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She mutters more words, calling me back into her apartment. But the loud pounding of my heart drowns out her voice until I’ve made it to my car and hop in. For several minutes I stare through the front windshield and collect myself, turning every ounce of feelings I have off.
For the first time in years, I felt alive in the arms of the woman I grew to love. She brought me out of my shell and helped me face the world. I gave her my first, and I gave her my last. No longer will I allow women in my bed to manipulate or use me. My only future is the one in the limelight, playing my bass and living out my dreams, trying my damnedest to forget River West ever happened.
A drum pounds in my chest again as I revel in the anger her memory stirs and savor it for later. Never will I forget the kiss she shared with Van in her kitchen as I watched from the shadows. His shirt was off. His filthy hands were all over her. She didn’t protest when he leaned in and kissed her lips. That’s all it took for me to turn my back on her and walk out the door. Yet, here she is again in the flesh as our new band manager, living directly across the street from us, sent straight from the devil himself to torture our already fractured band. She’d never know it, but she’s the reason we’re four separate people who happen to play music together instead of one brain creating masterpieces.
She’s also the reason I’m here tonight, eager to have my memories erased. One kick and punch at a time if that’s what it takes.
Blood pumps through my veins as my steady heart speeds up, thumping against my ribs, while adrenaline pours through me. Steadying my movements, I watch my opponent’s every move, memorizing his strike and speed. In the back of my mind, I catalog them, storing them for later when we square off. So I can use it against him. No one here knows my superpower. They’d never suspect I use the very thing I’m aching to be relieved of to become the champion.
I blow out a ragged breath, bringing my shirt over my head, and lay it on the stool beside me. Finally, I take out my earbuds, letting the full effect of the audience overtake me. I continue stretching out, getting everything limber for the chaotic fight I’m about to jump into.
As the minutes tick by and Ruthless calls our names at the center of the beat-up octagon, all my thoughts leave, finally giving me the blank thoughts I’ve longed for since yesterday when I came face to face with my most bothersome nightmare.
I shake out my limbs and stretch my neck from side to side, forgetting everything. Inside the cage, there’s no past, present, or fucking future. It’s only my opponent and me. My fists against his. His kicks against mine.
The crowd grows louder as bets are placed around us when the bell rings, and we descend on one another. The Beast smirks in my direction, lazily making his way toward the center of the ring, where I wait for him to advance, and we tap fists as a sign of respect.
Rolling my shoulders back, I take the first hit to my right temple, and then the predicted uppercut knocks me back a few steps, knocking the air from my lungs. Swerving right, I barely miss his next throw and regain my stance with a sadistic grin.
A small cut opens on my forehead, trickling warm blood down my cheek, dripping to the mats below. I grin more in his direction when he advances with a frustrated growl again, with a cockiness dictating his every move. He’s so damn confident he’s about to take me down, but I have more tricks up my sleeve.
Stepping to my left, I throw up my arms and block his next hit, thudding against my flesh. A chuckle bubbles up from my throat when I leap back, putting my fists to my side.
“That’s all you got?” I ask with a light tone, smiling more when his nostrils flare. Like a bull running at full speed, he advances toward me in a fury of fists and kicks my thighs as his answer.
Around and around, we go trading punches and kicks. With a grunt, my foot lands in the middle of his abdomen, knocking him back a few staggering steps. Exhaustion sweeps through his fallen expression as he stumbles into the cage, bouncing off it with a huff. With one final growl, he advances on me, pummeling me with a fury of fists against my skull and jaw. Black dots spot my vision until adrenaline blasts through my veins one last time, and I knock him back with one single blow to the head.
Victory rings through the crowd, howling my name so loudly the walls shake and clap with enthusiasm. I grin, raising my tired arms in the air, as The Beast lies flat on his back with his arms curling in the air, looking lifeless with his eyes closed. Bruises line his body and face, swelling from the intensity of my hits, and peace washes over me.
“Rock Star! Rock Star!” they chant over and over as Ruthless grips my bloodied hand in the air, waving it around in victory.
“You fucking did it,” he mutters with an impressed grin.
I snort. “And you doubted me?” I raise a brow, gazing through the crowd, memorizing all the usual fans heading toward the betting desk to cash in on their winnings. All thanks to me.
My mind melts into static with no visions of my memories coming to the surface. This is the moment I live for. The minute I stand in victory with my arm raised and my emotions buried so damn deep, even my photographic memory can’t touch them and torture me.
Standing on my throne above the rowdy crowd, I gaze around, taking everyone’s faces. My eyes grow wide, and my entire body stiffens when a pair of familiar green eyes stare back at me with her arms crossed and her brow raised.
“Fuck,” I mutter as Ruthless lets my arm go and pats me on the back in congratulations.
“Your cut is at the booth or…”
“Donate it to the usual charity,” I say, unable to break my gaze.
Satisfaction roars through me when her eyes wander down my bare chest and widen at the art adorning my flesh. All the air leaves my lungs when she stiffens, eyes locking on the intricate tattoos carved into the skin over my heart. Her jaw falls, and her brows furrow with confusion. It’s a special piece I knew she wouldn’t miss once her eyes locked on it. If only I had wanted her to see it yet.
“You got it,” Ruthless says, stepping to the side of the ring and demanding one of the workers clear the blood off the ground and get ready for the next fight.
My heart pounds when Rad tenses beside her, discreetly shaking his head at me. Guilt swims across his features, and he swipes a hand down his face, shrugging over the situation like he had no choice but to come here with her.
I know the moment I walk over there; my ass will be facing the music. My fate—our fate—lies in her hands. But it was all worth it. The sneaking out. The fight. Even if it means our music career is completely over. It was a good fucking ride. Maybe I’m ready for it to be over because you never really know what you have until it’s yanked from your grasp.
I long for the brothers I had before. The ones who looked after me and never turned their backs on me. I long for the basement concerts. Something that was just for us. Sure, I love the stage and more than appreciate my fans. I wish I had more time to live for myself and enjoy the music again. An ache forms in my chest, longing to turn back the clock to a simpler time.
My mind turns off momentarily, letting me forget the persistent memories knocking around in my head. For one fleeting moment, I had peace. And now, I’m about to shatter it with the reality of what I’ve done.
I take one last long sweep of the crowd, finally breaking River’s standoff. The usual suspects dot the crowd, talking with their buddies and drinking beers with smiles. In the corner of the room, I take stock of a large man near the bleachers, huddling with three other men. Something in the back of my mind tells me to pay attention to this moment because, in these parts, they’re strangers.
