Shattered (4 page)

What little I did know about UFC and the like
I’d learned from the guys I’d gone out with. A couple were fans of
watching the sport, and I peered at the matches every once in a
while. It seemed like a brutal sort of thing, the fighting they
did. I knew that professional wrestling could be staged, that those
guys weren’t really supposed to get hurt most of the time. But
these other matches were different. The guys fighting them looked
like they were really out to do some damage. And Anderson had said
that his fights were even worse than those I’d seen. What could
possibly worse? I thought, insanely, that perhaps he was a
mercenary, or an assassin...then I remembered that we weren’t, in
fact, inside of a comic book.

“Uh,” Anderson started, the faintest hint of
a blush creeping into his cheeks, “Your back is all we have left to
fix up.”

“Oh,” I said, my pulse quickening. “I’ll
just...”

“Maybe just lift the back of your shirt up
for me?” he said, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

But it wasn’t discomfort I was feeling, that
much was for sure. Lust, yes. Desire, for sure. But not discomfort.
I felt more comfortable in my skin than ever with Anderson beside
me. I shifted on the couch, turning over onto my belly. I gingerly
lowered myself on to the soft leather, my heart hammering inside my
chest. The pain was barely registering anymore, drowned out as it
was by my unbearable need to feel Anderson’s hands on my skin.

“Go ahead,” I said softly, peering up at him
from where I lay. He hesitated for a moment, and then gently lifted
up the hem of my tee shirt. He peeled the garment away from my
scraped skin, grimacing at the damage.

“Do you mind if I...?” he asked, running his
finger along my bra strap.

“Not at all,” I said, trying to keep calm. I
would have given anything to feel those hands of his close around
my breasts, slide down my stomach and find their way to the tender
skin of my thighs. But in my injured state, that much excitement
might just do me in. I might be worth it, though, if Anderson was
anything like I imagined.

With an expert motion, Anderson unclasped my
bra. He’d had experience, undoubtedly. No one who looked like him
could possibly be lacking in bedroom expertise. He looked down at
my back, fully exposed before him. Somehow, feeling his gaze on the
space between my shoulder blades, traveling down my spine, was more
erotic than anything I’d ever felt. I’d been with men before—well,
boys, really—but none of them had done to me in bed what Anderson
was doing to me right then.

“This might hurt a little,” he said, lowering
the cloth to my back. I winced as my cuts erupted in a flash of
stinging pain. The solution he was applying stung as it cleansed my
wounds. “You’re pretty scraped up back here,” he said, “But I think
this is the worst of it. I’m glad nothing’s broken.”

He diligently fixed me up, and I lost myself
in the feel of his hands on my body. Everywhere he touched felt
rejuvenated, and alive with desire. The pain and pleasure of his
ministrations mingled in my body and mind, and I could feel that
insatiable pressure building up inside of me once more. As Anderson
rested his hand on the groove of my waist, I felt a sudden warm
wetness between my legs. I turned my face away from him, hoping he
wouldn’t be able to read my lust plainly on my face. I tried to
tell myself that I was being ridiculous, that he was just being a
good samaritan...but there was something in his touch that said
otherwise.

“I just realized something,” my voice husky
with wanting him.

“What’s that?” he asked. There was something
pressing behind his words, as well.

“I never thanked you properly,” I said.

“I suppose that’s true,” he replied.

I turned my face back toward his, knowing
full well that my cheeks were flushed, my eyes lit up with desire.
“Thank you,” I said, “Thank you for saving me, Anderson.”

He stared back at me, his eyes like dark
tunnels. “You’re welcome, Kaela,” he said. “I’m just glad I was
there to help.”

“‘Help is an understatement,” I said.

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“You were incredible,” I said, not caring
whether I was coming on too strong, “I mean, you were
outnumbered.”

“Not really,” he said, “Those assholes
weren’t real opponents.”

“Who...Who are you used to fighting?” I
asked.

He paused for a long moment, his hands
lingering on my back. “Kaela,” he started, “I’m not sure if you
really want to know about all that.”

“But I do,” I insisted. “Come on, you can’t
expect me not to be curious.”

“It’s just...” he said, “I don’t want you to
get hurt.”

