There, standing a few feet from him, his sweet wife’s blood all over his chest and hands, and his fucking fly unzipped, was Haines. The fucker smiled, flashed his crooked front teeth, and made a show of zipping up his fly slowly.
“I have been watching you for years, Larson, fucking years. I trained, worked out in hopes that one day I’d have you in the cage with me.” He took a step forward. “You fucking made a fool out of me tonight, made me look weak, and all my hard work and training was for nothing.”
Larson shook his head, tried to get his mind on the situation, but he wasn’t thinking or seeing straight.
“You took from me the glory that I’d worked my entire life for.”
“You’re fucking insane,” Larson said in a tight voice. “You lost, and so you come here, hurt, took, violated what I love?” He roared out the last part, and although he wanted to hold Melanie, bring her back even though he knew she was gone, this threat wasn’t done. The tears came then, angry, hot, forceful.
Haines threw himself at Larson, attacked him and tackled him to the ground. They grappled, tried to get the upper hand on the other, and when Larson threw a punch at Haines the other man hollered in pain. Larson went to pick himself up off the ground and heard the operator shouting on the phone now. Before he could anticipate Haines’s next move searing pain slammed into him. Larson roared out when hot agony filled him. He cupped his neck and slid his hand down to his chest, through the slice in his t-shirt. When he pulled his hand back he saw it covered in blood. Warm wetness continued to fall down his chest, soaking the material of his shirt.
Looking up at Haines, he saw the other man held a bloody knife in his hand. Something snapped in Larson despite the pain that he felt and the blood that spilled out of his throat and chest.
He launched himself at Haines, took the man down, and without thinking, just letting his rage consume him, he grabbed Haines’s head and slammed it on the ground. Over and over he did this until he heard bone crunching, saw blood pooling under the man’s skull, and only then did he fall away from Haines. He landed on his ass, the knife by Haines’s outstretched, still hand.
Larson kicked the knife away, had to crawl on the ground toward the bed because he was too weak from the blood loss, and looked over at his wife. He pulled Melanie into his arms, held her lifeless, cold body close to his, and felt his own life start to slip away. He was losing a lot of blood, could feel it pumping out of him, and knew he’d die right along with his wife. It was how he wanted it, though, because living alone and without her would be a hell all its own.
Chapter Two
Ten years later
He was all raw power, hard muscle, and indifference. He was a man that didn’t say much, a man that fought until his knuckles bled, his body was coated in sweat, and to where he couldn’t catch his breath. For the last year Tasha Mackenzie had been watching Larson fight at the gym. She’d gotten the job as front desk receptionist when one of the guys who’d originally held the job left for training.
Tasha didn’t mind being around all the sweat and testosterone, didn’t even mind getting leered at by some of the younger fighters, though the latter did surprise her seeing as she wasn’t thin and toned like the women that worked out here. She was thick, with wide hips, a size sixteen waist, and thighs that were far too big for her liking.
Tasha certainly didn’t mind being able to watch the man that stayed to himself, who others didn’t bother, and a man that fought like he was trying to run from something. He fought with so much emotion coming from him that she knew he had secrets. They had to be deep and dark, had to be painful. She knew all too well about trying to hide emotions with another substitute.
She stood and moved around the wall that blocked off the front desk and the gym. She stared at Larson, who was in a ring with another fighter. She was mesmerized by the sight of him fighting, and held her breath when the fighter tried to bring him down. She’d never spoken to Larson aside from a few hellos in passing, but if he knew how she felt about him, that she had feelings for a man she really didn’t know, he’d probably think she was crazy.
It was hard not to watch, especially when there was so much raw intensity on display, so much execution and precision. Tasha held the papers in her hands so tight she heard them crinkle in her grasp. Larson was a machine in the ring, with his thick, tattoo covered arms, and body corded with muscle. He had a scar that covered one side of his neck, right by his jugular, and continued downward to his chest. It spoke of a past that was probably something he was fighting to forget.