With shaky hands and a nervous disposition, I clicked receive and held my phone to my ear. "h.e.l.lo?"

"You have a collect call from an inmate at the Colorado State Penitentiary, would you like to accept the charges?" a prerecorded voice asked me.

"Yes, I do," I replied immediately. "I mean I will accept the charges." The line went silent for a moment, and then there was a high-pitched buzzing sound.

"Hope," a deep, gravelly, familiar voice said down the line. "I got your messages. What's wrong?"

"It's me," I replied, hyperventilating at the sound of his voice.

Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

There was silence; a drawn-out pause before finally he spoke. "And who is me exactly?"

"Teagan." I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, stifling a groan.

More silence followed, longer this time, until I couldn't stomach it a second longer.

"Uh...Teagan Connolly," I added, voice high and squeaky. "From Thirteenth Street"

"I know who you are!" he responded with a bark. "What I want to know is why you're calling me now?" The bitterness in his voice stunned me and I took a moment to steel myself.

"I'm so sorry about your mother, Noah," I blurted out, biting the skin on my knuckles anxiously. "I wanted to call you and...well, I just wanted to tell you that."

I heard his cruel, harsh laugh seconds before his voice was bellowing in my eardrum. "Let me get this straight," Noah sneered. "You're calling me, after five years of nothing, to offer your condolences?" He laughed again, crueler than before if that was even possible, before saying, "You're some piece of work, Thorn calling me now, with less than three weeks left to serve."

"That is not why I called you and you know it," I snapped, feeling fl.u.s.tered and hurt. "I was worried about you. G.o.d, Noah, I know how you felt about your mother."

I opened my mouth to say something else, but he beat me to it, and with his words he buried any hope I ever had for us.

"Don't worry about me," he sneered. "In fact, don't f.u.c.king think about me at all. Forget I even exist, Teagan, just like I forgot about you!"

The line went dead, and I sat, frozen to the bone, as his words of malice began to slowly sink in.

All the years I had held myself back from moving on had been pointless because Noah Messina hated me more than I hated him.

It was really over for us.

And my heart was breaking all over again.

"THAT IS NOT WHY I CALLED YOU and you know it," Teagan hissed. "I was worried about you. G.o.d, Noah, I know how you felt about your mother."

"Don't worry about me," I interjected, feeling more furious than I had in years. She had some nerve, calling me up after all this time. "In fact, don't f.u.c.king think about me at all. Forget I even exist, Teagan, just like I forgot about you!"

And then I hung up on her.

"G.o.ddammit to h.e.l.l!"

Slamming the receiver down over and over again, I tried to rein in the tsunami of emotions raging through me.

"That f.u.c.king woman!"

Anger, pain, and most predominately l.u.s.t, hit me straight in the chest like a f.u.c.king wrecking ball. Followed swiftly by a huge churn of regret.

Why the f.u.c.k did I hang up on her?

Grabbing the receiver I held it to my ear. "Thorn, you still there, baby?"

Nothing.

f.u.c.k.

Slamming the receiver back down, I stalked back to my cell.

That night, instead of having nightmares about my mother's last moments on this earth, I dreamt of Thorn.

One phone call.

One f.u.c.king call after five years and I was a mess.

Christ, I felt like a dog that had been thrown a bone, a sc.r.a.p of hope.

Somewhere, deep down inside, there was a part of Teagan that still cared about me and I held onto that thought like it was my last lifeline.

Thorn was still out there, thinking about me, worrying...waiting.

All of a sudden, the prospect of my impending freedom was more appealing than ever.

All of a sudden, I had a goal.

I was getting out of here next month, and when I did, I was going to sign any contract or deal the MFA threw in my direction I knew they were still interested.

When I had all of that done, I would go and get my Thorn, because there was no way in h.e.l.l I was turning up empty-handed and broke. No, I was going to make something of myself, something good.

And then I was going to make her regret walking away from me regret leaving me high and dry when I needed her most.

Knowing I could never trust her again wasn't enough to deter me I was going to make her love me so hard she would never contemplate leaving me again.

I was taking back what had always been mine, and Thorn was mine.

I just needed to make her remember that.

LIKE TOMMY HAD PREDICTED, I was signed to the MFA exactly two weeks to the day that I was released from prison, with a six-figure salary that within three months had turned into seven figures. One year had pa.s.sed since I had been released from one cage and thrust into another.

Except this one was different.

This was on my terms and I was the f.u.c.king king. The MFA were paying me a s.h.i.t ton of cash to do the only thing I was good at doing inflicting pain.

The sweat that dripped from my brow screwed with my vision as I stalked my opponent my prey. I couldn't see properly, not that poor sight ever affected me.

Fighting for me was primal.

It was gut instinct.

It was in my blood.

My body was primed for this stage. It was all I had ever known. And the pain only encouraged me, turned me on, fueled the beast inside of me. The guy I was fighting, Justin Philippe, was one of those annoying as f.u.c.k all-American boys wholesome and G.o.d-fearing. G.o.d only knew why the douche was even involved in the MMA circuit. He had a rich daddy and an even richer granddaddy.

f.u.c.ker was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I hated that s.h.i.t. Seriously, I f.u.c.king hated those types of fighters the ones that were carried.

Every hair on my body stood on end as I pummeled the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d through his attempts to block my left hook. The feeling of adrenalin pumping inside of me was like a drug and I couldn't get enough.

The more blood he shed, the more pumped I became.

I showed no emotion because I didn't f.u.c.king feel. I was ruthless, methodical and composed. To the outside world, I didn't have a weakness, and that made me dangerous.

I wasn't born like this a heartless b.a.s.t.a.r.d. It was something I had turned into as the years pa.s.sed by and life got cold something I had been twisted and morphed into.

