Page 24 of Hunter

“Don’t make promises you won't keep,” she teases, and Russell grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap.

“We always keep our promises, Trouble.” His lips lock onto her mouth, and she pulls at his hair with bright red nails. After he’s satisfied, he releases her, and she stumbles to her feet. Connor grabs her waist, thick fingers steadying her uneasy frame. She turns back to Hunter and catches sight of me. Her eyes widen with interest.

“You must be Isabella,” she says, leaning over the table and extending her hand. I take it, and she shakes it with the grip of a man. Fuck, she’s confident. “I’m Samantha. Would you like a beer?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

I watch as she weaves through the crowd in search of our drinks, one long slender leg crossing the other, captivating every man who catches her eye.

“She’ll be the fucking death of us,” Russell says to his brother, and they grin like idiots. “But we’ll die fucking happy.”

Samantha returns with two beers but immediately leaves again. Hunter doesn’t point out the fact he said no to a drink as she hands one to him. The next time I see her, she’s strutting around the stage with a sign announcing the next match.

A familiar face enters the ring: Damon. I met him briefly at Hunter’s house. His opponent is bigger but leaner, and within minutes, the two men are swinging at one another in the cage.

Damon is knocked to the floor but staggers back to his feet. The four of us drink our beers and holler for his success. Nobody sees the young blonde woman throwing open the door to the cage and marching inside. She’s tall and curvy, dressed in a tracksuit with her hair tied in a ponytail. She taps Damon on the shoulder, and he turns to face her, his jaw dropping spectacularly.

“Oh fuck,” Hunter says. “Emma’s here.”

Chapter twelve

Titan MMA Gym

Hunter

Now I one hundred percent understand why Damon calls Emma Spitfire. I watch, with poorly hidden amusement, as she grabs his arm and drags him from the cage. His opponent skips around them, putting her in the middle of the two men; she turns to him, cranes her neck, and glares before pushing his chest with her free hand. Her mouth opens, and I assume a trail of expletives spills out. The man steps backward, at a loss for how to deal with the crazed woman who disrupted the fight.

Damon pulls his arm from her grip, but she retakes his skin, sinking her nails into his flesh. He grimaces but follows her from the arena like a puppy scolded by its owner. The couple are barely off the bottom stair when she spins and starts hammering his chest with a finger. The crowd circles around them, all eyes transfixed on the ongoing spectacle.

“Should you say something?” Isabella whispers in my ear. She’s moved closer to me and risen on tiptoe. Her breasts brush my arm; I’m highly aware of the sensation. “Protect him?”

“I’m not sure I’m brave enough.”

When I glance at her, her cheeks have colored beautifully and her dark eyes dance. She flashes me a shy smile, then we both return to looking at the ongoing argument. Damon gestures in our direction, and they approach our small group.

“Evening, Emma,” Russell says as they come within earshot of us.

“Fuck off,” she snarls back. “Which one of you losers set this up?” Her furious eyes move between Russell, Connor, and myself, looking for someone to blame for finding her man punching and being punched in the center of a cage in the middle of the night.

“Spitfire,” Damon whispers, tugging at her fingers.

“You promised. No more fights. What was it this time? A dare? A bet? You’ve lost your fucking mind since leaving the police. Get your fucking midlife crisis in check.”

“It was the last…”

“Don’t you dare,” she interrupts him. “Clean yourself up and get home.” She signals to his face, which is covered in blood; I’m unsure if it’s his or his challenger’s. “You can explain to your daughter why Daddy has black eyes again. And as for you…” She whirls to face me now, her whole wrath falling on me. “Damon will not be stepping in that ring again. Do you hear me?”

I hold my hands up in mock surrender, attempting to contain my laughter. When I glance at Isabella, she’s biting her lip, I assume trying to do the same. Emma’s focus falls on my wife, and her mouth closes immediately. She takes a deep breath before rearranging her face into something more neutral and less insane.

“Hello,” she says to Isabella, holding out her hand. “I’m Emma. You must be Bella.”

The two women stare at one another, and the men surrounding them wait to see their reaction. Both are strong, feisty women, and that means a meeting can go one of two ways. They will either get on excellently or be at each other’s throats in no time.

“Hi Emma, nice to meet you,” Isabella replies; her lips widen, and she chuckles. “You certainly stole the show. I don’t think anyone in this gym would take you on.”

The two women laugh together, and the tension of how the meeting began breaks. Damon taps Emma on the back, and she narrows her eyes as she looks at Bella, who smirks. Oh fuck, he’s in trouble. I almost feel guilty for encouraging him to fight again.

“Do you want a drink, Spitfire?” he asks, and she nods but doesn’t speak. He scuttles off toward the bar.

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