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Rough Around the Edges
Rough Around the Edges
Rough Around the Edges
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Rough Around the Edges

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Raw, real romance from an all-male point of view.

For Ryan Moore, the choice to fight is like the choice to breathe – necessary. After being wounded in war and discharged from the United States Marine Corps, competitive MMA fighting is the only thing he’s still able to excel at. Every round is a risk he can’t afford to take, but time spent outside of the cage is purgatory, until he meets female fighter Ally Rivera. For the first time since an IED blast destroyed life as he knew it, he wants something – someone. And she wants him, but the lingering effects of war might just tear them apart, if the gang violence that plagues her family doesn’t kill them first.

Rough Around the Edges is Ryan’s side of the love story told in Battered Not Broken. It’s not a sequel, but a separate novel written for those who want to experience the story through Ryan’s eyes. Full-length standalone novel.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRanae Rose
Release dateFeb 6, 2015
ISBN9781310633249
Rough Around the Edges
Author

Ranae Rose

Hi, I’m Ranae, author of 30+ romance novels and novellas. My works include the Inked in the Steel City Series, Lock and Key Series, South Island PD Series and more. I began writing romance in 2011 in my early twenties, and the romance book community has been a source of joy ever since.I live in the South with a husband who’s even better than any of the heroes I’ve written, two kids, two cats who think they run the show and a dog who tolerates us all. In my free time, I’m a voracious reader, avid cook, and possibly the world’s most enthusiastic amateur urban gardener.

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    Rough Around the Edges - Ranae Rose

    CHAPTER 1

    No freaking way. I told you I’m not interested in being a ring girl.

    The defiant words jumpstarted Ryan’s heart – or maybe it was the mental image of the woman who’d spoken them strutting around a ring in a bikini and heels. A surprisingly strong bolt of something raced down his spine and dispersed in his lower back and hips, snaking around and burning a trail of heat through his groin.

    What the hell? The woman speaking from the center of the fighting ring inside the Knockout MMA Gym was beautiful, but still…

    C’mon, said Cameron, the gym owner Ryan had met just that morning. He leaned on the ring’s ropes and shot an imploring gaze up at the curvy brunette who was standing beside a taller, slimmer woman. Stacey was going to do it, but she’s sick. Fridays are our biggest nights – you know that. Just one night. Please.

    No. The woman shot an exasperated look at her friend, one that made it seem like she’d had this conversation with Cameron before – more than once, probably.

    I’ll pay you, Cameron said, gripping the ropes and peering up, locking her in eye contact. Double the normal ring girl rate.

    Double nothing is still nothing. She shook her head.

    There were several other members present in the gym. They were all male – it had been a surprise to discover two twenty-something females sparring inside the ring – and the steady whap whap of men hitting bags was rhythmic, almost enough to drown out the ringside conversation.

    Ryan strained without knowing why, instinctively eager to hear every word the woman spoke.

    It’s not nothing, Cameron argued with a frown. It’s generous for a few minutes of easy work. And you get free admission for that night’s fights.

    "I already get free admission into all fights – it’s a membership perk, remember? The brunette narrowed her eyes and tossed a head full of damp waves, half of which had escaped from a low ponytail and curled up into near-ringlets. Ask someone else. Put an ad in the paper or something. You’ll probably get responses from some college girls who’d get some sort of thrill out of parading around in a bikini in front of a crowd."

    Cameron’s face fell dramatically, but he forged ahead, gesturing with a hand as he failed to control his disappointed expression. College girls are flaky, and too picky. They see this place from the outside and they think it looks like a dump. They never give it a chance. Besides, there’s no time. Friday’s only two days away. He glanced from side to side, then donned a grin, as if a light bulb had just gone off above his head. Make you a deal – you help me out and I’ll give you some free one-on-one training sessions. We can start now – I’ll help you get ready for Saturday.

    The woman Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off of shook her head in a curt gesture, making her escaped curls bounce as her full lips thinned to a narrow line. Look, she said as she climbed out of the ring and settled her bare feet on the cold concrete floor, the answer is no. Stop hassling me or I’ll find another gym to train at.

    Cameron didn’t seem as phased by her threat as Ryan would’ve expected. He simply frowned, his lower lip jutting out. You wouldn’t leave Knockout! You’ve been here for over two years.

