The pair circled each other like wary animals. Archer, practically vibrating with adrenaline, made the first move, a lightning fast right cross that Cade evaded by bobbing back and slamming a roundhouse into the other man’s side. And just like that, the study period was over and fists were flying. Archer landed maybe one punch for every three of Cade’s, his face darkening with effort and frustration as Cade continued to dodge and strike. Moving, always moving.
And God could he move. He had always been able to move. That had been part of the attraction. Now he was better. Good. That would be good, Embry thought. She’d need those skills.
Cade landed an open-handed strike against Archer’s sternum. The blow knocked the other man back, but only for a second. He dove toward Cade like a freight train, tackling him around the middle and taking them both to the mat. Cade wrapped his powerful legs around his opponent’s waist and struggled to get him into an arm bar. They rolled, a human pretzel, Archer still trying to get Cade into any kind of solid hold. Then, in a move fluid as water, Cade got the upper hand, reversing their positions until he could strike at Archer’s head.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the round, and the refs separated the fighters.
Archer stumbled to his corner in a way that made Embry certain he had a concussion. Cade accepted a bottle of water from someone on the sidelines and stared into the ring. His expression was fierce and searching, but something in his face made her think it wasn’t totally about the fight. She knew that face, the barely leashed rage underneath. It was how he’d looked the last time she’d seen him. When he’d been trying to protect her.
* * *
The bell rang.
Round Two.
Archer shook his head like a big bull preparing to charge. Cade could see the sequence unfold in his mind. Archer rushing forward, aiming for another grapple. Missing and swinging with a powerful left. But the left would be off, just slightly down from his aim. And that would be his mistake.
It was always like that for him, always had been. Though Cade could remember nothing about his life before waking up in that motel room ten years ago, he had some bone-deep understanding that he had been fighting all his life. He never felt closer to opening up the secrets of his past than when he was in the ring, and striving for that elusive key had become an addiction for him.
Cade raised his fists, keeping them tight and close as Archer rushed him. He stepped to the side, hands opening, ready when the other man swung, placing his arm right into Cade’s hands. Cade swiveled, using Archer’s momentum to bring him up, up, and over in a bruising throw across the mat. Archer landed with an agonized grunt. Cade should have followed, should have moved in for grappling, but he stopped dead in the middle of the cage as he saw the woman in the front row.
He didn’t know her. Didn’t recognize the high cheekbones or the lush, kiss-me-’til-dawn mouth. Couldn’t conjure up a name. But her dark, serious eyes met his through the chain-link, and something inside him just stopped.
Pain exploded in his skull as Archer landed a solid punch to his temple. Cade reeled backward, struggling to pull his focus back to the fight. Archer tackled him, and the cage rattled as they made impact. The arena spun, and he fought for breath against the chokehold Archer had around his throat. The bastard wanted a tap-out.
Fuck that.
Cade closed his eyes, bringing the fight and their positions into his mind, following the sequence of events, watching as they rolled, until he saw the opening he needed. He shifted, pushing with his powerful legs until Archer was beneath him, on his back. Gripping the other man’s arm, he managed to wrench it away from his throat. With a twist and a flip, Cade had him in a solid arm bar.
He hauled back, a hairsbreadth from popping Archer’s shoulder out of socket. Cade had to hand it to him. The bastard lasted a full eighteen seconds before his other hand tapped the mat three times.
The crowd went wild. Cade and Archer got to their feet, shook hands. Then the ref raised Cade’s arm as the winner, and he got half dragged on parade before the audience. His attention wasn’t on them, wasn’t on the belt he was presented. He was looking for her.
She was no longer in her front row seat. His eyes scanned the aisles, searching for a flash of reddish hair. But he couldn’t see much past the first few rows. The lights on the ring were far too bright. She was probably gone.
Because he had to, Cade went through the motions, giving interviews, discussing the fight with his coach, turning down invites from fans and other fighters to go out and hit Bourbon Street, until finally he made it back to the locker room. He just wanted to clean up and get the hell out to his favorite watering hole where he was a person rather than a star.
You just wanna sulk, Shepherd. Because the woman left before you could say boo to her.
Cade ran the soap over his body, washing off the sweat and blood of the match beneath the scalding spray of the shower.
It wasn’t like people usually stuck around after a fight unless they knew him. That was just proof that she hadn’t actually known him from Before. And wasn’t that a damn shame? Because for that fleeting moment in the ring, he’d thought he felt a connection.
No matter how much he enjoyed the life he’d built for himself, the man he’d made himself, that had been one of his secret hopes in all the years he’d been doing this—that someone would see him at a fight or on TV and say I know you. That they’d come forward and erase the gaps. Because time sure as hell hadn’t. Some of the holes from his early childhood he’d managed to fill in. None of it was pretty. But he hadn’t actually, honest-to-God remembered a goddamned thing from before that night he woke up in Nevada.
He shut off the water. Shoving his dripping hair back from his face, Cade reached for the towel he’d hung outside the shower. As his hand closed over terry cloth, a voice said, “I think you dropped this.”
He ripped back the curtain so fast, it tore off half the rings.
She stood there, one hip cocked, as if she had every right to be in the private locker room. Her dark eyes raked over him in frank appraisal and obviously liked what they saw. Cade jerked the towel from her hand and slung it around his waist before stepping forward into her personal space, a conscious intimidation. “Who the hell are you?”
Her lips curve
d in a flirtatious smile. “A fan.” She dragged one finger through the moisture still beading on his chest, then licked the droplet off.
A blast of heat blew through him. He rode the sensation, and the hands at his sides curled into fists to keep from grabbing her. “What do you want?”
She tipped her head to the side. “I thought I’d invite the winner out for a drink. To celebrate.”