UNTOUCHED (Midwest Alphas) (Book 1) (6 page)

“What are you gonna do?” I ask him. “Tattle on me?”

“I mean it — this isn’t the place for you.”

The anger in his eyes burns my skin. It reminds me of the night I met him and how his furious demeanor jolted me to the core. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a bum fight before,” I joke.

“Tobias…”

His eyes fall over my shoulder, following the deep voice that spoke his name. There’s a subtle shift in his gaze as his anger turns to fear. “Get behind me,” he whispers.

“What?” I ask. I start to look over my shoulder, but he grips my arm to stop me.

“Claire,
get behind me.
” He moves with a quick jerk, sliding himself in front of me before I can say another word.

“Well, well, well…”

I follow the voice and peak around Tobias’ thick shoulder to see a fighter walking towards us in street clothes. I recognize his face immediately:
Pike the Punisher.
The winner with the blood-stained shorts.

He grins at Tobias with perfect teeth. “I thought you would have been knocked out of the bracket by now, Tobias,” he says.

Tobias keeps his arm back to hold me in place behind him. “Sorry to disappoint you, Pike,” he says.

Pike cranes his neck to get a better look over Tobias’ shoulder. His eyes fall on me and I feel Tobias grip my arm a little tighter. “And who is this?” he asks.

“She’s nobody,” Tobias spits.

“She don’t look like nobody to me.” Pike licks his lips at me. “What’s your name, darling?” he asks.

“She’s not from around here—”

“It’s Claire,” I interrupt.

Tobias’ head jerks back to scold me and I immediately feel like I’ve made a huge mistake.

“Claire…”
Pike tastes my name. “I like it.” He takes a step closer with wide eyes, scanning my face as if to memorize it. “I’ll see you next week, Tobias,” he mutters, still staring at me. “Keep fighting like that and it should be you and me in the ring together soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” Tobias says.

He nods at me before turning away and walking towards his car.

Once he’s gone, Tobias spins around and pulls me in closer. “Stay away from him,” he seethes.

“Why—?”

“Claire.”
His grip loosens, but his eyes keep their hold on me.

I search his intense gaze and feel the emotion behind his words. “Okay,” I say, nodding my head. “I’ll stay away from him.”

He drops my arm and takes a quick step back. “How did you get out here?” he asks.

“I… uh,” I give a short smile, cowering a little bit. “I stole Charlie’s truck.”

He tilts his head in annoyance and heaves a thick sigh.

Chapter 5

Now Hit Me

“Why do you call yourself Tobias the Untouchable?”

He looks over at me from the driver’s seat of Charlie’s truck. “I don’t,” he replies. His eyes drift back to the road. “They do.”

“Then why do
they
call you Tobias the Untouchable?”

It’s obvious that Tobias doesn’t want to answer my questions, but I can’t stand this silence. We’ve been on the highway for over ten minutes and we’re coming dangerously close to the farm. I know that once we get there, it’ll be back to business as usual and I don’t want that. Business as usual is strange and lonely.

“No one’s been able to touch my face,” he answers.

“That’s it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “That’s it.”

“How long have you been fighting?”

“A few months.”

I turn to look at him, my eyes drawn to his face. It is indeed clean, with no marks or visible scarring of any kind, not like Pike or Burt or even myself. Then I remember the bruises on his chest and ribs. “You leaned into those hits,” I say. “I saw you.”

“Well, if I get hit in the face, then my dad will notice.”

I nod, easily imagining the kind of reaction Charlie would have to this sort of thing. “I won’t tell him,” I say.

Tobias looks at me again. “Thank you,” he says.

“And… in exchange, I expect you not to tell him that I took off.”

“And stole his truck.”

“Well…” I nod. “Yeah. That, too.”

“Just don’t do it again,” he warns. “You’re biting the hand that feeds you.”

“He lets me feed myself actually,” I chuckle.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.” I tighten my lips. “I’ll be good. Besides, I won’t be here much longer anyway.”

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Back to Chicago. I turn eighteen soon and they can’t keep me here against my will.” His eyes linger on me a little longer before returning back to the road. A thick-aired silence falls on us again. I wait, hoping that he’ll break it, but he keeps his eyes forward. “So…” I mutter. “Did he tell you why I’m here?” I ask.

His hand shifts on the steering wheel. “He said you were a complicated young woman,” he answers.

“That’s it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “That’s it.” I bite my lip, wondering if I should say something more, but he continues on. “But that’s just old cop talk for sex and drugs. I didn’t ask any questions.”

My cheeks fall pink and I hope that it’s not noticeable in the dark. “That’s about it, I guess. Well, one more than the other.” I feel his eyes on me, but he says nothing.
“Drugs,”
I say quickly.

“Obviously,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Obviously?” I repeat.

“A more mature woman wouldn’t be so embarrassed at the accusation of having sex.”

“I’m not
embarrassed
…” I sigh. “We never even went all the way.”

“We?”
he asks.

I hesitate with trembling lips. “Rick and me.”

Tobias’ eyes go wide and his lips curl. “You were dating your stepbrother?”

I shake my head. “No. We were just… jeez, I don’t know. Having fun, I guess. I knew it was wrong, but he was… persuasive.”

“Well, that explains their reaction then,” he mutters.

“We almost…” I let the words fall, “but we got caught.”

“And they sent you here?”

“Yeah.”

“Seems a little extreme.”

“It didn’t help that we took off afterward and got busted by the cops with drugs and booze.”

Tobias shakes his head. “Yeah, that sounds like Rick.”

“He never mentioned you,” I say.