    Two years? So the woman’s interest in MMA wasn’t just a passing fad. Ryan allowed his gaze to sweep over her body in another once-over, taking in the subtle promise of muscle that gave her limbs a firm appearance beneath the softer silhouette of her feminine figure. She wore fitted shorts and a skin-tight workout top that was completely unforgiving. Not that she needed a looser top – her breasts were generous swells, but her stomach was flat. His eyes seemed to want to wander up and down her body of their own accord, unsure of where to settle.

    Fine, Cameron said. Fine. What about you, Mel? He turned to the brunette’s friend.

    Mel, as Cameron had called her, was pretty too, in a streamlined, statuesque sort of way. Her black hair shone and fell in loose waves and her skin – darker than her friend’s – seemed to glow, even under the gym’s harsh lighting. But his gaze was drawn to the irresistible paradox of the other woman’s generous curves and toned limbs.

    Mel shook her head and crossed her arms. You know I work Friday nights.

    Cameron threw his hands up into the air, raising thick arms that made it obvious he, a former middleweight boxing champion, spent time working the bags in his own gym. Fine. If either of you two know a cute girl who’d like to make a few bucks, give her my number. He turned on his heel and strode toward his office, shaking his head.

    Mel burst into laughter as she climbed out of the ring, joining her friend on the floor. The sound rang throughout the gym, not merely amused but unbridled and … happy. Really happy.

    It had been a long time since Ryan had heard anyone laugh like that. The sound swept over him, threatening to slip beneath the long-established layers of his mirthless self and infect him. Maybe it did, because as the beautiful brunette stepped forward, her head turned toward Mel, he didn’t move.

    She was headed directly for him, and still, he didn’t move a muscle. As she sailed forward, oblivious, he fought the faintest of smiles.

    Crap. She jerked to a sudden halt, her toes just inches from his. Her breath fanned across his bare chest, exasperated but warm.

    Up close, her beauty was like a blow to some long-forgotten place inside him. The eyes that held his were large and dark, a warm shade of brown just a little lighter than her almost-black hair. Her rebellious waves curled around her head, dampened from the same sweat that made her skin seem luminescent. The light was overhead and slightly behind her, casting a bright glow that made the hair around her skull shine like a halo. She was an angel in spandex – one who looked like she might sweep him to the floor and step over him if he didn’t move out of her way.

    Mel and I are finished with the ring. You could’ve just asked, you know.

    He concentrated more on her full lips than her words. They were rose petal-pink, a soft contrast to her caramel-colored skin.

    Sorry, he said, the word tumbling from his mouth automatically. Still, he didn’t move. He might not know why he was noticing every little thing about her, but he was, and he wasn’t finished.

    She gave him a scrutinizing look, her nose wrinkling before her nostrils flared. Are you a member? Because the ring and bags are only for members.

    Just joined this morning. He thrust out a hand before she could lose interest in him. Ryan Moore.

    His hand gravitated toward hers like iron to a magnet, and he gripped her fingers. He’d meant to shake her hand politely, but her skin was so warm and soft that he ended up just sort of squeezing, faintly awestruck at the feel of her. Her hand was still damp from the inside of her fighting glove, but feeling wetness of any sort on her skin gave him another one of those spine-to-groin thrills.

    Nice to meet you. She didn’t sound particularly like she meant it, but why should she? The gym was full of testosterone and men. She probably got hit on by them all the time and suspected the sort of thoughts that were going on inside his head as he continued to hold her hand. You can have the ring now. Who’s your sparring partner?

    That’d be me. A deep voice resounded from behind Ryan, belonging to Sanchez, another male gym member Ryan had recently become acquainted with. They’d spoken in the locker room, hit adjacent bags and decided to spar when the ring was free.

    Sensing that normalcy was quickly slipping away, Ryan mentally prepared himself to relinquish his grip on Ally’s hand – something he’d rather do later rather than sooner.

    She looked past him, over his shoulder, and flashed a smug smile at Sanchez. After wishing him luck, she withdrew her hand from Ryan’s lingering grip.

    As her fingertips slipped away, a pang of jealousy sailed through his chest, small and stupid but potent nonetheless.

    Oh, well. The only thing he could do was go forward with the sparring match and show her that he wasn’t some doofus who’d stumbled in off the street after watching one too many UFC matches on TV. Every once in a while, guys like that had swaggered into his old gym back in New York and made asses of themselves. He’d been wary of strangers who walked through the door and signed up, too. If he kept his cool during the sparring match with Sanchez and showed her that he knew what he was doing, maybe he’d be able to earn some of her respect.

