Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)

My fists flew into the punching bag, the burn in my shoulders fueling my swings. Sweat rolled down my forehead, and I ran my forearm over it before switching to roundhouse kicks with the band Dead Posey blasting through my earbuds. Mars’s steely gaze plagued my thoughts. How had he spotted me through hundreds of people? And why did he stare at me like that?

Kicking the bag three times, I gritted my teeth. With the final kick, I yelled.

A giant purse blocked the bag from swinging. I whirled around, yanking out one of my earbuds.

“Who do you imagine the bag is this time?” Chelsea, my publicist, cocked a thin auburn brow and put both hands on her hips. She wore her usual fancy designer pencil skirt, blouse, jacket, and a pair of tan heels.

I tugged at the Velcro straps on each glove. “Just the bag, Chels.”

“You don’t want to talk about it. Shocker.” Her heels clicked against the concrete floor as she made her way to a nearby table. She pulled a tablet from her bag and gave two quick swipes.

I slid my gloves under one arm and grabbed my water bottle, squirting some into my mouth.

“Have you seen this?” She held the tablet out.

I sputtered. It was me at the fight, puckering my lips with heavy-lidded eyes. It had to have been the weird mental image I had, but why did it have to make MMA Today’s homepage? “You know they try to get the least flattering shots possible.”

She tossed her wavy red hair over one shoulder. “Yeah? You look like you’re having an orgasm.”

I smirked. “Maybe I was.”

Her bright blue eyes widened before dropping back to the tablet. “TMI, Harm.” Swipe. Swipe. “TMI.”

Halfway sitting on the table, I snorted.

“And then there’s this.” She flipped the tablet over again.

A big, bold headline read, “Mars Retires.” I snatched the tablet from her pale fingers.

“Hey, you’ll put sweaty fingerprints on it.” She tried to grab it, but I turned away.

Dragging my knuckle over the screen, I narrowed my eyes. “Retired? He hasn’t even been active for an entire year.”

“It isn’t uncommon. Maybe he wanted to go out on a high note. Won the championship and peaced out.”

“Or maybe he didn’t find it challenging,” I mumbled.

Chelsea leaned forward. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I pursed my lips and held the tablet out to her. “How kind of him to step down and allow mere mortals a chance at the title.”

Chelsea gave a wry grin. “What are you doing, anyway? Should you be overexerting yourself with the match tonight?”

“It’s either the bag or sparring. Want to hop in the ring?” I nudged my head at the practice ring.

She held her hands up. “Oh, no. You don’t wrinkle Dolce.”

I smiled and tossed my gloves around in my palms.

“I’ll meet you at the arena tonight.” Chelsea hoisted her suitcase-sized purse on her shoulder and snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. I had them cue up different entrance music for you. A champion needs something better to walk to than Another One Bites The Dust.”

“What’s wrong with Queen?”

“Absolutely nothing, but trust me, this song fits your persona better.” She winked, squeezed my shoulder, and slipped her sunglasses onto her perky nose.

I stood in the locker room, bouncing back and forth on the balls of my feet and throwing jabs as my coach, Squirrely, made his motivational speech. The world went silent as the grave before a fight for me. Squirrely thought his speeches helped get me in the right frame of mind, and they may have if I listened. For most of my life, I had to rely on myself to get me anywhere. It was a habit that continued into adulthood and wouldn’t stop just because I stepped into a ring.

“You ready, Harm?” Squirrely slapped me on the back.

Three magical words to snap me back into the moment.

After running my gloved hands over the French braids on each side of my head, I nodded once. “Time to defend my title.”

My opponent, Fiona “Jaguar” Mills, was already in the ring after making her entrance. I bounced, throwing several jabs. The Wonder Woman movie theme music blasted through the arena, and the crowd went wild.

Cute, Chelsea. Real cute.

I wouldn’t admit it to her, but she was right. The song ignited a fire in my belly. My jabs quickened, and I caught Fiona’s gaze as soon as I slipped into the cage. Squirrely leaned past the exit railing, holding out my mouthpiece. Biting onto it, I held it at the corner of my lips while moving to the center of the ring. I spotted Chelsea lingering outside the cage, the buttons undone on her jacket.

“Defending her bantamweight title, Harm “Amazon” Makos vs. Fiona “Jaguar” Mills,” the announcer’s voice boomed.

