Free Fighting Back (Mercy's Angels) by Kirsty Dallas

years in fact. For a time, anger had been my way of dealing with shit until I learned to control it. I never hesitated to start a fight and even joined in on those that weren’t mine. My attitude sucked, my temper stewed constantly. I hid my battle behind the happy-go-lucky Charlie most people knew. I could joke, fuck around, and tease with the best of them. While on the outside I was carefree, on the inside I felt much darker. My temper could easily flare and it took years of tedious and barely reigned control to keep myself in check. I learned to walk away, to remove myself from situations that could easily become heated battles. At Dave’s suggestion I began keeping a journal where I could pour all that negativity into the pages and be somewhat free of the burden of those thoughts. Breathing techniques and meditating helped calm any building tension and beating the shit out of a bag was a great release. Once upon a time I fought, and fought hard; however, now I worked out—lifted weights, sparred and ran. It all seemed to help release the pent up energy that fueled my body, which would make me irate and fidgety for no good reason. My temper was a scary thing when unleashed; it put lives in danger and was one of the reasons I didn’t fight inside the ring anymore. Occasionally my inner turmoil would rage and I would battle my way free from it with a brutal training regime. Right now the war inside of me was intense. I was filled with too much anger. I wanted to maim; I wanted to draw blood; I wanted to kill. And it scared the fuck out of me. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to hunt down Luke Hollywell and beat him to within an inch of his life. Frank had assured me Luke had a good alibi, but I wasn’t so easily convinced. Someone needed to be held accountable for Rebecca’s pain. She was so jumpy and fragile now, so unlike the Rebecca we all knew and loved. Loved? I shook my head in frustration. I didn’t have a clue what love was, or what it felt like. My attraction to Rebecca seemed like nothing more than raw male possessiveness and desire.
    The heavy pounding and slaps on the leather bag before me were almost soothing. As soon as I finished here, I would hit the treadmill for a few miles then grab a shower. I was desperate to get back to Mercy’s house and check on Rebecca. I really fucked up last night, in typical Charlie fashion. I had a niche for fucking things up, especially where women were concerned. I have no idea how the hell Gym Girl got my number. I sure as hell didn’t give it to her. I can only assume someone here at the gym did. The last thing I had wanted was for Rebecca to hear the conversation, but instead she heard every damn word of it. Then my general irritation over Gym Girl’s phone call had morphed into all out anger over Rebecca’s nonchalance. I knew I had made her uncomfortable. I had sworn to bring her smiles, but instead I scared her. Fuck it! I hit the bag a little harder and followed it up with a sweeping round house kick. I bounced around on the balls of my feet and attacked the innocent black bag of sand. Rebecca didn’t deserve me losing my temper. I just got so angry because I wanted her to care who I spent the night with. I wanted her to care about me. Damn it! I wasn’t some hormonal teenager anymore; I didn’t give a shit if a girl liked me or not. Mercy’s words rang in my head though, confusing me further: Rebecca adores you . Apparently Rebecca could care less about me, and now, if anything, she was scared of me. Front kick, right hook, side kick, deep breath. Left uppercut, hook kick, punch, punch, roundhouse kick. I kept up a rigorous pace until my body was burning, and sweat was dripping down my face, chest, arms and legs. At this rate I wouldn’t be able to run, I would be too worn-out. Settling the swinging bag, I pulled off my gloves and threw them down on the bench along with my towel. I set the treadmill at a moderate pace and began to jog, which I would