He went over to where Melanie was standing beside two bodyguards, but a blonde intercepted him. She was eye-fucking him and lifted her hand to touch his bare, sweaty chest, but he pushed past her. It was the only thing he could do to these women anymore, the ones that were called Chasers in the fighting community. Talking to them just made them want to get into bed faster, no matter what was even being said.
Larson ignored the way the hollering of the crowd around him intensified once he was on the main ground. He walked over to where Melanie stood, embraced her and tried to put the fight behind him. It was hard, though, because his body was still primed to fight.
“I thought that guy was going to kill you,” she said loudly, the crowd so boisterous it was hard to think straight.
“He was pissed he lost the fight, and instead of taking it like a man and true fighter, he snapped.” Larson pulled back and looked at Melanie’s face. She was a beautiful woman, scarred from a car accident when she was five, and having lost her vision in one eye. But despite that, he never saw her as anything but beautiful and strong. Sure, they’d had problems in the beginning of their relationship because of his fighting, but she finally accepted this was his life, and they’d compromised. She’d become supportive, too. So, he’d gotten his belt, and now things were on his terms, and his future was ahead of them.
“I take it you still have to do a lot of face time with the media and fans,” she said and smiled. “I’ll be at home, have a hot meal ready to reheat for you.” She chuckled, and he did the same. “And maybe I’ll rub out your muscles if you’re not too dead on your feet.”
He leaned down and kissed her and told the bodyguards to walk her out to her car. “Text me when you get home.”
She kissed him once more. Then she was leaving the arena with the guards behind her.
****
Larson pulled into the driveway of the home he shared with Melanie, cut the engine, and rested his head on the back of the seat. He was beat, so fucking tired he could have slept right here. The lights were off in the house, but it was after two in the morning. He’d had to sneak out, because the after party was still going strong.
He climbed out of the car, made his way up to the front door, and as soon as he had it pushed open and stepped inside he knew something was wrong. He set his keys on the table beside the door and looked around, his body tense, alert. The sound of the clock on the wall was the only thing he could hear.
“Melanie?” he called out, his heart starting to pump wildly. She should have stayed with him, should have been by his side even if it would have been a hectic night. Making his way through the house he went into the kitchen, the family room, and finally headed down the hallway. With every step he took his heart went faster, harder, and he felt the sweat cover his body. He clenched his hands into fists, curling his fingers into his palms with enough force he felt his nails break skin.
The bedroom door was shut, and he stopped in front of it. Melanie always waited up for him after a fight, always, no matter the time. He was shaking, feeling in the pit of his gut that things were wrong, terribly wrong. Pushing the door open with enough force it slammed against the wall, he moved inside and looked around the darkened room, which was lit only by the moonlight coming through the window. When his eyes adjusted he froze. His heart stopped, his breathing changed, and he felt emotions swamp him.
He felt around for the light switch with a shaky hand, turned it on, and a silent cry left him as he took in the bed. In the center of the mattress, covered in blood and a loose sheet, was his sweet, beautiful Melanie. He could tell she was nude under the sheet, and when he took that first step forward, his knees nearly buckling under his weight, he felt like the world had just been pulled out from under him. He fell to his knees when he reached the bed, gathered Melanie in his arms, and roared out.
“Please, baby, please wake up.” The tears wouldn’t come. He searched his pocket for his cell, but the fucking thing fell to the floor and slid under the bed. He grabbed for the phone on the nightstand, dialed 911, and while the phone rang he blinked back the shock of what was happening.
“This is 911, what’s your emergency?” the operator said.
Larson felt his throat tighten, and he told the woman on the other end about the situation. It was hard getting the words out, painful to have to describe what he saw.
“Stay on the phone with me, sir. I have dispatched an ambulance, and they are en route.”
Larson dropped the phone to the bed, could hear the operator calling out for him, but everything else faded away as he held Melanie again. All he felt was this intense rage, this consuming anger that was controlling him right now. He shook her, screamed out her name, and when the sound of a floorboard creaking behind him sounded he stood and spun. His heart picked up speed again, and the adrenaline pumped through his veins.