Fury

Chapter One

Noelle

You drop that fuckin’ shoulder one more time, girl, and I’m gonna take the opening and kick your fuckin’ ass. Woman or not.

That was my training partner. Fury was a good guy, but he had zero tolerance for what he saw as lazy shit in the ring. I wasn’t lazy, but I’d gone past my endurance range. I just was too stubborn to admit it.

It wasn’t four moves later, I dropped my fucking shoulder. True to his word, Fury took advantage, catching me with a powerful right to my head. I managed to dodge him, but he got in enough it stunned me. The next thing I knew, he had tackled me to the mat, where he proceeded to pound the shit outta me.

What the fuck, Fury! Lay the fuck off! Can’t you see she’s ain’t got no gas in the fuckin’ tank? Larry, the gym owner, was quick to break that shit up, but the damage had been done. And the lesson learned.

Yep. Was her job to say she was tapped. She didn’t.

I lay in a heap on the mat. I wasn’t sure there was any part of my body that didn’t hurt. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to turn over and puke. I looked up at Fury. The massive man stood over me like a conquering gladiator without an ounce of compassion in him.

You’re bleedin’ all over the fuckin’ mat, Brawler. Get up and hit the fuckin’ showers. He didn’t offer me a hand up, but then, he never did. This was one time I might have taken it had he offered. Fury wasn’t mean or anything. In fact, he was perfectly cordial to the other women he trained with. Just not with me. He said it was because I was gonna make it to the big time in the MMA. Unless he went easy on me. Oh. And he called me Brawler because with my fair skin and bright red hair, he said I looked like an Irish brawler.

I groaned. Fucker.

Yeah? Bet you won’t drop your fuckin’ shoulder again no matter how tired you get, huh?

You’re still a fucker. I stumbled to my feet, noting the cut on my lip. I wasn’t actually bleeding on the mat, but I was bleeding. Good thing I didn’t have a hot date lined up tonight, I groused. You ruined my pretty face. I was lying. No way I was pretty. My nose had been broken more than once, and I had numerous scars all over my body, including my face. With my hair in braids and pinned tightly to my head, every bruise and cut and scar stood out. The only thing I didn’t sport was a fucking cauliflower ear. Thank God.

You ain’t got time to date, Fury snapped. You want sex, buy some fuckin’ toys. Now hit the fuckin’ showers. I’ll take you home.

Taking me home was the only kind thing Fury did for me. After training, I was always too weak to do much of anything. He’d noticed I put in my all and reacted accordingly. Thus, he picked me up to go to the gym, then took me home. Though I liked knowing someone had my back if there was trouble and I was too weak to defend myself, Fury kept it all very impersonal. Which was fine with me. It kept things simple. At this stage in my life, I had enough personal shit going on without adding a romantic relationship. With my trainer, no less. It didn’t matter the man was sin and sex. I didn’t care. Much. Hardly any at all. Besides, my brother was hard enough to care for without that kind of entanglement. Besides, no one understood Jonas or why I still felt the need to care for him instead of just living my own life now that our parents were gone.

After my shower, Fury walked with me to his truck. He never left the gym without me. More than once, I’d stumbled and would have fallen hard if he hadn’t been there. Most of the time, I even had to sit down in the stupid shower. It just depended on how hard I’d had to work my legs on any given day. Today? Yeah. I could barely put one foot in front of the other without tripping.

Fury helped me into the truck, then slid behind the wheel. Instead of taking off immediately, he sat there, looking out the windshield. I was hesitant to break his brooding silence because he looked pissed as fuck. If I’d done something, I needed to apologize. I needed him as a training partner way more than he needed me.

You would have not only lost the match, but might have gotten seriously hurt if you’d dropped your shoulder like that even once in the big leagues, Brawler. You do it again, I’ll cut you loose faster ’n you can say scat. You hear me?

Yeah, I said, trying to sound appropriately contrite. Shoulda called it five minutes before you grounded and pounded me.

No, he barked, looking sharply at me. You shoulda called it a fuckin’ hour before I pounded you! You ain’t fuckin’ Superwoman, Noelle. You want to win? You’ve got to finish the fuckin’ match. You can’t do that if you overtrain and injure yourself. I ain’t worked this hard with you to see you fail before you even reach the big time.

I hear you. I won’t do it again. I held up three fingers. Scout’s honor.

He snorted. I know you won’t. Mainly cause this is the only warnin’ you get. You do it again, I’m done.

He meant it, too. Fury never said anything he didn’t mean. Everything about MMA he took seriously. He couldn’t fight professionally or manage a fighter himself, so he tried to teach others. How to win. How to not fuck up like he did.

Do the ice bath thing, then get some rest, he growled. And don’t come to the gym tomorrow. Take a run instead.

I wanted to grouse, but he was right. I was over-training. I didn’t have a match planned or anything, but I’d been stressed about Jonas lately and tended to push myself harder than I was supposed to in order to forget my problems. It wasn’t healthy, but Jonas could be a handful sometimes.

Fury sped off after I got out of the beat-up Ford, not waiting for an answer from me. I sighed. I wish the man gave a good Goddamn about something other than fighting. Because I could really use some adult support. Problem was, if he did show more interest in me than just fighting, I’d fall head over heels for him and Fury was not that man. He had a different woman every week. Sometimes more than one.

Jonas was my younger brother. He was special needs as well as some serious PTSD after being involved in the wreck that killed our parents. Most days, he functioned pretty well. But, even before the wreck, he’d sometimes retreat into himself, and it was hard to get through to him. He also had no concept of his limitations, fighting as hard as I did. Instead of fighting in the ring, though, he was fighting to be a normal person. To get his old life back. It sometimes landed him in trouble. Our mom had usually been able to keep him in line, but since she and Dad had been taken from us, I was struggling.

The second I unlocked the door and walked into the house, I knew something was very wrong. The house stank of weed and alcohol. I heard male voices in the living room. Laughter. And one higher-pitched voice that sounded like it was in pain. And terrified.

You listen to me, you little shit. You’ll get me the money for that coke, or I’ll take it out of your hide. You get me?

B-but I never h-had it. Th-the guy who n-normal-ly drops it n-never sh-showed. That was Jonas. Some of his stutter was terror, some was his natural speech pattern since the injury.

You’re lying, you little bastard! There was the unmistakable sound of Jonas being slapped. I glanced over my shoulder outside. There was no sign of even Fury’s taillights in the distance. I could have called him, I suppose, but I wasn’t sure I could take it if he told me to suck it up and deal with it. Though, if he thought I would get hurt, he might come back. If for no other reason than to keep me from wasting all his time with me.

When the hits continued, I decided I just had to dig deep. It was like a big match. I’d be completely wiped, but I had to find that little bit extra. I could do this.

I put down my gear so my hands were free, then walked to the doorway of the living room. What’s the problem here? I tried to look like a badass, not like I was wiped from the gym.

Oh! This big sis? One of the three men surrounding Jonas asked the question. Heard you some badass MMA wannabe. He sneered at me. Heard about you types. From the looks a’ ya, you just come from the gym. Bet you one tired bitch. The others looked me up and down in that superior, blatantly sexual way. Like they were just waiting for the right time to jump on me and take whatever they wanted.

Yeah. I am, I said in an irritated voice. And the last thing I wanted to do tonight was beat the fuckin’ shit outta some wannabe gangster. Get the fuck outta my house!

One of them pulled a gun, his face a mask of fury. He appeared to