    And maybe, just maybe, her nose wouldn’t wrinkle next time he spoke to her.

    Melissa and… Crap, he hadn’t gotten the brunette beauty’s name. Melissa and her friend spoke softly as Ryan made his way toward the ring, but he forced himself to tune them out. Until the match was over, only Sanchez mattered.

    A dead hush fell over the gym as he and Sanchez climbed over the ropes. The women stopped talking and even the constant noise of bags being pummeled ceased.

    A surge of something familiar rushed through Ryan’s veins, both heating him and cooling him at once. It was a sparring match, but it wasn’t only a sparring match. It was a message to all of Knockout’s members – one that would either say ‘hey, I’m one of you’ or ‘hey, I’m shit’. No way was he going to send any message but the former, especially with a stunning female fighter present.

    He liked Sanchez, but he wasn’t going to mess around.

    Turned out Sanchez wasn’t going to take it easy on him because he was new, either. As soon as the match started, he threw a fast jab at Ryan’s face.

    He bobbed, and as Sanchez’ gloved fist flew by his cheek with a whip of cool air, he came alive.

    His heart sped, but the rhythm felt easy, familiar. His body was quick to move, his muscles tensed in all the right places, but the fighting pose was as comfortable as lying in bed at night. A hell of a lot more comfortable, actually. This was where he belonged – inside a ring, where the only thing that mattered was the fight. He could control the outcome of a fight if he kept his head straight, and knowing that was enough to send a burst of hard-edged joy through his heart and into his veins, fueling his counter-attack.

    As quickly as he possibly could, he reached for Sanchez and gripped one of the man’s shoulders, simultaneously bringing his knee up in an efficient arc.

    Oof. Sanchez doubled over, his hard body folding around the even harder point of Ryan’s knee.

    A moment later, he pulled back, beginning to straighten.

    Ryan let Sanchez’ shoulder slip from beneath his hand and bounced on his toes as he resumed his guard, wary of retaliation.

    Nobody liked to be hit first, and Sanchez was no exception. As he stood again, slightly curled in a fighter’s pose, his dark eyes were wiser and calculating.

    Ryan tried a few strikes, hoping to catch Sanchez off guard while he was busy plotting his counterstrike, but Sanchez had become more defensive. He dodged a hook and parried a jab, then lashed out with a hook of his own.

    The punch landed above Ryan’s ear and tipped his head.

    Ryan did his best to absorb the blow without stumbling. It was a relief when the initial shock faded, leaving him with an increased edge to his desire to walk away from the match victorious. Spotting an opening, he slid forward and gripped Sanchez, going for a sweep.

    He almost pulled it off. Almost. Sanchez broke the clench at the last second, escaping.

    Ryan liked to think he was good at anticipating his opponents’ moves, but as Sanchez launched himself forward like a speeding rocket, he was caught so off guard that he slowed, succumbing to a burst of shock.

    In one of the most surprisingly-efficient maneuvers Ryan had ever witnessed, Sanchez succeeded in executing a scissor takedown, using his legs to grip Ryan and forcing him to the mat with a harsh twist.

    Bam. Ryan’s entire body shook with the impact, and then he was moving, his limbs tangling with Sanchez’ as they struggled for dominance on the ground.

    Sanchez didn’t make it easy, but Ryan worked his way to the top, landing a few blows to his opponent’s ribs along the way.

    The other man fired back, striking Ryan across the jaw once.

    His face aching, Ryan leaned down low, his chest sliding against Sanchez’ sweat-slicked one. With practiced efficiency, he gripped an arm with all his strength and rolled to the side, letting his back hit the mat as he pulled Sanchez’ limb, hugging it tight against his chest and forcing it to unfold and extend as he trapped it between his thighs.

    It didn’t take long for him to crank the armbar, forcing Sanchez to tap out, officially allowing Ryan to rise as an actual member of the gym, not just some jackass. Or at least, hopefully that was how the others saw him now.

    Lucky for you, Sanchez. A deep voice rang throughout the gym – Cameron’s. You’ve finally got a sparring partner in your weight class who’ll keep you on your toes.

    Sanchez rose from the mat, and he didn’t look half as pleased as Cameron sounded. Still, he nodded briefly in Ryan’s direction, accepting the outcome of the match with good grace.

