Page 37 of Invisible String (The Underground #1)

We take our seats at the front of the ring.

The crowd is rowdy. Andrew sets a bid for the other guy, Atomic Bomb, and not Master of Disaster like everyone does.

This is a very large warehouse. It must have been some kind of factory.

From the looks of it, it’s illegal fighting, or they wouldn’t have asked us to shut our phones off.

With a booming voice, the announcer fills the warehouse, introducing the night’s first fight.

The crowd roars as the two fighters enter the ring, muscles tense and eyes focused.

The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoes throughout the arena as they trade blow after blow.

Blood splatters across the mat, and I have to look away, feeling queasy at the violence before me.

This is nothing like the fights you see on Showtime, Pay Per View, other live streaming events or even YouTube.

This is a straight-up savage fight with very limited rules.

Andrew cheers among the crowd while my heart speeds up.

The fight ends when a guy lies on the floor, and his trainer lifts him out of the ring.

Another fight continues, and it’s the same amount of violence, one after the other.

People are going absolutely nuts. The smell of the arena is of sweat and blood.

I can handle clean professional fights, but this is a big fat no.

I don’t know why Andrew brought me here with him.

Couldn’t he have taken one of his friends?

“It’s time. The fight you’ve all been waiting for,” A man in a suit announces. “The main event with Master of Disaster and Atomic Bomb,” he shouts.

The crowd roars, chanting Master of Disaster and other shouts for his opponent. The majority is for Master of Disaster.

“Atomic Bomb,” the announcer shouts, and the boxer walks out, hands in the air, showing his muscles bulging.

The guy is tall and well-built, and the majority of the crowd boos.

“Now, for the man you’ve all been waiting for.

This man is undefeated, and they don’t call him the Master of Disaster for nothing.

Let’s give it up for Master of Disaster,” he yells.

A chill runs through my veins.

The man walks out. He doesn’t peer at the crowd; he’s expressionless, his face set as a stone.

The people around are going crazy for him while Andrew boos.

His trainer and others stand next to him, talking to him.

He simply nods, dancing in place. I take a good glimpse of his face, and it’s him, Max, but my heart already knew that.

It’s been racing since he walked out. He looks different.

He is so muscular all around. His frame dominated attention the moment he entered the room, a testament to all his training throughout the years.

Broad shoulders stretch his t-shirt and taper his slim waist. He takes his shirt off, showing the classic V-line.

Every move sets his biceps in motion—tense, sculpted, and rippling with controlled power like they’re forged for dominance.

Veins trail subtle patterns beneath his skin.

Tattoos cover his back. He has two full sleeves and two more on his chest. He’s older, but something about him seems different besides his appearance.

A part of me wants to leave, but another part wants to ensure he’s okay.

I shouldn’t care. He left me.

They stand toe to toe, and my stomach tightens.

I pinch my thighs as they move. Max goes for a hook while his opponent blocks it and throws a jab.

Max’s body is like a stone. The hits do nothing to him.

Max takes the lead with an uppercut, making the big guy fumble slightly.

He goes for another blow after blow. The guy’s face has developed a cut under his left eye.

That doesn’t stop him. He keeps going. The guy, Atomic Bomb, must be seven-something feet tall.

My heart wants to leap out of my chest when the guy launches a haymaker.

I learned all this from Max when he would explain all the different hits.

A haymaker is a wide-angle punch similar to a hook.

Max stumbles but doesn’t fall. The guy throws the same punch over and over again, not giving him a chance.

Max covers his face and backpedals to his side, hitting the rope.

A woman next to me shouts to a woman next to her, “He’s excellent in bed.”

“Who?” she shouts back.

“Master of Disaster!”

My heart rolls out of my chest. Would he sleep with her? Is he doing what we did with them?

“Oh.”

“Yeah, the men need a stress reliever, so they ask women to help. We like to line up at the door. We give them whatever it is they need to relieve the tension.” She grins at her.

I turn, and my gaze returns to Max. Now he has him cornered, throwing punches.

Something happens that causes the surrounding noise to freeze in place.

Max turns, and our gazes meet. His piercing green eyes focus on mine.

I don’t blink. I simply can’t. Four years.

Four damn long years, and here he is—the man I hate with a passion.

His beautiful, venomous eyes stay pinned on me, and his opponent takes a jab at him.

It’s like he doesn’t acknowledge the guy hitting him.

A pair of warm hands wrap around my waist. Andrew’s hold is possessive, and I don’t like the feel of it.

Max’s gaze averts to Andrew’s, and Max’s jaw tightens and nostrils flare.

“Max!” I shout, pointing to the guy who’s about to throw a punch at his face and possibly knock him out. He already has a gash on his cheek. Max punches him blow by blow, then turns to me again.

Trying to decipher Max’s expression is like staring into an enigma.

His face is a labyrinth of emotions, impossible to navigate.

His eyes widen in disbelief, as if I were a ghost materializing before him.

He squints, tilting his head in a scrutinizing manner, while a crimson stream trickles steadily down his cheek.

The sight is maddening, a visceral punch to my gut, and I am on the verge of unleashing a frantic scream, desperate for someone—anyone—to come and cleanse the blood from his face.

