Beat (The Beat and The Pulse #1)

#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.