We take our seats on the front row. The English class is relatively uneventful until we are handed our exam papers back. Mr. Mculloch praises me as he lands my marked test paper down on my desk, and I immediately notice the giant red A in the top corner. Seeing me slump back into my chair in disappointment, he murmurs under his breath, “See me after class, Miss Thomas.”
I spend the remaining thirty minutes of class, stressing out over what he might want to see me on my own for. I trust Mr. Mculloch, but he is a man. He has a pair of balls like the rest of them, and I’m not naive enough to think that relationships don’t go on between teachers and their students.
Luckily for him, he doesn’t break my trust, and instead, genuinely wants to discuss my grade.
“Your assignment was good, Imogen, but we both know you have what it takes to make it an A plus in that top corner.”
“I tried my best, Mr. Mculloch.” I sulk.
“Yes, I can see that. I think that’s part of the problem, Imogen. Writing is a skill and a talent and you have plenty, but to be a real writer, one whose work stands the test of time, you need to have passion.”
“You don’t think it showed passion between them?” I ask, referring to the protagonist and heroine of my most recent project.
“There was plenty of passion between the characters, but I want to see something real from you. Something more than just clever writing and carefully placed metaphors. If you want to finish this course with an A plus, which I know you could easily do, you need to write from here,” he taps two fingers against the pocket of his checked shirt, “not from up here,” he continues, tapping the same two fingers against the side of his skull.
I thank him and leave the classroom with a heavy heart, my eyes glued to the neatly written name across the top of the page, Imogen Thomas. It was the fake name my parents and I agreed I’d use during my time here as it prevents anyone questioning who I really am and protects me from my community as if they find out Bella Buckland is studying a university degree; I’d be well and truly screwed.
Sighing with a heavy heart, I pause to fold the papers and shove them into my handbag feeling like a complete fraud.
Chapter Two
Hunter
I watch her walk over to her friend in my rear-view mirror before disappearing around the corner and heading straight for the gym. I’m not even supposed to be training on a fight day, but thanks to my wife-to-be, I’m hot headed, riled up and desperate to blow off some steam. It was the gym or a show down at her prissy college and seeing as she already despises me, I opt for the safer option.
Would it have been so bad to have a normal fucking conversation, say thanks for the ride, and get out of my truck without slamming the door as though it had personally offended her? Apparently so. Lowering my foot on the accelerator, I hit an easy eighty miles per hour and feel better for putting some distance between us. Bella frustrates the shit out of me in every single way, and this situation is becoming dangerous. I’m bordering obsession with the brunette beauty who spends her days figuring out how best to avoid me, and the fact that I can’t have her even though she’s mine drives me past the point of insanity.
When I reach the gym and begin punching the bag, I realize exactly how much the whole thing bothers me. Hitting it harder and harder, barely giving it time to bounce back, I try knocking some sense into myself. Playing nice isn’t working. Bella couldn’t give a flying fuck if I take her out for fancy meals or buy her expensive presents. She’s an ungrateful bitch and needs to be taught a fucking lesson in respect. I’ve been so scared of losing her, I’ve let her walk all over me.
Not anymore.
It ends here.
No more Mr. Nice guy. If she wants to paint me as a monster, then I’ll show her what she wants to see. I’ve got to try something different, because in less than twelve months she’ll finish her studies and become my wife.
Whether Bella Buckland likes it or not, there’s no escaping the fact that as soon as she’s got this whole uni thing out of her system, she belongs to me.
Stupid thing is she’s always been mine, ever since she lied through her teeth the first time I met her and tried to scare her. She was a tiny little thing, all bouncy waves and dark eyes, not dissimilar to how she is now. Her nose still twitches slightly when she lies, but her huge round eyes don’t give anything away. Another thing I can’t stand about her.
She could be thinking a million different things when she looks at me. Her eyes often meet mine with an expression I can’t decipher. If only her smart mouth was as mysterious. Oh no, Bella does not pull any punches when it comes to letting me know what she thinks of me, and even the most patient man on the planet has his limits.
F.Y.I.: I’ve reached mine.
I’m so involved in punching the sass out of Bella, I don’t even hear my coach sneak right up behind me. “What da fuck are you doin’ here on a fight night?”
“Relax. I’m only throwin’ a few punches. Call it a warm up if ya want.”
“That didn’t look like no fuckin’ warm up to me,” he snaps. “Home. Now.” He glares at me, arms folded and legs apart, like he’d have no qualms about kicking my head in if I refused. His moody expression brings a smile to my lips because we both know his fighting days are long gone.
Pete is the best of the best, crème de la crème in the world of boxing, and although he never managed a world champion title, he is respected by everyone who ever watched him fight or was coached by him. He’s a foul-mouthed smart-ass who isn’t afraid to call a spade a spade, and he’s the only person I know who’ll take the risks needed to get me to the top.
The fight tonight is just another stepping stone to get me where I need to be to knock the current world champion, Theo Milarani, straight on his ass. Man, I hate that mother fucker. Arguably, he’s the only thing Bella and I have in common. He’s a cocky twat who’s had his boxing career handed to him on a plate because of his grandfather. Don’t get me wrong, I respect his old man, his story isn’t too dissimilar from my own. Started with nothing. Finished at the top. But his grandson’s career is a series of backhanded pay offs and so-called ‘lucky’ picks when it comes to opponents.
Anyone who knows anything about boxing knows a real fighter could take Theo’s title from him in seconds, and that’s all I ever wanted to do. That is, until he broke Bella’s heart by snapping Romeo’s spine and commented on cage fighters not being real fighters and gypsies being thieving bastards. He’d looked me right in the fuckin’ eyes when he said them at a press conference two years ago. Since then, I’ve been gunning for him. I won’t need to steal his title and belts from him; I’ll take them from him fair and square and make him wish he’d given them to me in gift wrap.
“I’ll see you tonight, Coach.”
“And not before. I swear to god, Hunter, if you set foot inside this gym again before the fight, I’ll whoop ya’ ass so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a month.” His voice is menacing as he glares up at me.
I smirk back at him. “You reckon you could take me down old man?”