The crowd roared out my name and it didn't mean a d.a.m.n thing. These f.u.c.kwads didn't have a thing on me and that's exactly how I wanted it.

The women eye f.u.c.king me in the crowd didn't faze me either. I didn't raise an eyebrow when panties were tossed in my direction, or when I found naked women skulking around in the backroom after each fight. It was the life I lived now. They were enthralled with an illusion. They didn't know me. None of these women did.

They satisfied my needs sated an itch that needed to be scratched but I was only interested in turning the head of one woman.

Smirking to myself, I grappled with my opponent, tackling him to the mat, and executing the final blow.

The bell sounded, and the referee dragged me to my feet, raising my hand in the air in victory.

I FELT SHADY AS h.e.l.l as I tiptoed down the hallway and into my bedroom with the latest MFA magazine in my purse.

Closing the door behind me, I settled cross-legged on my bed and opened the center page section of the magazine...

MESSINA NEXT IN LINE FOR HEAVYWEIGHT t.i.tLE SHOT.

In a rare interview with Noah 'the Machine' Messina, when asked about his commitment towards the MFA, he responded with: "Many people don't understand the obsession, the f.u.c.kin' pa.s.sion of the sport. But that's 'cause they've never stood in the middle of an arena with seventy thousand people screaming their name.

They've never felt the compulsion of pushing their body to maximum capacity, of working their body until they puke and keep on going.

Fighting is in my veins.

Adrenalin pumping through every pore in my body f.u.c.k there's nothing like it.

You could go to the ends of the earth and nothing would compare to the feeling of standing in the ring, geared up and ready to inflict pain..."

When asked about his private life, in particular his relationship status Messina responded by saying: "I don't have time for a life for one woman. Been there, done that, and I can safely say it was the biggest mistake of my life. In my experience, women are a dime a dozen a means to an end an itch to scratch, a f.u.c.king nuisance. No, I'm too busy climbing to the top, being the best and winning. That's my goal, my focus and my f.u.c.king church. I won't quit until I win. I won't quit until I'm carried out of that ring in a f.u.c.king body bag."

Ugh. Tossing the magazine off my bed, I threw myself onto my back and shoved my fist in my mouth. If I didn't, I was going to scream the house down and if I did that, my upstairs neighbor Mrs. Murphy would probably suffer her second heart attack this year.

I wasn't having that on my conscience.

I was such a glutton for punishment.

Seriously, why I tortured myself by watching fight after fight and buying up every magazine and newspaper with his name on it was beyond me.

I needed to get a grip.

I needed to get a b.l.o.o.d.y life, but I knew exactly where I was going be on fight night; parked in front of our flat screen with my heart in my mouth, and every other part of my body shaking to the core.

Breakups were hard enough on a woman without having their ex splashed across magazines and television screens, looking hot as h.e.l.l. Only my ex could land himself in prison for half a decade and come out smelling like roses. The man had signed with the MFA the minute he got out of prison and in the last year had taken the sport by storm.

Noah was a global superstar, and I was an instructor and co-owner of a back street gym in Cork City. Noah was s.h.a.gging every woman with a pulse, while I had practically regrown my virginity.

I couldn't explain why I put myself through this, only that I wanted to see him succeed. I wanted to see him. Even though I would never admit it to a single soul, I wanted Noah to have a good life.

The door of my bedroom blew inwards and in barreled Hope, fresh-faced and mouth agape. "Teegs, did you read what Noah said?"

"Don't say his name in my presence," I snapped, stopping my friend in her tracks. "I mean it Hope; don't utter his name in this room ever again."

Pathetic as it was, I couldn't stand to talk about Noah openly. It hurt too much because at the end of the day, regardless of how much I wanted to, I couldn't stop loving him and I couldn't stop wanting to hate him. I was a proud woman, and talking about it only made me feel weak. I didn't show weakness, therefore when it came to conversations involving Noah Messina, denial was my best friend.

Hope looked momentarily stumped as she stood in the doorway of my room with her iPad clutched between neon painted fingernails. "Can I change he-who-shall-not-be-named's name to a.s.shole and talk trash about him?"

I considered this for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I accept those terms."

Hope grinned and skipped over to where I was laying on my made bed. She could always do this; make me feel like I wasn't completely alone in the world.

My relationship with Hope was one I cherished more than anything. She wrecked my head at times, but the girl was worth her weight in gold.

But no matter how much trash she talked, or how hard she tried to cheer me up, I couldn't shake Noah's words...

"I don't have time for a life for one woman. Been there, done that, and I can safely say it was the biggest mistake of my life."

Looks like he's up to his old tricks again," Hope announced. "Whoring and touring." Looking at me with a devious smirk, she added, "At least you made it out with a clean v.a.g.i.n.a."

"That's true," I laughed, burying my hurt with a smile.

"PUSH IT HARDER, LIAM. Give me more...I can take it."

"Jesus, you're so d.a.m.n tight," Liam ground out through clenched teeth, adding more pressure. "Relax your muscles, Teagan, or we're going to be here all day."

"I'm trying...ugh, you're almost... Yes!" Breathless, I let out a moan of contentment as Liam pushed my thigh almost completely parallel to my stomach.

I felt the muscle that had been causing all the trouble snap back into place and I almost cried out hallelujah.

"That'll teach you," Liam grunted before offering me his much larger hand and pulling me to my feet. "Next time, take on someone your own b.l.o.o.d.y size. You're not a machine, Teegs."

"Duly noted," I muttered, rubbing my a.s.s cheek.

Stretching gingerly, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror and groaned. I looked like s.h.i.t, I smelled like a.s.s, and I was going to have the mother of all bruises on my behind courtesy of the huge d.i.c.k currently signing membership forms in our office upstairs.