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  I fought so I didn’t feel alone.

  What a crock of fucking shit.

  Chapter 2

  Ren

  I blinked hard as several flashbulbs popped, lighting up the set in the corner of Beat.

  A guy ran around with a light meter in his hand checking numbers and tilting fancy reflectors. Beat had been morphed into a photography studio for the afternoon and if it wasn’t for Josie, I would’ve cracked the shits within the first five minutes and walked.

  Sponsorships and endorsements required promotional work on our behalf, but today was about us and Beat. Three fighters from the same studio making it big in the professional circuit was big news apparently. And with one of them being a woman, the media was lapping it up like it couldn’t get enough.

  Dad was rubbing his hands together in glee, of course. The Golden Age of Beat was back and it wasn’t because of the beast, Ash Fuller, it was because of his long lost daughter. His abandoned daughter. I had the Twins, Seth and Josie, but it wasn’t quite the same. Dad was the only real family I had left and a small fucked up part of me wanted to please him. I had nothing else to do.

  Grimacing as I watched Dean and Lincoln primping for the cameras, I shuffled nervously on the spot. Monica fluffed around like a bad smell, talking to the photographer and the makeup artists and Josie was discussing whatever it was she did with the journalist from the magazine.

  Talk about a fish out of water. I felt like a bloody alien in my own home.

  They’d dressed me and the Twins in the sponsor’s clothing and wrapped our hands like we were at a bout, instructing us that they wanted some action shots. The boys took to all of this like it was the most natural thing in the world and I was at least a little jealous…okay, so I was a lot jealous.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirrors and couldn’t quite recognize myself. Josie appeared beside me as if she sensed my flight mode was activating and placed her hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s all about image Ren,” she said. “You’re stunning, you know that? These photos are going to be amazing.”

  I was finding out the hard way that I was allergic to the spotlight. A lifetime of obscurity had me scurrying for the shadows like an insect. The spotlight hurt my eyes, blinding all my senses.

  “Ren?”

  I glanced up at Josie. “Yeah?”

  “This is what you want, isn’t it?” she asked, kneeling beside me.

  “I want to fight,” I replied a little uncertainly.

  “I know. You’ve got me to deal with this stuff, right? The occasional photo and interview is all you have to worry about. You just keep your thoughts on your training.”

  Is this what success felt like? Overwhelming pressure to perform? Everyone was so sure I would qualify, but I found my care factor at subzero temperatures. I didn’t fight for fame and glory…I fought to stay numb and I fought to keep my anger at bay. What would these so called industry professionals say if I told them that?

  I sighed as the makeup artist propped in front of me and began dabbing something on my face.

  “Oh, stop sighing,” Josie said. I knew she was into all of this, I mean she was the epitome of a fashionista, but it wasn’t my scene. I wore makeup, but only on special occasions. Apparently I’d been blessed with an even complexion.

  I grudgingly let the makeup artist do her thing, sitting rigidly in the chair while the Twins fluffed around in front of the camera being all macho. Josie floated towards them like a moth to a flame, or a horny PR manger to a set of hunky twins, and I was left alone.

  “Hi Mum.”

  Despite the alarms going off in my brain, I glanced up and saw Monica hugging an older woman. A woman who looked a lot like her.

  Realizing the makeup artist had finished doing her thing, I slid out of the chair and tried to hide, but I wasn’t quick enough.

  “Renee?”

  I sighed heavily and glanced over my shoulder. It couldn’t be anyone else and I felt the urge to vomit rising. Sharon Miller had finally deigned to make an appearance after a year of absence. I owed my dad’s wife nothing, but the fact that she was here meant she wanted something from me. When it came to the new franchise, it couldn’t be anything good. Past experience had proved that as a fact.

  “Ren,” I said, looking Sharon up and down. “Nobody calls me Renee. Not even people I don’t like.”

  She grimaced. “I’m-”

  “I know who you are and I’m not interested. I can have a pretty good guess what your opinion of me is.” She wished I didn’t exist, that’s what her opinion was.

  “I should’ve come here a long time ago,” she said.

  “I don’t really want to see the woman my dad left my sick mum for.”

  “Look...I...” Sharon Miller was lost for words and if I wasn’t in a downward spiral, I would’ve been happy about that, but right now I was just annoyed.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Your dad’s been happier since you’ve started training with him,” she said, just coming out with it. “He’s been unhappy for a long time.”

  I snorted. What, was she afraid he’d leave her too?

  “Have you ever been in love Ren?”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “Because that’s what happened with your Dad. I didn’t know your mother had cancer. Not until a few years after he left her. We never met...” She hesitated. “I didn’t know he already had a daughter when I fell pregnant. I am sorry for what happened-”

  “But you were in love with him,” I interrupted. “Like that’s an excuse.”

  “It’s not an excuse. An explanation maybe. People do crazy things when they’re in love.”

  Like beating a guy half to death because they looked at me the wrong way? Like murder? Ash was a beast. If that was his way of showing how he felt, then it was a bloody lousy way of doing it. Crazy in love? Unlikely.

  Turning to Sharon, I snapped, “You ruined our lives.”