    Ryan took the briefest of moments to respond in kind before letting his gaze wander in the direction it had been trying to go all along – to where the women stood, their arms crossed as they discussed something in tones too low for him to hear.

    He never got a chance to catch the curvier woman’s eye. Before he could so much as exhale, they’d both turned and were making their way toward the women’s dressing room. He watched them go with a sinking feeling that didn’t make any sense but was real nonetheless.

    Were they ready to head home?

    He still had a couple hours to spend on the bags and whatever else he could think of to do. How else was he going to spend his day off – go back to his apartment? No way in hell. He’d rather sweat to death than go and waste time behind those cheap off-white walls. He was definitely going to get his money’s worth when it came to his Knockout membership.

    Realizing what an idiot he must look like just standing in the middle of the ring, he climbed over the ropes, focusing on the multiple bags hanging a few yards away, near the door. There was a heavy bag open – he’d take that.

    Hey, Sanchez, kickass scissor, one of the Knockout members Ryan had yet to meet said.

    Yeah, badass, another one echoed.

    Surprisingly, they had praise for Ryan too – sparse praise, but still. Not bad, one of them said, and another nodded slowly, eyeing Ryan as if sizing him up.

    Ryan tipped his head in acknowledgement before taking up his stance in front of the heavy bag.

    Wham. He threw an elbow and the bag shook, absorbing the sort of power he hadn’t dared to use in a sparring match. A tough synthetic shell full of sand, the equipment could take the abuse. Laying into it again, he let the muscles in his back and thighs do the work as he continued with punching and elbowing combinations.

    Meanwhile, he listened half-heartedly to the conversations going on around him. Someone said something about Melissa and Ally – was Ally the other woman’s name?

    Before long, the skin on his forearm and elbow burnt and his knuckles ached inside the relatively thin shells of his gloves. The feelings were familiar and so was the olfactory combination of male sweat, the faintly damp brick building and the just-detectable synthetic scent of his gloves. No matter how many times he used them, the smell from the factory never quite faded. Not that it was bad. It just…

    Damn. He paused, though he wasn’t winded yet, and took a step backward. What was it about smell? The human sense of smell was weak, and yet, scents affected him like nothing else. Shaking his head quickly, he sent a few drops of sweat flying onto the black matte surface of the bag.

    He wasn’t in North Carolina and he definitely wasn’t in New York. He was in Baltimore. Shoving aside the out-of-state memories vying for prominence inside his head, he mentally pictured the new city – its streets, the iconic Inner Harbor and the buildings that could be seen from there, like the Domino Sugar Factory and the aquarium.

    The mental exercise – one he’d devised on his own, inspired by pure misery – didn’t really work. As a last-ditch effort, he threw a few hard punches at the bag. That didn’t work either. Breathing a sigh of exasperation as his mind whirled, he stepped back, away from the bag, as if it was the source of his problems.

    If only it were that easy. He’d love to have some inanimate, physical manifestation of everything that was wrong with him. He’d beat the hell out of it, and even if things weren’t different after that, at least he’d feel a little better.

    A shadow darkened the field of his vision, sending a bolt of unexplainable sureness down his spine. Raising his chin, he let his gaze settle on the curvy brunette who’d recently disappeared into the women’s locker room.

    She’d put on street clothes, but that hardly registered – he couldn’t look away from her face. Despite the fact that her nose was only a few inches from his sweat-slicked chest, it didn’t wrinkle this time.

    Sorry, she said.

    Her lips formed a perfect Cupid’s bow, but he couldn’t admire it directly. Her eyes had locked his in a hold strong enough to incapacitate someone inside the ring. It’s not a big deal. In fact, it was more than okay if she wanted to stand five inches from his chest all day.

    Her cheeks were flushed from exercise; redness had blazed its way across the bridge of her nose, stretching almost from ear to ear. The effect was significantly more becoming than the caked-on artificial blush so many women wore.

    Ally, right? He’d been repeating the name over and over again in his head ever since he’d heard one of the other guys mention Melissa and Ally. Either Melissa was Mel’s full name and the curvy brunette was Ally, or he’d just made an ass out of himself.

    Yeah.

    Nice to meet you.

    She finally broke eye contact with him, and as her gaze wandered lower, he could practically feel it burning a trail of heat across his mouth. An answering warmth flared in his torso, heating him all the way from his shoulders to his hips, and every last place in between.

    As he stood there fighting the threat of an erection, she nodded, still not meeting his eyes. The pink flush across her cheeks increased, bordering on true red, and realization struck him.