“Why would I get hurt? You already chased the
bad guys away,” I said, laughing nervously.

“Those bums were nothing. The real bad guys,
however...” he trailed off, deep in thought. I waited for him to
say something, but he simply lowered my tee shirt back over my
cleaned wounds. “Do you think you can make it to the bedroom?” he
asked.

My whole body came to life at the suggestion.
Surprise and glee washed over me, and I really felt like a new
woman. “The bedroom?” I asked, trying not to sound overeager.

“I’ll find you something to sleep in, get you
settled,” he said. “You could use a good rest, I’m sure.”

My face fell as I realized that he meant to
put me to bed, not take me to bed. “You’re suggesting that I stay
over?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” he said, “You think I
would make you pack up and go after what you’ve been through?
You’re staying here so I can make sure you’re OK. I won’t take no
for an answer.”

“You won’t have to,” I said. “Thank you,
Anderson.”

“Of course,” he said, offering me his
arm.

He helped me stand and walk across the
enormous living room. This apartment was absolutely palatial. The
decor was slick and modern, not an item out of place. I wondered
how on earth Anderson could possibly afford such an expensive
apartment. He led me into the bedroom and flipped on the light. I
tried not to get excited as he walked me over to the sprawling king
sized bed. Anderson sat me down on the soft white comforter and
crossed the room to his closet. I unabashedly drank him up with my
eyes as he rifled through his drawers. I longed to grab that tight
ass of his, run my hands along his rippling back, and dig my
fingers into his shoulders as he slid inside of me...

“Here you go,” he said, turning toward me
with a big sweatshirt and a pair of boxer shorts. I smiled back at
him, tamping down my dirty thoughts. He handed me the clothes and
turned his back. “You can go ahead and change,” he said, “I won’t
watch.”

He turned away from me, giving me a bit of
privacy. I stared at him, eagerly. Didn’t he realize that privacy
was the last thing I wanted? I wanted to feel his eyes skate over
my naked body, caressing my curves as they went. I wanted him to
lay me out across the bed and cover every inch of me with those
full lips of his. I wanted to feel him in me, filling me. I wanted
all of him.

With trembled knees, I stood and lifted my
dirty tee shirt up over my head. My unclasped bra fell away from my
body, and I felt my nipples harden achingly. Gingerly, I unbuttoned
my jeans and slid them down my legs and off. My panties were soaked
through—I couldn’t tell whether I wanted him to know or not. I
peeled off the final flimsy garment and tossed it into the pile of
my discarded clothing. Anderson stayed put, turned away, but I
could sense his muscles tensing up. I straightened up and stood
naked behind him. My bare skin was screaming out for his touch. I
could scarcely stand to be there, in this gorgeous man’s bedroom,
without a stitch of clothing on my body. I wanted him so badly, but
I knew that he wouldn’t make a move. Furthermore, I knew that he
was right not to.

The night had already been too overwhelming.
If I threw myself at Anderson, it might be too much for me to
handle. I was still in shock, and what’s more, my body would never
be able to handle him. I could tell from Anderson’s authoritative,
expert touch that he liked to lead the way in bed. I had never been
with a dominant man before, I was always been the girl on top. But
now, I wanted nothing more than to submit to this amazing hero, to
give myself over to whatever he desired.

Another night
, I said to myself,
sliding the big sweatshirt over my head.

I pulled on the boxers and sat back down on
the comforter. “I’m decent,” I said sarcastically. Anderson turned
to me and smiled. I could see the glint of lust in his dark eyes,
no matter how hard he was fighting it.

“That’s a good look for you,” he said.

I laughed too loudly, trying to get a grip on
my unwieldy fantasies. “You’re some kind of a saint,” I said to
him.

“Not at all,” he said, pulling down a corner
of the comforter and helping me under, “I’m just a guy who knows
how to fight.”

“Tell me about it,” I said again, crawling
under the blanket. “Come on, I need a bedtime story.”

“This isn’t exactly a ‘happily ever after’
type of thing,” he said.

“Please,” I begged, burrowing into the soft
bedding, “I can’t sleep yet.”

“I guess I owe you some kind of explanation,”
he said, sitting beside me. “I don’t have a picture book or
anything, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I think I’ll manage,” I said, “Now
spill.”

