Page 47 of Mine to Ruin

“I do.”

“Then it’s settled.” He grins and asks, “What would you like to eat?”

He orders pasta for me and meat with vegetables for him. We are cuddling on the couch after dinner, and I ask about the tournament. He ends up explaining a bit about MMA.

“There are three major fighting moves and every MMA fighter who hopes to become successful needs to master them—striking, takedowns, and submission.”

We watch a fight so he can explain better, and he points out the names of the punches. “That was a jab. It’s a quick strike to disrupt the opponent’s rhythm.”

I am mesmerized by the scenes unfolding in front of me, like a dance of focus and power as one approaches the other, then ducks and vice versa. A bent arm directed upwards swings a blow, and the opponent staggers back. I gasp, and Kian says, “That was an uppercut.”

The fight goes on, and Kian leans back, a victorious smile plastered on his face as he says, “Look at his hips, he rotates them and rolls his shoulders, generating power. When his arm shoots horizontally, he’ll land a hook to his opponent’s jaw.”

The other man drops as predicted.

“How did you know he’d use that technique?” I ask. My eyes are glued on the screen, but I catch the pride in his eyes from the corner of mine.

“He’s one of my fighters.” My jaw drops.

“Ellia?”

“Yes,” I answer and crane my neck toward him.

His lips stretch into a bright smile. “Do you want to come with me to the opening?”

I nod, to calm my erratic, pummeling heart. “I’d love that.”

His thumb strokes my cheekbone, and he says, “Good. You’re mine. Let the world see and know that, too.”

“Yours, you say?” I tease him and lean into him.

“You like to play with fire, angel.” He pounces on me when my hands flatten on his chest.

“I want to see the end.”

“He’s not getting up. That was a knockout.”

Panic assaults me and I feel a lot of guilt for having enjoyed the fight.

“But he’s alive right, someone will take care of him.”

His lips say above mine, “Of course, it might be a savage sport, but he’ll be okay.”

I press my head in the crook of his neck, and his fingers brush down my arm. I am half asleep when he lifts and carries me to the bedroom.

I wake up the next morning, and he smiles at me before lowering his head to kiss me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers after he ends the kiss.

My fingers seek his soft chest, but instead of skin I find fabric.

“I have a meeting.”

I rub the remnants of sleep away when he adds, “It’s still too early. Sleep a while longer.”

“Not the same without you,” I babble as he pushes me down, threads his finger through my hair, and sleep catches me in its arms again.

Much later, I wake up again. I stretch and peer outside the window. I could get used to the sight of the city coming to life below. The sun peaks over the city, waking the desert in its ascend. I get out of bed and after a quick shower, I change into a violet top, matching bandana and ripped jeans and go downstairs and make myself a sandwich.

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