Bad Boy Saint (Bad Boy 1)

I turned to look at the ring and there he was.

He was fighting.

"Why is Hunter fighting?"

"Conor's sick. People came to watch a fight, so Hunter stepped in. He's getting pummeled."

I glanced up and saw Hunter. He was bare from the waist up, had his hands wrapped in green tape, and was wearing a mouth guard, but it was him.

"What are they doing? Where are their gloves?"

Graham shook his head. "It's MMA, not boxing. If you don't like to see a man get hurt, you should look away now. Hunter's out-matched despite all his training."

I turned to Amy. "There he is," I said, making a face at her. "He's fighting because his brother's sick."

"So that's the infamous Hunter?" she said, frowning. When Hunter turned, we got to see him face-on. He looked fierce, his wrapped hands held up to protect his face. His skin glistened with sweat. He was bouncing around, staying just out of range of his opponent.

I stepped closer to the ring, alarmed that Hunter was losing. He looked fantastic, but what did I know about MMA? His opponent seemed beefier than Hunter, who, while buff, wasn't a heavyweight. All the years of training wasn't enough to give him the edge.

It was then I saw the amazing tribal tattoo on his shoulder and down his bicep. Green and dark blue, it was fantastic. I could only imagine running my hands over it, and then over the rest of his body.

When he caught my eye, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, and that was enough to give his opponent an advantage. In front of our very eyes, the other fighter clocked Hunter a good one, knocking him hard on the cheek. Hunter fell against the ropes on the other side of the ring, then flopped to the floor.

"Oh, my God!" I covered my mouth to keep from screaming out loud. "He's knocked out."

"Jesus," Graham said and jumped into the ring, going over to where Hunter lay. The referee went over to Hunter and checked him, but he was out cold. As Amy and I watched, Graham lifted Hunter and, finally, Hunter's eyes blinked open. He tried to get up but couldn't. The official called the fight for Hunter's opponent.

"He was looking at you," Amy whispered to me, making a face. "He got knocked out because of you, Celia."

"Oh my God," I said, a sinking feeling in my gut. "I think you're right. I distracted him and that was enough."

Graham and some other man lifted Hunter up and helped him out of the ring. I followed them into the back of the gym, worried about how badly Hunter was hurt.

"Hey, who are you?" one of the beefy guys who worked at the gym asked when I went into the changing room. "No girls allowed."

"It's Celia," Hunter said from inside. "Let her in."

The man stepped aside, so Amy and I went into the changing room and over to where Hunter sat on a bench. Some chunky guy in a shirt with the gym's logo on it was attending to his face. He wore a white cap and looked every inch the boxing promoter. I wondered if it was Hunter's uncle.

Hunter's nose was bleeding and he held a cloth to it to stem the flow.

"Looks like you might have finally broken that pretty-boy nose of yours, Hunter," the man said with a gruff laugh. "You're going to have to go to the hospital and get that fixed."

I stepped closer. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said with a nod. "I'll have to make it through worse at boot camp and there'll be worse in the future, so I better toughen up if I want to be a Marine."

"You are tough," I said firmly. "I'm so sorry." I knew he’d gotten hit because he saw me.

"It's okay," Hunter said, a grin on his lips. "It's nice to see you again. I didn't think I'd see you before I left for Parris Island. Big brother gave me such a hard time and all." Hunter gave Graham a look and the two smiled at each other.

"Just looking after my little sister," Graham said. Then he turned to me. "I'm taking Hunter to the ER so you two should leave. Say goodbye. You won't be seeing him again for a while."

"Goodbye," I said, and smiled sadly. "I hope you do okay in the Marines."

Graham pushed me and Amy out of the changing room, and I caught Hunter's eye before the door closed. He smiled and nodded at me, then turned back, bloody cloth still held to his nose.

"Go back to the dorm," Graham said to me, before he closed the door. "I’ll call you and tell you what the doctor said. He'll be fine. Now, scoot."