    He actually had to fight a grin as the knowledge that she was blushing – actually blushing – settled in. It was amazing how quickly his out of practice mind wrapped itself around that fact.

    Maybe I’ll see you around, she said, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty that was worlds away from the way she’d wrinkled her nose at him earlier.

    There was still a defiant spark in her eyes, though – a fact that echoed her earlier attitude and only increased the heat racing through his veins.

    You will. You’ll be here Friday night, right?

    I was planning to come watch the fights.

    Perfect. Friday nights were when Cameron hosted open fighting matches – with cash purses – at Knockout. He’d filled Ryan in that morning and he’d jumped at the chance to compete again.

    I like to be here to cheer on the guys from our gym when I can.

    Her words sparked another flare of heat and a wicked impulse that surprised even him. His lips curled into a smile without his permission. I hope you’ll cheer for me too, then. I don’t think I could lose if you were screaming my name from the audience.

    She recoiled, leaning back the tiniest bit as an almost comical look of surprise flitted across her face. A moment later, it was gone and she was wrinkling her nose at him. That’s not going to happen. Her tone was cool but her cheeks were as red as the gloves the guy on the next bag over was wearing.

    She stepped past him, leaving him with a vague sense of satisfaction but no real hope of seeing or speaking to her again before Friday night.

    When she paused, it proved that he didn’t know much about her, besides her name. I hope Cameron doesn’t pair you up with Sanchez again. He won’t take it easy on you next time – especially not in front of a paying audience.

    With that, she hurried out the door, admitting a blast of air as cold as her words. Melissa followed her, the way her lips twitched at the corners betraying the fact that she was trying not to smile.

    The icy March air did little to cool the heat that had risen to the surface of Ryan’s skin. So much for not making an ass out of himself. He’d rarely, if ever, acted like such a smartass since leaving New York. And he definitely hadn’t spoken to anyone that way during the past nine months.

    The weird thing was, he wasn’t sorry. Ally had heated him inexplicably from the inside out and some forgotten part of him had boiled to the surface. Maybe that part of him was a jackass, but at the moment, it was impossible to care. All he could think about as he resumed his combinations on the bag was making her blush again.

    * * * * *

    Dinner. Ryan had forgotten about it until he’d stepped through the front door of his apartment, trading the outdoor chill for the almost-warmth of the one-bedroom end unit. As soon as he’d put a foot over the threshold, hunger had pounced on him like a feral cat.

    A hollow feeling filled his middle as he scanned the undecorated dining and living areas as if a hot meal might magically pop out of one of the walls, or maybe materialize on the couch or small kitchen table – the only real furniture.

    Neither happened, and after locking and bolting the door behind himself, he dropped his gym bag and started toward the fridge, resigned.

    He scanned its interior, his gaze roving over a mustard bottle, a half-empty gallon of milk and a package of butter sticks. Reluctantly, he eyed the lower shelf on the inside of the door. As usual, a grey cardboard carton of eggs was his salvation.

    Why didn’t he go shopping for real groceries? He wondered that every evening when he bothered to make something for himself instead of going out to pick up something for dinner. Truth was, he couldn’t cook worth a damn. Eggs were easy, and they were full of protein – something he’d need more than ever now that he was training again.

    And competing. An unexpected smile crept across his face as he lifted the carton out of the fridge and closed the door.

    Just thinking about Friday night felt good. Envisioning the ring he’d sparred in that day, he turned, pulled a frying pan from the drawer below the fridge and smeared the inside with the end of a cold stick of butter. For the first time since he’d come to Baltimore, he went through the routine motions wearing a grin. The reason was simple – he couldn’t think of the sparring ring, or the Knockout gym at all for that matter, without thinking of Ally.

    Why, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was because she was beautiful and passionate about MMA – a knockout combination, as corny as that was. And then there was the intriguingly contradicting combination of the confidence she’d displayed at first and the way she’d blushed when she’d spoken to him for the second time before exiting the gym. His grin widened as the scent of heated butter rose from the frying pan.

    He cracked all three eggs and used a fork to whisk them into a blur of clear fluid and sunshine yellow yolk. There was no denying it – for whatever reason, a woman had caught his eye and his attention for the first time in well over a year. The Afghanistan desert where he’d been deployed for eight months had been anything but a dating scene, and then when he’d come home his life had been such a clusterfuck that romance had been the last thing on his mind.

