Beat (The Beat and The Pulse #1) Read online

  #1 The Beat and The Pulse

  Amity Cross

  Beat (#1 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross

  Copyright © 2014 Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All song titles, song lyrics, products and brand names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Cover Design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Thanks to my home girl, Ely, for the Greek God line.

  Told you I'd stick it in.

  Before

  Ash

  People say I have a problem with anger.

  You could say a lot of things about me and they wouldn’t all be nice. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.

  People looked at me and only saw what was on the surface.

  Money. Power. Talent.

  Cash was the driving factor. Mainly because I was winning it out from under everyone’s noses on a daily basis by just being good at punching the shit through people. It’s fucking great to ride high, but there’s always someone right at your heels, snapping like a rabid beast, waiting for the moment you stumble.

  Yeah, that’s the thing about getting a little fame and money - it made everyone below you jealous and jealous people were willing to do whatever it took to bring you down. They all wanted the prize and not all of them were up for playing fair to get it. There were lines you never crossed and that line had been obliterated a long time ago.

  You hurt the people I love to get to me and I will fucking kill you.

  I would destroy myself to save them.

  I’ve done it before and I will do it time and time again.

  I will beat your ass until you beg for mercy.

  Repent or die.

  After

  Ren

  I didn’t feel the pain as much anymore.

  My knuckles had hardened, my muscles had tightened, and my pain receptors were shot.

  Duck. Feign. Punch. Guard.

  My Mum would be totally horrified knowing what I made of my life after she was gone. I lived for her, to see her win her battle, but in the end she lost. I wasn’t losing this fight. The fight for my future. How could she argue with that? She always wanted the best for me, even when she was too sick to move and this is my best. It’s just that it involves pounding my fists into the flesh of my opponent until they drop.

  The love of a man. The love of an estranged father. The love of a mother… What good did it do if they just abandoned you in the end?

  Me and my fists. That’s what would get me through this battle. That’s what would get me onto that podium. Me.

  It didn’t start out this way. I, least of all, didn’t see it coming until it hit me square in the face.

  The day I stood outside the place that would change my life into something unrecognizable.

  The sign over the roller door that was painted in red letters. Red - the same color as the blood that I drew three nights a week in the cage.

  The one word that had become my mantra.

  Chapter 1

  Ren

  The place was called Beat.

  I stood on the footpath outside the roller door that led into the backstreet boxing studio, staring up at the sign. It was painted in red letters, outlined in white. From the outside it looked like a garage and to anyone that didn't know, it was nothing but a stupid shed down some nondescript lane.

  The sounds of fists hitting bags and male grunting carried out onto the street through a side door. It had been propped open to let in some fresh summer air, but it only let out the overwhelming stench of pure testosterone. The whole thing was a total doodle-fest and I found myself wondering what the hell I was doing here.

  The answer to that one was simple. I was here because I had nowhere else to go.

  Six months ago, my Mum died. Six months ago, I was left totally alone in the world. I worked my whole life to care for my beautiful, optimistic, cancer riddled mother when everyone else had just upped and left us like it was all just a little too hard. Mum had been in and out of remission more times than we cared to count. This time, she’d say, would be it. We’ve beaten it, Ren. We'd bask in the hope that the hard times were over and things would be okay for a while. Then at her six month scan, the doctors would pick up another tumor and we’d start all over again.

  Then one day the treatments stopped working. The chemo did nothing to slow or shrink the cancer and just like that, in the space of six weeks…it was over. She was gone and I was alone.

  You hear all these stories about profound last words and dying wishes and miracles and all kinds of bullshit. My Mum’s last words were, “Go find your father, Renee. Find him.”

  My Dad left us when I was five years old. Like a cliché, he went to the shops and never came back. When I was six, the divorce papers turned up in the mail, Mum signed them and that was it. Apart from the one photo I had of us three together, the man may as well have never existed.

  He left a five year old kid to care for his terminally ill wife all on her own. What a fucking asshole.

  Peering through the door into the studio, I hitched my duffle bag higher up my shoulder. The insides looked a lot better than the outsides. Most of the floor was covered in blue and red mats like a patchwork, equipment was lined up against the side wall, a boxing ring was at the far end and what looked like a smaller room to the right with weights, treadmills, bikes and all kinds of stuff. The wall to the left was lined with mirrors that reflected everything back, making the space look like a cavern. A metal staircase led to an upper level and underneath there was a door leading to what I assumed was a changing area.

  It was actually pretty posh and I wasn’t sure what annoyed me more. That he left us with nothing or that he was rolling in hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of gym equipment.

  “How many times do I have to beat it into your thick skull,” a male voice boomed out.