  “I can’t change the past, but I can do something about the future.”

  I didn’t want their future. I didn’t want to play house with a bunch of backstabbing, jealous bitches. I didn’t want to live under the same roof as Monica Miller and her fancy upper class mother.

  “I’ve come to accept Dad as being my father and coach, but I will never see you or your daughter as family. I don’t want to be any part of it.”

  Sharon fidgeted, her feelings obviously hurt. Well, as far as I was concerned, she didn’t have the right.

  “You’re welcome to come stay with us,” she said after a moment. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Ren...”

  “I like it at Beat.” Because I did. Living at Beat was no longer something I felt ashamed of. Sure, everywhere I looked something reminded me of Ash, but this place was mine long before it was ours.

  “Look,” I said, trying to remain diplomatic. “I appreciate that you tried, but I’m just not interested.”

  Sharon grimaced, but didn’t say anything. There was no way she could’ve thought that coming in here and saying a few things about love would change my mind about her. It was the first time I’d laid eyes on the woman and I could already see where Monica got her everything from. No. Just…no.

  Turning, I stalked off, but not before Josie caught my arm.

  “Where are you going?” she asked. “You’re almost up.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. “I was hoping to make a clean getaway.”

  Josie glanced over my shoulder. “Who was that?”

  “The woman my Dad ditched my Mum for.”

  Josie’s jaw dropped. “That’s Monica’s uppity mother? What did she want?”

  I shrugged. “She was being nice and apologetic, which could only mean she has an ulterior motive. Dad and I get along now. ‘Along’ enough that I don’t hate him anymore.”

  “Maybe she feels threatened?”

  “Maybe.”

  Or maybe she felt bad a
bout her lack of acknowledgement. All I knew was the fact that I didn’t want it. I wanted a life with Ash, but that wasn’t an option anymore. I couldn’t have a future with somebody who wasn’t there.

  My mum wanted me to have a family, but the reality was something much different. As I stepped onto the makeshift set with the Twins, I realized I had another kind of family. One that wasn’t blood related, one that didn’t share DNA or anything biological. We shared our love of fighting. My family was Josie, Seth and the Twins.

  In a way, I’d followed my mum’s last wish down to the letter. I hoped I’d made her proud.

  The photographer started snapping shots of us together as the reporter came forward and started asking for some different poses. The Twins were lapping it up and were constantly trying to pinch me to get me to crack a smile. Josie just kept giving me the thumbs up when I glanced at her in a blind panic.

  What a family to wake up to.

  Chapter 3

  Ren

  I didn’t know how to cope with my feelings, so I beat them out.

  The Underground was pumping tonight. Mid-season was the time where the weak were weeded out and things started to get good. Bouts suddenly became a lot more challenging as more skilled fighters were put up against one another.

  There were new fighters and old and some from last season that hadn’t returned at all. I’d missed the first few weeks but I’d more than made up for it in the points stakes. If I wanted to win this thing, I had the skills to get to the Championship bout. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible.

  I was sitting in the stands, minding my own business watching the men go at it, when I felt a bulky form sit next to me. With a scowl I glanced up, ready to give the guy a mouthful, but I ate my words when I saw it was Dean.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” he replied.

  He was dressed in a pair of sweats and hoodie, like he’d come straight from Beat. I was actually starting to believe that he didn’t own any other clothing. Dean and this place…well, they didn’t mix. He was too good for this stink hole.

  I frowned. “How did you even know it was here?”

  “Wasn’t hard.” He glanced around the crowd, the expression on his face making his opinion glaringly obvious.

  “What do you want Dean?” I asked, my patience already wearing thin.

  “What I want is for you to quit fighting.” He winced as a guy in the cage got pounded in the face with a fist. “Shit, I’m not afraid of a fight, but this is brutal.”

  “You’re in an Ultimate Fighting Championship,” I drawled. “You’re scared of a little blood?”

  “It’s more than that Ren,” he argued. “There’s rules. Here,” he gestured wildly with his hands, “there are no fucking rules.”

  “That’s the point.” Of course there wasn’t. It wasn’t exciting enough being illegal; it had to be brutal as well.

  “I can’t believe you get in there and risk yourself like that. Isn’t there a coherent thought in your head?”

  “Ugh, you’re worse than Ash,” I spat.

  “What do you mean? I thought he was the one that got you into this thing. I still want to slam him one for this you know.”

  “He never wanted me to compete,” I shot back. “He fought me every step of the way. I was the one who wanted to fight.”

  Dean cocked his head to the side, obviously surprised. “Why Ren? Why would you do this when you’ve got your shot at pro?”

  I shook my head, not knowing how to explain it. He’d think I was crazy. Maybe that was my problem. I was slipping into crazy town, population me.

  A referee tapped me on the shoulder. “Reign, you’re up after this one.” I nodded as he passed.

  “Reign?” Dean asked, his lip curling.

  “They call me Reign of Terror.”

  He snorted trying to stifle a laugh. “You’re fucking joking right?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “This place is like a fucking circus of pain. You’re coming with me. Right now.”

  He went to grab my arm, but I twisted out of his way, my anger levels boiling to the top. “You’re not my father Dean.”

