Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2) by Sophia Hampton Page B
Authors: Sophia Hampton
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at least wants to be there to see me in this state. However, the way he holds my head, lifting it up to the streetlight, ruffles my wet hair in his powerful grip. He’s strong, too strong. If I tried to run, to escape, there would be no ending for me. There would be nothing but his powerful hands on me.
He is a fighter, and I'm just part of this scene. My role is to lay here silently, hoping that the breath will return to my lungs, praying that the man who stole my father’s ring has not gotten too far, and desperately searching for someone to come find me before every light in my body dims out in this rain. His role is to stand over me.
He is my guard, yet he is my aggressor. He’s my angel, yet he’s the one who drags me down to the ground, to the muck and the grime. He is not the man who did this to me, but the way he sees me as helpless and pitiful makes me believe that there is nothing worse than to be the woman in the puddle. Ringless. Afraid. Broken.
…
Alice’s eyes flickered open. Her body was warm to the touch, and Micah’s old t-shirt that she was wearing was soaked through with sweat. She untucked an arm from under her quilt and felt her forehead. She was, thankfully, not feverish. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. They will go away.
Alice had been telling herself that for nearly a year now. Yet, whenever she was not sleeping in Micah’s bed with his imposing, powerful arms draped around her hips or shoulders, she still had these flashbacks and visions. Every night she was alone, she relived the day she was beaten and left for dead in the back alleyway of her work.
The images had changed over time. The assailant who did this to her was no longer as clear as the day it had happened. Little bits of him still lingered in his mind—such as his toothy grin and the space between his teeth that made her think he was missing one. There was also the tattoo on the forearm. It was never clear to her what it was, but she could make out the hint of a circular, wavy pattern, narrowly covered by the sleeve of his shirt.
She had longed to see more. In fact, when she first started having these visions in the hospital, she had hoped that they would lead her to identifying the person who had robbed her. At the very least, they could give the detectives a starting place.
Unfortunately, she had failed. Everything in her mind had gone blurry after a few kicks to the forehead. She could not even bring herself to be the good, diligent victim. Her lack of information had infuriated the detectives and had caused them to abandon her case as quickly as it crossed their table. Alice knew she should be upset about this, but she was powerless. Nothing she could say or do could lead them any further. There were no witnesses, at least none that came forward, and there were no security cameras to capture the scene of the crime.
Even what he had taken from her was worthless. Because she had just finished her shift as a waitress at the Tick Tock Diner, she had very little money on her. It was just a couple of dollars in tips, nothing to really make an assault like that worth it. Her cell phone was dated, almost three generations behind the newest one. Her valuables only consisted of one thing: the gold ring that had belonged to her father. And that is what he took.
He pinned her arm down and took from her the one thing in this world she had of her father. Her father had been dead for three, almost four years now — a car accident. The ring that she was given was found on his mangled, unrecognizable body. It was all that remained of her family. Her mother was long gone. No siblings. No grandparents. It was her ring and an aunt she barely knew.
Now, it was her and Micah against the world. She had never thought that she would end up with a man like him. He was a fighter, a real one at that, with a career in breaking men until they dripped blood and gave in. He made his money the
He is a fighter, and I'm just part of this scene. My role is to lay here silently, hoping that the breath will return to my lungs, praying that the man who stole my father’s ring has not gotten too far, and desperately searching for someone to come find me before every light in my body dims out in this rain. His role is to stand over me.
He is my guard, yet he is my aggressor. He’s my angel, yet he’s the one who drags me down to the ground, to the muck and the grime. He is not the man who did this to me, but the way he sees me as helpless and pitiful makes me believe that there is nothing worse than to be the woman in the puddle. Ringless. Afraid. Broken.
…
Alice’s eyes flickered open. Her body was warm to the touch, and Micah’s old t-shirt that she was wearing was soaked through with sweat. She untucked an arm from under her quilt and felt her forehead. She was, thankfully, not feverish. It was just a dream, she reminded herself. They will go away.
Alice had been telling herself that for nearly a year now. Yet, whenever she was not sleeping in Micah’s bed with his imposing, powerful arms draped around her hips or shoulders, she still had these flashbacks and visions. Every night she was alone, she relived the day she was beaten and left for dead in the back alleyway of her work.
The images had changed over time. The assailant who did this to her was no longer as clear as the day it had happened. Little bits of him still lingered in his mind—such as his toothy grin and the space between his teeth that made her think he was missing one. There was also the tattoo on the forearm. It was never clear to her what it was, but she could make out the hint of a circular, wavy pattern, narrowly covered by the sleeve of his shirt.
She had longed to see more. In fact, when she first started having these visions in the hospital, she had hoped that they would lead her to identifying the person who had robbed her. At the very least, they could give the detectives a starting place.
Unfortunately, she had failed. Everything in her mind had gone blurry after a few kicks to the forehead. She could not even bring herself to be the good, diligent victim. Her lack of information had infuriated the detectives and had caused them to abandon her case as quickly as it crossed their table. Alice knew she should be upset about this, but she was powerless. Nothing she could say or do could lead them any further. There were no witnesses, at least none that came forward, and there were no security cameras to capture the scene of the crime.
Even what he had taken from her was worthless. Because she had just finished her shift as a waitress at the Tick Tock Diner, she had very little money on her. It was just a couple of dollars in tips, nothing to really make an assault like that worth it. Her cell phone was dated, almost three generations behind the newest one. Her valuables only consisted of one thing: the gold ring that had belonged to her father. And that is what he took.
He pinned her arm down and took from her the one thing in this world she had of her father. Her father had been dead for three, almost four years now — a car accident. The ring that she was given was found on his mangled, unrecognizable body. It was all that remained of her family. Her mother was long gone. No siblings. No grandparents. It was her ring and an aunt she barely knew.
Now, it was her and Micah against the world. She had never thought that she would end up with a man like him. He was a fighter, a real one at that, with a career in breaking men until they dripped blood and gave in. He made his money the
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