  A tall, heavyset man was all up in the face of a six foot three, ripped guy who looked like Rambo with all his biceps and triceps and all the ‘ceps’ you could think of. Beefcake wore nothing but a pair of shorts, but he did have a body to die for and I wondered what it was he did. Boxing, Mixed Martial Arts, that crazy Ultimate Fighting Championship thing. There was so much testosterone in the air, my body began to contemplate growing its own dick to fit in.

  Edging in the door, I slipped a hand into my back pocket and pulled out the crumpled photograph I’d stashed there. Nobody had noticed me yet, but the place was almost empty save for those two.

  Looking at the picture and then at the man who stood in the middle of the studio yelling at the half naked beefcake, I got the resemblance, but he was nothing like I remembered. Lines were set in his face, grey threaded through his dark hair and the smile I remembered wasn’t there at all. Shit, I was five when the douche left and never came back. Of course he wasn’t the same.

  “Hey, can I help you?” a gruff voice broke through my thoughts.

  I turned, blinking hard at the six foot monster that stood beside me. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts with a white label on the front. His stomach was pure, ripped six pack to the eyeballs and I was thrown by all the near
nakedness for a moment. Glancing at the guy on the mat, they had the same build, the same hair, the same eyes, perhaps the guy next to me was a little heavier, but they were the same.

  “Twins,” the guy said with a laugh. “Always throws ‘em for a sec. You lookin’ to sign up for some classes?”

  “Uh, no,” I replied, a little dazed from all the exposed man-nipples. “I’m looking for Andrew Miller.”

  The guy looked me over and gave me a full on megawatt smile. “That’d be Coach.” He nodded at his brother who was still being served his ass by my deadbeat father. “The one rippin’ Lincoln a new asshole.”

  Dropping my bag, I asked, “And who are you?”

  “Dean.” He did a little bow and I wondered if he was trying to impress me. Not to think I was full of myself and my own beauty or anything. I had none of that.

  “We train here pretty much every day,” he went on.

  “Every day?”

  “Yeah, this doesn’t happen on its own.” He flexed his muscles and my eyebrows rose. What, was he totally trying to show off for me like some kind of peacock?

  “Dean. Leave the poor lady alone.”

  I glanced up and felt my throat constrict as my Dad crossed the mat toward us.

  “Aww, Coach.” Dean complained, winking at me.

  “Back to it, son.” His word seemed one hundred percent law and Dean shuffled off, his hulking form crossing the mat to his brother.

  Dad, Coach, whatever the hell I should call him, turned his attention on me and I froze. I’d thought long and hard about this moment, about all the things I’d say when I finally came face to face with the man who abandoned us, but I was totally blank.

  “Andrew Miller,” he said, holding his hand out. I didn’t bother taking it and just stared at him. His eyes narrowed for a second and he cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”

  “You seriously don’t recognize me?” I asked, starting to get pissed off, my fingers tightening around the photo in my hand. People told us we looked the same, my Mum and I. Same olive skin, same stick straight brown hair, same nose, same dark eyes… How could you forget your first born daughter?

  He went to say something, but I shoved the photo at him with a scowl that could melt through solid steel.

  He took it from me and stared at it for the longest time, his face slowly paling. Finally, he glanced up at me, his eyes sparkling. “Renee?”

  “Fuck you, asshole.”

  The whole place fell deathly silent.

  “She wanted me to come find you,” I said, not caring that the meathead twins had stopped their, whatever it was they were doing, and were staring. “I sure as fuck didn’t.”

  “How is she?” he asked, the guy who’d been yelling like a demon a few minutes before, totally gone.

  “She’s dead.”

  His complexion began turning a weird shade of grey and I narrowed my eyes, wishing an artery would burst in his cold heart. It was a full minute before he could speak.

  “Come upstairs to the office,” he said before picking up my bag. Crossing the mat, he led me toward the set of stairs at the rear of the gym.

  We clanged up the metal stairs and I threw a glare back at the meathead twins, who were still staring at me like I’d grown a second head. On the landing, I flipped them the bird.

  The entire length of the upstairs hall was lined with photographs and plaques, all boxing and MMA related. Some had my Dad in them, some didn’t, some were old and others were new. Looked like he had this whole other life I never knew about and I felt even smaller.

  He opened a door half way down the hall and I stepped into what was obviously the office. There was a long slit window that overlooked the studio below, a desk taking up the length of the room along one wall, bits of paper and boxes crammed anywhere there was space. The other walls were full of trophies, framed belts and photographs, just like the hall had been.

  Closing the door behind me, Dad gestured at a chair against the wall. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-two,” I said, sitting down.

  “Of course you are,” he muttered, rubbing his chin like it was his nervous tick.