  “Then maybe I should go get him,” he retorted. “He needs to talk some sense into you. You could get seriously hurt, you know. You could fuck up everything with the AUFC. If they got wind of this-”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “I fucking know.”

  He sighed, glancing away. “Is this what you want Ren?”

  I stood sharply, totally over the conversation. I wasn’t nearly done with my downward spiral into numbness…oblivion.

  “I have a fight to get ready for,” I declared and stalked off through the crowd, leaving Dean behind.

  The guy had balls coming here, I’d give him that one, but when he saw me in that cage, he’d either blow a gasket or become just like everyone else. Afraid of me.

  I was up against a fighter I’d fought a few times before, named Fury. We were pretty evenly matched, which should make for an interesting bout. For us and the crowd.

  Shucking off my hoodie and sweats, I glanced up as the woman herself stood in front of me, a stupid grin on her face. We were the same height and weight, give or take a few notches, but that’s where the similarities ended. She was blonde with a healthy dose of freckles across her cheeks compared to my olive complexion and dark brown hair.

  “I always know I’m going to have a good time when I’m up against you,” Fury said as I began wrapping my hands in red bandages. Red like blood. Red was totally my color these days.

  “Light and dark,” I replied.

  “Gets the boys hard,” she said with a laugh.

  When I was ready, we walked out to the cage together. Dean caught my eye as we threaded our way through the throng of people and shook his head in disapproval.

  “Who’s the hottie?” Fury asked. “Is he your new man?”

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “He’s no one.”

  The cage door slammed closed behind us, the chain-link rattling. The referee gestured for us to toe our marks and to get the fuck on with it. They didn’t screw around here and scratched fighters out of matches for much less. Time to punch on, not gossip like girls.

  The referee raised his hand between us. “You know the rules, girls,” he said. “The fight goes on until one of you taps out or is KO’d.”

  “Get on with it,” Fury said, rolling her eyes.

  She wasn’t the only one foaming at the mouth. I needed to taste the adrenalin and feel the pain. I needed to numb out the heartache, one punch at a time.

  The referee shook his head, not in the least bit surprised, and blew his whistle.

  I wasn’t a fan of striking first out the gate and Fury knew it. I also knew she liked to hit quick and hard as soon as possible. The key to winning against her was to do something she didn’t expect. Letting her hit me was a good start. It instilled a false sense of hope that she had the upper hand.

  She took a few jabs at me, and I evaded them all easily, but she was just testing my reflexes. I feigned left and struck right but she blocked with her forearm, pushing me back.

  The crowd screamed for us to get the fuck on with it and I wasn’t getting any satisfaction from her, so I decided to put this thing right into top gear. With a roar I lunged forward, ramming a shoulder into the sweet spot right underneath her rib cage and slamming her back into the cage, the entire structure shaking. I pinned her with my left arm and punched with my right. My fist landed on her cheek, snapping her head to the side, but her own fist came from the other side, hurtling towards my face with startling accuracy. Imminent connection was coming and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  These moments always played out in slow motion. Like the exact second you trip over something and begin to fall, but there’s nothing you can do so you sit back and let the ride come to a complete stop. Well, this ride was still far from ove
r.

  Fury’s fist clipped me on the jaw and pain shot through my face, blurring my vision for a split second. While I was dazed, she struck at my right hand side, tripping me to the mat. Then she came down on top of me, drawing back for a strike to the temple. She was trying to knock me out and end the bout, but I still had plenty of go juice in me yet. I was just getting started.

  I bucked underneath her, leveraging my weight and flipped her off to the side and we rolled, locking our limbs together. The crowd roared as the referee darted forward and blew his whistle. Deadlocked, we had to untangle ourselves and toe our marks for round two.

  “You’re a tough bitch to crack, you know that Reign?” Fury said with a laugh. She was one of the more good-natured fighters, but that didn’t mean that the moment my back was turned she wouldn’t gut me.

  “I won’t give up until I’m either dead or KO’d, you know.”

  “I like a challenge.”

  The referee held his hand between us. “Round two,” he said to us. “Make it count.”

  The whistle blew sharply and it was game on.

  I ducked as Fury’s fist came at me, air whooshing by my ear. I didn’t have enough momentum to come back at her so I pivoted on my heel, twisting a whole one-eighty degrees until I was facing her back. She wasn’t as quick as I was, and without breaking stride I grabbed her shoulders in my hands and rammed a knee into her right hand side. She cried out as her entire body buckled underneath her and the crowd roared, chanting Reign of Terror over and over.

  Fury landed hard on her right knee and screamed in a mixture of annoyance and pain. That had to hurt. It didn’t faze me anymore, which should’ve been a glaring indicator that I should stop and think about what I was doing, but that’s the thing about being numb. I just didn’t give a shit.

  I shoved Fury’s shoulders down and she landed on her back, her leg stuck underneath her body. Kneeling, I raised a fist to finish the job and struck. Punching someone into unconsciousness sounded easy, but it required a great deal of force. It jarred and hurt me as much as it did her. She’d have a bloody rager of a headache later, but my arm would ache well into tomorrow.