip-flopped. Sitting there in a hard metal folding chair beside her mother, yards from the ring, she experienced a wave of nerves that would have been more appropriate inside the ring, like if she’d been the one facing the muscled man who’d just stepped over the ropes to glare at Moore.

Moore gave Ally an unmistakable wink and turned to face his opponent, looking totally unfazed.

When the fight began, his obvious self-confidence translated to hard blows and graceful dodges. He backed his opponent against the ropes and pummeled him with quick punches, eliciting the most enthusiastic cheer of the night from the crowd. None of the other fights had started off with such a bang. He maintained the lead throughout the entire round, taking just two punches from his opponent. Those landed on his ribs and didn’t seem to bother him at all.

He moved as if he hadn’t felt them and drove his victory home with a well-placed left hook.

Total knockout.

The other man crumpled to the floor of the ring and Moore raised a fist in victory.

The crowd roared with applause and approval, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged gym and bouncing off the walls, amplified. Moore looked past the cheering spectators and straight at the one person who hadn’t made a sound throughout the entire fight – Ally.

Is that him – the one you and Melissa were talking about? Maria’s breath warmed Ally’s ear and she nearly jumped out of her seat.

Moore’s grin widened as Ally sank back down, settling into her chair once again.

Yeah, she said shortly, pressing her lips into a tight line and refusing to let another word escape.

He’s very good, Maria said. She didn’t say a word about his tattoos.

Ally didn’t reply.

Moore was allowed to rest before his second match.

The audience watched the next fight more quietly than they had the last. As two heavyweights tumbled to the mat, the crowd talked more about Moore’s next match than the current fight. Speculation reigned and bets were placed. By the time it was Moore’s turn again, even Ally had already forgotten who’d won the two fights since his first match.

The match started out less spectacularly than the first – clearly, his opponent had seen the first match and was wary – but was still intense. He and the other man labored to protect themselves from the other while delivering hard strikes. Neither pulled their punches when they did manage to make contact – Moore with his adversary’s jaw and the other man with Moore’s ribs. They both seemed to absorb the shock of the blows within nanoseconds.

Moore gained the upper hand and began raining blows on his opponent, each strike resulting in the smack of gloved knuckles against hard flesh. High-low, he hit the other man in the ribs and face.

And then he stopped. The punch he’d been halfway through throwing slowed, and he barely clipped his rival’s sweat-slicked jaw. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. His feet went flat as he swayed faintly to the left.

The other man took full advantage of the bizarre pause and lunged at him, sweeping him to the mat with brutal efficiency.

Moore’s entire body shook with the impact, but he was moving again in a moment, his limbs tangling with his opponent’s as the man tried to choke him out.

He escaped the less-than-perfect hold and gripped the man by one sizeable bicep. A few moments later, he had him locked in an armbar. The man’s arm was stretched completely, his forearm trapped between Moore’s knees. His chances of escape were slim and the crowd knew it. An encouraging roar rose from the seats and several people shouted for him to finish it.

Moore tapped the other man out a few seconds later.

The crowd’s applause was thunderous, a sonic boom of joy and bloodlust that was sure to leave Ally’s ears ringing.

When Moore rose, his sharp blue eyes picked Ally out of the crowd for the second time. He didn’t wink, but his half-grin was a little boyish and definitely triumphant – a combination that made the gym seem even hotter than the packed seats accounted for. Unwelcome butterflies erupted into flight in the pit of her stomach – she’d thought his smugness the day before had been bad, but this was worse. Mainly because she was pretty sure her face was the color of a red chile pepper, and her mother was bound to notice.

Wow, I’m burning up in here, Ally said, rising from her seat and finally breaking eye contact with Moore. I’m going to step outside for some fresh air.

I’ll save your seat, Maria promised.

The March night air was cold bordering on frosty