“He’s looking at me,” the woman beside me gushes stupidly.

I shake my head at him. You idiot, pay attention.

The guy takes advantage of him and goes for a bolo punch.

A hit that distracts his opponent. It is jarring how it all happens.

Max falls to the floor. The Atomic Bomb looks over at me, and he grins.

Max looks at where Atomic Bomb is peering, and rage has him jumping to his feet.

He goes for a combination of hits. One after another, and a hook to the face repeatedly until the guy falls to the ground.

And that’s why they call him the Master of Disaster.

The guy’s face is bloody and hardly visible because of the slash on his brow.

His trainer speaks in his language, but he’s not listening.

Max takes his mouthpiece out and addresses the guy on the floor, snarling at him.

The crowd goes crazy. “Let’s go,” I shout to Andrew, ripping his hands off of me. I peer at Andrew, and he and Max stare at one another. “Let’s go now,” I repeat. People rush to the ring. I don’t wait to see what happens. I know Max won, and it’s over.

“Hey, hey, slow down, Ney.”

“Why would you bring me to this, Andrew?” My hands signal to the warehouse behind us.

“It’s just a fight. I thought you would like it. But what I want to know is, how do you know his name? You called his name out like you knew him. He kept staring at you. He stopped giving a shit about the brick wall beating on him.”

I’ve never mentioned Max to him.

“He’s Max Cano. He went to our high school for a very short time.” When he unlocks the door, I get in, slamming it shut. My hands are shaking. I didn’t think I’d see him again. I didn’t know if he still lived in Vegas.

“I don’t remember him.” He groans when I pinch his arm, when he tries to rub my leg.

“Take me home.”

He nods and starts his fancy Porsche. After ten minutes of silence, he breaks it. “So why was he peering at you like that?”

“Who?”

“Don’t act fucking dumb, Rainey. You know who.” He squeezes the steering wheel. “Have you dated him?”

My blood is boiling like a pot on the stove. “Who I date or don’t date is not your damn business. We are friends. That’s it.”

“You were strangely peering at him.”

“Yeah, maybe I was worried about the guy. It was a brutal match. All of them were. Why bring me to this?”

He blows air out. “I wanted to spend time with you. I’ve had more than a crush on you for years, but it seems you’ve been oblivious. I thought we could have a nice dinner and see some action. I didn’t think it was this bad. I’m sorry if it frightened you.”

With my trembling, I squeeze him. Now I feel bad. He’s jealous of Max staring at me. My head is rambling with so many thoughts. Like, why was his jaw tightening while watching Andrew? Was he jealous? Does he have feelings for me? Fuck. Stop it, Rainey. He left you, and you hate him.

“I’m sorry. It just was too much.” I want to cry, seeing Max for the first time in years with his face all bloody. Why do I want to go repair it? Kiss it… “Let’s just go to my place. I’ll make us some coffee.”

Unlocking the door, I toss my purse on the sofa. Andrew shuts the door behind him. Like a zombie, I walk to the espresso maker. I really could use a huge bottle of wine. No, more like tequila.

Andrew’s arms wrap around me, and his lips skim my shoulder. “You’re still shaking. I’m sorry if the bloody fights were too much. I didn’t know it would scare you this much. Let me relax you. Give us a chance.” He kisses the slope of my neck.

No sparks or magic, but I do desire the touch of a man. He unzips the back of my dress, and it drops to the floor.

He moans. “Ney, you’re beautiful.” His erection presses into my back.

I close my eyes tightly. Not wanting to see the image of Max in my head.

“Let me make you feel good,” Andrew whispers seductively. His hand slips into my panties.

His finger brushes my sex. I’m not wet. In fact, I’m dry as a bone.

I squeeze my eyes harder. The image of Max won’t disappear.

The caresses of his hands on me. The smile on my face with him.

The way his tongue traced my body, and the way my body reacted to anything he did?

I felt safe with him. It always felt like his arms were my safe haven.

I loved him with everything in me. I chose him, and I religiously believed in him regardless of what my father had to say about him.

I didn’t care if he had a dime in his pocket, but he left me in the cold. Tears run down my cheek.

“Rainey?” Andrew withdraws his hands and steps back.

“Get out, Andrew. Now’s not the time.”

“I thought you wanted this.”

“Not today. I had a rough day. I’ve been up since three this morning, and I’m overwhelmed and tired.” Foolishly, I let another man touch me who wasn’t Max.

He hands me my dress. “Let me stay and keep you company. You’re crying, Rainey. Am I moving too fast?”

He doesn’t get it. No man will ever be able to fill that space in my heart. “No, you’re not moving too fast. I’m just tired, and the truth is I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Okay, that’s fine. We can work something else out. Did you have a bad experience with someone?” He zips my dress up.

“No,” I lie.

“Okay, well, I’ll go. I see you need your space.” He leans in and kisses my cheek.

The second the door slams shut, I collapse on the sofa and sob. The memories all come in like a wave—the love, then the anger. Like always, I rub my wrist and repeat the words: I will never fall for him again.