“We haven’t seen each other in years,” he explains, “but you hear things about family, you know.”

“Yeah.” My eyes fall to his hand on the wheel and I notice it gently twitching in the passing streetlights. “I guess that makes us step-cousins or whatever, if that’s even a thing.”

“Guess so.” His eyes flick in my direction and fall to my split lip. “Is he the one that gave you that?”

I bite my cheek. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“It was my fault.”

“Things like that don’t just accidentally happen, Claire.”

“Well, this one did.” He looks back at the road and doesn’t reply. I watch him slide his hands across the steering wheel. They shiver and shake, the tremble traveling up his arms. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers quickly, following my eyes. “I just get a little revved up after a fight, is all.”

I nod and turn back to the road. Shortly after, the farm comes into view. Tobias flicks the headlights off as we slowly approach the house and park the truck in its spot. I help him roll his motorbike out of the truck bed and he pushes it towards the barn.

“Your dad’s a heavy sleeper,” I note as I pull the barn door open.

“He wasn’t always, that’s for sure,” he says as we step inside. I slowly close it again, shutting the both of us inside as he reaches up and flicks on the lights above us. “I think his cop senses have dwindled over the years.”

“Did you do a lot of sneaking out when you were growing up?” I ask.

He slips the kickstand down and leaves the bike against the wall. “Not really,” he says. “You should go get some sleep. It’s late.”

“What are you going to do?”

He points across the room and my eyes fall on the punching bag. “I need to work off some stuff,” he says.

I recall his adrenaline-wrecked hands and nod. “Can I watch?” I ask.

He pulls in a sharp inhale, his lips ready to say
no,
but he pauses instead. “Why do you want to?” he asks.

My memory wanders back to the fight and I can feel my heart pump a little faster. “It… I don’t know.” I look at my feet. “I just kind of liked it, I guess.” Once again, my cheeks fall pink. I expect him to laugh at me, to tell me to go away and leave him alone, but he doesn’t.

“Have you ever thrown a punch before?” he asks instead.

I shake my head. “No.”

He slips his jacket off and hangs it over his bike’s seat. “Hold up your fists,” he says.

“What?” I ask, my eyes snapping up from his tight, black t-shirt.

“Hold up your fists,” he repeats, standing in front of me. I bend my elbows slowly and raise my hands. My fingers curl down around my thumb and he shakes his head. “Keep the thumb on the outside, like this—” He reaches out and takes my hand. His touch sends a shock wave up my arm as he positions my thumbs correctly. “Never wrap your fingers around it. The impact could break your thumb,” he explains.

I nod my head slowly. “Okay.”

“Hold your wrist straight. Don’t let it bend.” His fingers move up my arm as he speaks and shivers explode up my spine.

“Okay…” I wish I could say something else, but my tongue runs on auto-pilot as my blood rushes elsewhere.

He staggers his feet and looks down at mine. “Put your right foot forward and bend your knees a little — like mine.”

I do as he says, suddenly feeling very aware of the new, awkward movements. “This feels weird,” I chuckle.

“It will, at first,” he nods. His hands fall to my elbows and he lifts them higher so my fists block my cheeks. “Always protect your face. Keep your chin down.”

I look to the floor. “Like this?”

He brushes a hand beneath my face and raises my chin a few inches. “Like that,” he says. After a quick glance down my body, he nods. “Good. Now hit me.”

“Hit you?” I ask. “Like… in the face?”

He chuckles. “No, here.” He taps a hand against his strong chest.

“Are you sure?” I hesitate.

“Do it.”

I bite my lip, wincing at the idea of striking another person. He looks at me with expectant eyes and I force myself to jab forward. My wrist collapses against his thick pecks and falls back to my side.

“That was pitiful,” he jokes. “Come on! Straighten your wrist. This time, let your right foot slide forward while your left pushes off the floor.”

“Do what now?” I ask, looking down at my feet.

He smiles and steps behind me. “The power of the punch comes from your hip, not your arm,” he says. I feel his hands on my waist and he pivots me with a quick jerking motion. “Lean into it and snap it back. Don’t let your arm linger.” He returns to his spot in front of me. “Again.”

I look at his chest and take aim at him.

“Protect your face.”

I raise my hands higher and inhale a quick breath to calm my quaking nerves. My toes tingle in my shoes as I push against my left foot and lean forward into my right. I twist my body and throw a second punch. It connects with him, this time with a firmer smack.

“Again,” he says.

I jab, hitting him a little harder.

“Again.”

I pivot sharply, feeling more strength surge through the punch before it connects with his chest. I pause, my arm shaking.

“Snap it back. Again.”

I raise my fists and throw one last punch. It strikes him perfectly and I immediately fall back into a fighting position, ready to jab again.

“Good,” he finally says.

My breath rattles through my lungs. Power charges up my limbs. I let my hands drop to my sides, but I can’t stop the twitching in my fingers. “Thank you,” I breathe.

“Knowing how to throw a punch is an essential skill,” he shrugs. “Kind of like knowing how to change a tire or how to hard-boil an egg.”

“I don’t know how to do either of those things,” I chuckle.

“Well, now you know how to throw a punch.”

My lips twitch. “Can I do it again?” I ask.

He gestures to the punching bag. “Knock yourself out.”

I move in closer and stand in front of it. It feels so strange to roll my hands into fists with the intent to hit something, but it feels better than being on the receiving side of it. It almost feels like I’m learning how to use my hands for the first time. I hold them up in front of my face and lash out with one quick punch. My senses tingles throughout my body as the satisfying smack fills my ears.