The ref stepped beside us, making his usual obligatory remarks, and I held my hand out for her to shake.

Fiona reached but then snatched her hand away, sliding it over the side of her shaved head with a smirk. I narrowed my eyes, blood boiling.

So, it was going to be that kind of fight, was it?

Slipping the mouthguard over my teeth, I moved to my corner and waited for the starting signal. As soon as it went off, I sprinted and threw a jab at her left side. She deflected it with widened eyes.

Yeah. It was going to be that kind of a fight.

We circled each other, throwing jab after jab that didn’t connect. I saw an opening and wrapped my arms around Fiona’s torso, trying to take her to the ground. Every time I’d step over her foot to kick her leg from underneath her, she’d cross hers over mine. She dropped to her knees but sprung up. I threw my forearm into her chest, pinning her against the cage and kneeing her twice in the thigh.

Fiona curled her arms around my head, sticking us in a clench before pushing me away. Distanced, I front kicked her chest. She immediately countered with her own kick. I deflected it with my hand, and when she kicked again, I grabbed the back of her knee, pulling her to the ground. She held her feet up like a bug, and I wrapped my arm around her calves while getting the occasional punch on her face.

She wound her legs around my neck, clasping her feet, and I picked her up from the ground, working my hand underneath her calf to unwind her. She recoiled, dropping to her feet, and we circled each other again. She threw a right hook, and I blocked it, but she didn’t close her fist all the way, and her thumb jabbed me in the eye. My vision went blurry. I rubbed it but couldn’t see straight.

The ref called for a time out, and I trotted over to Squirrely, blinking tears.

“She fucking did that on purpose, didn’t she?” I said as Squirrely peeled my eyelid back to survey the damage.

He glanced over my shoulder and pursed his lips. “She doesn’t look mad about it.”

A growl vibrated in the back of my throat, and I swatted his hand away. “Time to end this.”

“Harm, there’s no way you can fully see out of that eye yet.” He grabbed my shoulder.

“The damage is already done. She thinks that’s going to stop me?” I beat my fists together and pushed off the cage, nodding to the ref.

The ref cocked an eyebrow but held his hand up, and Fiona and I moved to the center. I blinked several times and charged forward as soon as his hand came down. I threw a right hook, connecting with her cheek. Throwing a left hook, I followed up with a knee to her stomach. She backpedaled away, continuously raising her arms to block my barrage of hits. Throwing my arms around her neck in a headlock, I continuously kneed her in the sides. She tried to wrap her arms around me but lost her footing and stumbled backward.

Fiona fell on her ass but did a quick back somersault and pushed to standing, falling on the cage behind her. Seizing the opportunity, I ran forward, and punched, and punched, and kneed. When my fist collided with her right temple, she fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Knockout. I bent forward to make sure she was down for the count, but the ref grabbed my waist and hoisted me away.

Title defended.

The crowd roared with thunderous applause. I knew the audience expected me to throw my fists in the air in triumph. To smile arrogantly and stride the perimeter of the cage with a victorious swagger. That wasn’t me. I didn’t train for fame and glory. Her cheap shot with her thumb still had me fuming. My victory lap was more like a stress-reducing pace. I wanted to keep punching her until both of her eyes swelled shut, but not only would they not let me, I’d get suspended or worse…kicked out. And I couldn’t afford that. I needed this.

The adrenaline pumping through my veins, pulsing over my body, had me seeing stars. These fights were never enough, but they were all I had.

When she regained consciousness, they helped her to her feet. As she passed me, she slammed her shoulder into mine.

“You’re going to pay, Amazon,” Fiona snarled.

I yanked my mouthguard out and puffed out my chest. Sinking my face into hers, I pushed our foreheads together. “Is that a threat?”

Someone grabbed each of my arms from behind me and pulled me away. Squirrely. He knew I’d been three seconds away from headbutting her in the nose. I let him drag me to the cage exit, glaring at Fiona as she seethed at me.

“Harm,” Chelsea said as I walked past her with my brow so furrowed it distorted my vision worse than it already was. I ignored her, heading for the locker room.

“Harmony,” she yelled.

I stopped and tossed her a glare, my chest pumping up and down. Realizing I was staring Chelsea down like she was the one who pissed me off, I let my face soften.

“You just defended your title with a knockout. At least pretend to look somewhat thrilled about it.” Chelsea didn’t bat an eyelash.