  I wanted to rip him a new asshole, but this whole place had me on edge. I knew he’d been a boxer before he met my Mum, but I didn’t know he had his own studio now. I didn’t know anything about him until I went to find an address and that’s still all I had. The man who was leaning against the rickety old desk across from me was a stranger.

  “How long have you had this place?” I asked, my voice so quiet it almost came out a whisper.

  “About fifteen years now,” he replied. “We’re training two pro fighters right now. Dean and Lincoln. The twins downstairs.”

  “Pro?”

  “They’ve both been selected to fight in the upcoming Australian UFC season. It’s big business.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know anything about it.

  “She told me to come find you. Mum. It was her last words.” I glared hard at him, willing him to understand that I’d been holding onto her the moment she died. I felt her last breath and all she wanted was for me to have a family.

  “I’m sorry Ren, it’s just a shock.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll say.”

  “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  I shook my head. “We were renting and I couldn’t afford to keep it.”

  “Do you…are there any outstanding bills?”

  “No,” I replied, seeing red.

  He wanted to help now? I’d taken care of the lot and only had the money I’d made from the massive garage sale the month before. I’d put out an ad, opened the front door and took whatever I was offered for everything. I kept some things, Mum’s jewelry, photos, mementos, some clothes. The rest I couldn’t bring myself to look at.

  “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

  My head snapped up. Here? At the studio?

  “Come on.”

  Opening the office door, he led me down the hall to the door at the back. Cracking it open, he flipped on the light switch and my stomach dropped even further. Was he for fucking real? He had to be kidding me right now.

  “I used to sleep here sometimes. Back when we were training more guys.”

  I stepped into the room after him and felt like kicking him where it hurt. We stood in what could only be described as a storage closet. A wall was taken up with an industrial shelving system, full of boxes at the top, which morphed into boxes of powders and supplements for the beefcakes downstairs. On the opposite wall was a mattress, which looked like it was a queen sized number, with some pillows and blankets.

  I wanted to ask him why I wasn’t able to come and stay with him at his house, but deep down I already knew the answer to that. His new flashy family didn’t know I existed and didn’t that feel like a slap to the face with a wet fish.

  “I’ll give you the alarm code, just in case,” he was saying, but I was too busy fighting back tears.

  “I’m sorry it isn’t much,” Dad said, turning to face me. “But it’s warm and you can use the equipment and the kitchen downstairs.” Then he fished out his wallet and peeled out a few notes and held them out.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I took the money and pocketed it without looking.

  What the hell was I expecting turning up out of the blue like this? A warm welcome? A parade? Confetti? A hug might’ve been a good start, but I didn’t even get one of those. I probably should be grateful he gave me someplace to sleep and a few twenties to ease his mind.

  “There’s a supermarket round the corner and a couple of shops,” he said, like he couldn’t see how broken my heart was.

  “Okay.”

  Standing awkwardly for a moment, he cleared his throat. “Okay, I better get back downstairs. Can't leave those boys alone for too long.”

  As soon as he was gone, I let a few tears escape before wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeve. Before I came, I'd made a promise to myself. I'd never cry
over the man who'd abandoned me and I sure as hell would never let him see.

  Sitting down on the mattress I decided to make myself another promise. If I was going to be shoved into the storage closet like a dirty little secret, I'd milk Daddy dearest for all he was worth. He had seventeen years to make up for and I intended to make him pay for each and every one.

  Chapter 2

  Ren

  I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I stayed at the studio.

  When everyone left and I was on my own, I explored the galley style kitchen with its giant fridge and freezer, tested out some of the gym equipment and even the showers. Without anyone there to look over my shoulder, I could spend time inspecting all the photographs on the walls. Most were of people I didn't know, boxers, martial artists, all kinds of fighters. The newer ones were of heavier guys, mixed martial arts tournament winners and place getters that had trained here over the past fifteen years.

  There were some of my Dad when he was younger, the way I remembered him. He'd been a champion boxer back in the day, before he got my Mum pregnant and quit fighting.

  When I went to bed, I stared at the ceiling for the longest time, my mind like a tumble dryer. I had no idea what I was going to do now that I was here. All I had was a bag and a broken heart. I didn't even have a job. When I finally fell asleep, I shouldn't have bothered.

  I guess it was about six am when I got the shock that was the cherry on the cake.

  I was woken by the light flipping on, dousing the entire room with dazzling brilliance. A tall, glamazon, supermodel type woman was standing over me, her hand on the light switch. There was a second of awkward silence before she screamed at the top of her lungs. It was a little much, but then again I never screamed. I hit first, then asked questions.

  “Dad,” the woman shrieked as I sat up, clutching the blankets around myself.

  Dad? The blood started draining from my face. No wonder he stuck me in the storage closet. He'd set up a new franchise.