He took a deep breath and looked down at his
hands. “I’ve been fighting my entire life,” he began, “Ever since I
was a kid. I was born here, in New York City. Well, in Brooklyn,
actually. It was me, my parents, and my little brother Toby. We
lived by the beach, Coney Island. Things were rougher back then.
The city was, I mean. These days New York is like a theme park, but
when I was growing up...it was a different story.

Mom and Dad worked all the time, all the
neighborhood parents did. So after school, all of us kids were
pretty much free to roam. It was nice, having that freedom, but it
also meant that we had to learn to take care of ourselves. In our
neighborhood, it was fight or forfeit. And I don’t forfeit. We’d
never really do any damage to each other, it was just kid stuff.
But as I got older, the rest of the gang realized that I was better
at defending myself than most of the others. I got a little
reputation as the tough guy in the neighborhood. And I liked it. I
liked knowing that I could protect my little brother, myself,
without even breaking a sweat. There was a power in it.

But I wasn’t powerful enough to protect us
from everything. When I was thirteen, my parents were in a terrible
car crash coming home from work. They were carpooling to save some
gas money and got t-boned. The other driver fled the scene. They
never found out who he was. Both of my parents died instantly.”

“Anderson,” I said, reaching for his hand,
“I’m so sorry. You don’t have to go on, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s OK,” he said, “It happened so long ago.
It’s getting hard to even remember what they were like. My mother
had a wonderful laugh, I know that. And she always smelled like
clean laundry. Whenever I walk by a laundromat in the city...I
remember her for a second. My dad was reserved, but I could tell
that he was proud of Toby and me. He didn’t like my fighting much,
though. That much was very clear. I sometimes wonder what he’d
think of me now. But that’s pointless. Toby and I didn’t have any
other family in the world, but one of my dad’s good friends agreed
to be our guardian. Robert Hunt, the finest man I know. He took us
in without question, and his lifestyle was not exactly amendable to
having two pre-teen boys hanging around. Robert was, and is, a very
wealthy man, very classy. His home was a like a museum and the
Playboy Mansion rolled into one.

It was Robert’s idea that I start to take
professional fighting lessons. He thought it would be a good way
for me to work out my anger over my parents’ death. He got Toby and
I the best instructors in the country. We trained constantly, all
through high school. I went through teacher after teacher—they just
couldn’t keep up with me. Fighting became effortless for me. It
wasn’t a matter of anticipating or training anymore, it was in my
blood. It was all I ever wanted to do, all I cared about. Robert
was so supportive of me the whole time. I went through the MMA
circuit, I was even good enough to go for the Olympics, but I
didn’t want to be away from Toby. My whole life had been in New
York, there was no way I was gonna get shipped off.

College was never a question. I never took to
any subject in school the way I took to fighting. I decided to keep
on training, to be the best fighter I could possibly be. Toby was
another story entirely. He was an OK fighter, but it just didn’t
come naturally to him. He loved his books, that one. Always had to
be learning something new...”

“You’re talking about him in the past tense,”
I observed with dread.

“Yeah,” Anderson said, “I am. Before Toby
went off to school himself, he got this crazy idea into his head.
He’d heard about this underground fighting league, you could think
of it sort of like that movie
Fight Club
? He decided that he
wanted to end his fighting career or whatever with a bang. So one
night, he went down to show them what he was made of. He had no
idea what he was getting himself into. He had been trained in
martial arts, not in street fighting. The other fighters tore him
apart. He never stood a chance. But even though he kept getting the
shit kicked out of him, he kept fighting. I wish he’d known when to
quit. By the end of the night, he’d been knocked unconscious by a
nasty elbow blow to his temple, and lapsed into a coma. I made it
to the hospital just as they were calling it.”

“Anderson...” I breathed, at a loss for
words.

“It was the darkest time of my life,” he
said, “I just spiraled into this bottomless depression. I couldn’t
leave the house, couldn’t eat, sleep...For months, it was just
darkness. Robert was a saint the whole time. He was the one who
finally helped me see a way out. He knew that fighting had helped
me over the loss of my parents, and he came to me with the crazy
suggestion that I should enter that underground fighting ring, he
said, and I should do it for Toby.