    Something had changed that day at the gym, even if it was something as simple as being intrigued and turned-on by a woman – something that probably happened to most guys several times a day. He couldn’t explain it, but damn if it didn’t feel good just to know what he wanted as he turned off the stove burner and slid his simple meal onto a plate. Friday night was going to be the best night he’d had in a long time, and not just because he was going to win the middleweight prize purse.

    CHAPTER 2

    When Ryan thought about what he’d liked about New York, he didn’t think of the skyline, the endless entertainment options or the energy of millions of people all living out their lives in the country’s biggest metropolis. Weird as it might be, it was the scent combination of sweat and dampness that captured what he’d loved most about his years in the city.

    That same scent was present inside Knockout as he wrapped his hands in the men’s locker room, preparing for his first turn in the ring. Outside the locker room, the place was packed full of spectators. Their body heat had raised the normally cool building’s temperature considerably. It was almost too hot, even though he was only wearing a pair of shorts, but he didn’t mind. It was a familiar environment – one he’d craved – even if he was in a different city now.

    Hey. One of the lightweights from Knockout poked his head into the locker room. Sanchez is kickin’ this guy’s ass. Last round. You’ll be up soon.

    Ryan nodded and finished wrapping his left hand. Showtime. A sense of impending satisfaction expanded inside him at the thought of stepping into the ring. It had been a long time, but he was more than ready. In fact, if something somehow prevented him from going through with his match, it just might kill him.

    Or at least, that was how it felt. He was ready to feel like his own self again, even if it was only for a single round.

    Five minutes later, he was in the ring. It was impossible to resist scanning the crowd. He hadn’t stopped thinking about how Ally had said she’d be there.

    She hadn’t lied. She sat in one of the many folding chairs, in the second row back. As soon as he laid eyes on her, she was all he could see. She was as stunning as he remembered – not that he’d forgotten what she looked like over the past couple days. Not even close. And standing there in the ring, he really did feel like his old self. So, almost without thinking, he did what New York Ryan would’ve done and winked in her direction.

    She was staring back, which wasn’t a surprise seeing as how she’d come there as a spectator for the purpose of watching what went down in the ring.

    After savoring her expression of surprise for the briefest of moments, he turned to face his opponent.

    Another middleweight, he was built a lot like Ryan. He looked determined as he glared back, but it didn’t matter. Ryan wasn’t going to lose. Not in any case, and especially not with Ally watching.

    The round began with a flurry of movement. His opponent was fast, but not fast enough to land all the hard punches he threw. Ryan dodged a second jab and landed one of his own, using the momentum and his body weight to send the other man sliding backwards. A couple more punches and he had him against the ropes – right where he wanted him.

    Quickly, he pummeled him with blows to his ribs and jaw. With every punch, his sureness that he was where he was meant to be increased. All he could think about was the fight, and losing himself in the task at hand was sweet oblivion, even when the other man managed to back him off and landed a punch to his side, sending a wave of pain through his ribs.

    Ryan absorbed the blow with as much good grace as he could muster, thinking past the shock and setting his jaw as he clamped down on his mouthpiece, refusing to acknowledge the hurt. The man got in another punch to Ryan’s ribs and nearly managed to kick him there, too, but Ryan dodged the last one and finally honed in on his opponent’s head with a hard left hook.

    The man crumpled at his feet. Total knock out.

    Something inside Ryan clawed to the surface, a hard-edged sort of elation. For the first time, he could really hear the noise of the crowd. And they were roaring, some of them even rising from their seats. He raised a fist and let the noise wash over him. It didn’t matter what city he was in; the feeling of victory was exquisite. In that moment, he was a success, and that was all that mattered. He’d faced the threat of defeat in the form of another hard-bodied human being and had won. It felt good not to fail.

    Eventually he scanned the crowd, zeroing in on the spot where Ally sat. Only she wasn’t sitting anymore – she’d risen, and she beamed, radiating the same energy the crowd was exuding in shouts and raucous applause. The sight of her glowing with the same sense of victory that was filling him from the inside out, threatening to make him burst, was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. In that moment, they were connected and he could feel the pull of her from where she stood in a row of banged-up metal chairs.

    Before he could so much as wink in her direction again, she broke eye contact with him and sank back down into her seat, saying something to the dark-haired woman beside her, who’d whispered something into her ear.

    It didn’t matter that Ally was ignoring him now. It mattered that he’d

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