Free Slam: A Bad Boy Romance by Leah Holt

use me in any of this. My father is a horrible man. He doesn't care about you or how well you fight. It's only about him, it's always been that way.” The water started to well up, but I pulled it back, held it in.
    I don't cry.
    Not any more.
    The strength of Quinn's hands fell around my wrists, pulling me into the bar. He stared into my eyes, leaning in as close as he could. His cologne curled up through the air, hitting my senses. A surge of chills climbed my spine, goosebumps mimicking the electricity crawling over my skin.
    The warmth of his lips hovered beside my cheek, a soft whisper fluttered into my ear. “I only came here hoping to see you.”
    I wanted to grab his chiseled jaw, grip his hair and kiss him. He was everything I tried to run from, and everything I fucking wanted.
    His fingers stroked my hair, my face falling in closer, control being lost in his touch. Swiftly, I turned my head away, forcing space between us. The roar of the crowd pulled me back into reality, into where I was.
    From the corner of my eye, the fire of my fathers black stare burned into my soul. He sat, rolling his fingers together, face still as stone.
    Shit. We're too close. Did he see him touch me? Fuck, if he saw that... Instinctively I lurched back. Quinn's lip tugged to one side, a light chuckle rolled from his tongue.
    He shifted against the bar, turning towards the ring. Watching the fighters, a seriousness fell over his face. His body tensed, each ridge of muscle bulged beneath the fabric.
    “So, are you going to take my fathers offer?” Dipping towards the floor, I swept the glass into a pan. My question was met by silence. Standing and dumping the debris into the trash I asked, “Well?”
    He wouldn't look at me, his mind was someplace else, eyes darting between the fighters, his chest lifting heavy with each breath.
    A screech from the microphone shot through the dirty underground room. My head jerked towards the ring, and there was the Macro.
    What is he doing? He only talks before the first fight. Why is he out there now?
    Lifting his hand to silence the crowd, his glare froze on Quinn. “So, tonight I have a special treat for all of you. We have a special fight, a newcomer. There are no bets on this one, it's a judge match. Let's see how this new guy stands up to one of our own.”
    Quinn's back went stiff, his muscles pulsing, eyes narrowing towards my father.
    My heart sank, falling into the pit of acid that was tearing through my stomach. I knew there was a reason my dad had invited him. He's conniving, this had been part of his plan.
    Throw Quinn to the wolves, see if he can take it.
    A devilish laugh echoed through the microphone. Steel, one of the top fighters, walked into the ring. His arms held up, hands wrapped in black tape. He released a loud grunt, and the room erupted in cheers.
    Every face looked around, waiting to see who was stepping in with him. A new fighter always fueled the masses, energy charged through the room.
    My father held his hand out. “Come on out here. You know who you are. Give these people what they want.” His lips were sharp as a blade, a hint of his teeth shined through.
    Reaching my arm out, I pierced Quinn's shoulder with my nails. “Don't. You don't need to.” Fear stretched from behind my words.
    His lip snarled. “Now I have to, he called me out.” Both of his hands drew deep into his hair.
    “No, you don't. Fuck him, Quinn. You can't get in there, you're not even ready.” My chest pounded, ribs cracking as they were pushed to their limit.
    His movements never flinched, he stood strong, concrete was the base he was built from. Inhaling a deep, ominous breath, his fingers intertwined, cracking the knuckles, head tilted side to side.
    The mass spread, a gorge emerged for him to cross. The Macro stood, face shining like a diamond under the lights, teeth bared.
    Clutching my chest, the pounding of my heart numbed the screeching. Silence filled the space between my ears and my