“You know it’s not why I do this.”

“I know. But they don’t.” She pointed to the paparazzi flashing photos.

You’d think I’d have noticed hundreds of flashes going off around me, but when the adrenaline-induced anger kicked in, it was like wearing blinders.

I shut my eyes for a brief second before opening them and hoisting a fist in the air. The rate of the flashes increased, and I did a slow circle, keeping my game face.

Once I made a full rotation, I dropped my hand and cocked an eyebrow at Chelsea. “Good enough?”

“That’s my girl.” Chelsea’s grin sparkled.

“Harm, let the doc take a look at your eye,” Squirrely said.

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I need to go home.”

He sighed and put his hands on his hips, knowing it did no good to argue with me when I had my mind made up.

“Great job today, Harm.”

I heard Chelsea say it but was already halfway into the locker room.

Shoving my gloves and fight attire into my bag, I slammed my hand into the door with the hood of my sweatshirt draped over my head. I slipped my leather jacket over it and hugged it around my chest once the brisk wind hit me outside. When I got to my bike, a white piece of paper stuck out from underneath the front tire.

I squatted down and plucked it, spying the words “Watch Your Back” written in all caps. With a squint, I did a full three-sixty turn, searching for signs of someone running off. A pit formed in my stomach as fear attempted to crawl up my spine. I gulped it down—buried it. Grimacing, I balled the paper up, shoved it in my pocket, and roared the metal horse to life.

As soon as I walked into my apartment and secured all three deadbolts, I tossed my helmet on the kitchen table. Heading for the bathroom, I left a clothes trail in my wake and took an extra steamy shower. After letting the hot water soothe the ache in my neck, I forced my jabbed eye open, rinsing it. Pressing my palms against the white tile, I sighed. The beast inside me finally started to settle.

After drying myself off, I crawled into bed naked and buried my face in the pillows. Sleep was my only savior, and it came sparingly.

“Get up, Harm. Now,” Chelsea commanded.

I jolted awake, leaping to my feet, fists up and ready to strike.

Chelsea stood in my bedroom, her face fuming, despite my nudity.

I shifted my eyes and dragged a hand through the dark disarray of my hair. “I really regret giving you a key.”

“The ref told me what Fiona said to you. And then you found this?” She held up the crumpled piece of paper. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me she threatened you?”

I groaned and flopped back onto the bed, pulling the sheet over my head. “Because it’s not a big deal. She felt humiliated. We all say stupid things when we’re in the zone.”

At least I hoped it wasn’t a big deal. A small part of me believed Fiona, but only to keep from being blindsided in case she was serious.

Chelsea trailed both hands down her face. “You need to take this more seriously, Harm. For all you know, it wasn’t an empty threat.” She pulled the sheet away.

“Lighten up, would you, Chels?” I rubbed my jabbed eye.

“Tell that to Nancy Kerrigan.” She crossed her arms in a huff.

“If someone comes after me with a tire iron, I’ll shove it straight up their ass.”

She tapped her high heel against the wooden floor. “I made a few calls after I left the arena. You’re getting a bodyguard until all of this blows over.”

I shot up like a rocket. “A bodyguard? Are you out of your mind?”

“No, Harm. I’m not. You are, though, if you think I’m going to let some second-rate fighter hire goons to whack you because they lost a goddamned fight.” Her pale cheeks flushed.

“Whack me?” I bit back a smile and interlaced my fingers behind my head before dropping them with a sigh. “I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t necessary. I can take care of myself if the threats are real.”

“This isn’t up for debate. Bodyguarding starts tonight.”

I glared at her. “What?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My shoulders tightened.

Chelsea gave a snarky grin before turning on her heel. “That’d be him now. You may want to get dressed.”

After slipping on the first tank top and underwear I could find, I stayed in my bedroom, shifting my bare feet across the floor and hovering near the doorway.

“Sorry I’m late,” a deep male voice said, thick with a Greek accent—a voice that sounded far too familiar.

“She’s in here. She’s just hiding,” Chelsea said.

I walked out, and my eyes narrowed into slits. His dark gaze lifted to mine and a stare challenge ensued. He wore a black military-style jacket with the buttons undone. A white t-shirt hugged his broad chest, and several chains hung around his neck. His dark hair pulled back into a small bun at the base of his skull.

Mars.

You’ve got to be shitting me.