by Alexx Andria
I wouldn’t be his woman.
I hadn’t giggled and dropped to my knees to suck his dick simply because he was Louie Davonte — the so-called messiah of the downtrodden.
Davonte was king of the slums around here and he made sure everyone knew they were beholden to him in some way or another.
I wouldn’t suck his dick even if it were made of candy.
The idea made me want to puke as hard as Damon was upchucking right now.
I winced as some sort of roar came from the bathroom. Poor dumb ox was probably unloading his spleen.
My family had blamed me for being too prideful, that I’d been stupid to pass up the honor of being with Davonte.
“Think of your brother,” my dad had demanded with greed in his eyes. “You’re lucky Davonte thinks you’re something special. Use it to your advantage. If you’re smart, you’ll let him knock you up and you’ll be set for life.”
Parenting skills were not my dad’s forte. I ignored his disgusting suggestion and tried to fight for Tommy’s future.
“Tommy needs to use his head for more than a punching bag,” I’d shot back, hating my weak-ass father for slavering at the thought of both his children working under Davonte and all the perks that would supposedly come with the privilege. “He needs to go to college to get out of this fucking hell-hole!”
“College?” he sneered as if I’d just started babbling nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with you? College ain’t for people like us so get that through your dumb-ass skull,” my dad had growled, irritated as fuck. “Just sit there and look pretty…that’s what you’re good for, sweetheart. Your brother knows the score. He’s got talent. Davonte sees something in him. He’s gonna take him to the big time.”
The smug assurance in my father’s tone made me want to shake his head off his shoulders.
“He’s going to get him killed,” I cried with impotent rage. “Don’t you see that Tommy is just like the rest of the guys thinking they’re going to be the one who makes it out of this shithole? How many careers have actually made it out of the town?”
“Jimmy “The Punisher” Ratchet, Paul “Steel Hands” Rodrigues,” her dad shot back as if two nominal successes were enough to leverage someone’s entire future on. “They got out of here and it was all because of Louie Davonte so show some respect, girl.”
I hated when my father called me “girl.” I also hated that my father placed my entire worth on my ability to catch a slimy pig between my legs.
But then Frankie Williams wasn’t angling for Father Of The Year nor had he ever been in the running.
The toilet flushed and water started running. Damon was showering.
My sinuses tingled as real emotion boiled up, awakening parts of me that’d been hibernating.
There was nothing about Damon that turned my head.
Uneducated block of man meat.
All he knew was swinging fists and training until he fell into his bed.
I’d seen enough of his kind hanging around the gym, their eyes sharp as sharks but their heads full of sawdust.
Well, I wasn’t looking for a relationship, least of all with someoene like him.
But that big, dumb blockhead could save my ass.
I wiped at the tear that somehow found its way down my cheek. I smiled at the drop perched on my fingertip.
I wasn’t crying because I was sad.
I wasn’t mired in hopelessness like before.
I wasn’t driven by panic.
No, this was something entirely different.
This emotion was wild, reckless and blood-thirsty.
And I embraced it with all the abandon that only the truly damned could appreciate.
I was crying because for the first time since Tommy died, I saw a way to avenge my brother’s death and put Davonte behind me for good.
I saw a future free of The Underground and everything it stood for.
I saw me, shaking off the grip that Detroit had on my throat.
I saw hope.
Now, I just needed a plan.
And a metric shit-ton of luck.
3
Damon
Panic drove at me as a litany of 'fuckfuckfuck' echoed in my Jameson-soaked brain. Why? Why would I risk everything for a woman I didn't know or care about? I lifted my face to the shower spray and prayed for some kind of clarity, even though prayer wasn't something I believed in.
So, now I had damage control to deal with — what was my first step?
Apologize, grovel, beg for forgiveness, plead temporary insanity.
Seemed legit.
Especially the insanity part. No one would question that I'd lost my ever-loving mind when I reared my fist and plowed it into Davonte’s nose.
I scrubbed at my face with the coarse washcloth and gave my nuts and cock a quick once-over. My cock stubbornly ignored the message that the chick in the other room wasn't anything but a ball of trouble and kept trying to harden as if something was going to happen.
Jesus, I palmed my cock roughly, knock it off, already.
But the rough touch was the wrong thing to do.
Suddenly, my semi-hard cock was steel encased in hot skin.
No whiskey dick problems here, I thought grimly.
Now wasn’t the time to get off. I had bigger problems.
But my entire body tensed, needing that release.
Fine, I conceded, lathering up my cock with more soap for a nice, slippery sensation. It wasn’t a hot pussy but it’d do.
I closed my eyes and stroked my cock, needing to feel something other than this overwhelming fear that I'd just signed my death warrant and killed my career in one punch.
Too much pent-up testosterone.
I hadn't jerked off in a while.
My balls were practically purple.
I'd been so focused on getting back in the ring, I hadn't spared a moment for a quick wank, even if just to relieve the pressure.
Big tittied women flashed in my brain and I stroked harder, squeezing the base and shaft for a tight fit.
God, I loved big tits.
Just like the woman's I woke up to this morning.
Yeah, she was the perfect package.
Small waisted, big hips and tits, and barely reached my chest. I could pick her up and impale her on my cock without breaking a sweat.
No, I shook my head, don't think of her. She's the reason I’m in this mess.
But I was already close.
That familiar tingle at the base of my cock, building in my balls, was already getting ready to go nuclear. I braced myself against the shower wall, a groan locked tightly behind my teeth. I didn't want to think of her but each time I shoved her away in my mind, desperately grabbing onto nameless, faceless chicks to finish, she crowded back in.
Those golden eyes.
Those perfectly thick hips that made me want to grip with both hands so I could sink my face into her hot pussy.
All that long, red hair flowing down the curve of her back.
And, yeah, that was all I could take.
FUCKKKKKKK! That groan I'd tried to hold back, escaped from my clenched lips as I blew a nut so hard it could've punched a hole in the wall.
I sagged as my knees weakened.
Sobriety came with a thunderclap and I realized I was in such deep shit I couldn't even fathom the depth.
Davonte wasn’t a forgiving man.
He ruled The Underground and with good reason.
No one messed with the King of Detroit.
But I’d broken his nose.
For her?
I didn’t even know the woman.
But my cock seemed to heartily approve.
Ahh, fuck me. I’d screwed the pooch royally this time.
I rinsed off, pushed aside the knowledge that I'd cum harder than ever before by thinking of her, and shut off the water.
Time to figure this shit out.
First things first, coffee.
Then, answers.
&n
bsp; If she thought she'd hitched her wagon to some kind of hero, she had another thing coming.
As far I was concerned, I'd be happy to dump her happy ass back on Davonte’s doorstep with a giant bow perched on her head.
I drew a deep breath, wrapped the towel around my mid-section and exited the bathroom with a plan.
I’d set her straight — tell her she was going back to Davonte with my apologies.
I’d carry her ass the entire way if I had to.
She could kick and scream all she wanted — not my problem.
I felt relatively good with this plan. It wouldn’t do any favors for my ego — groveling wasn’t my thing, not for no one — but neither was dying so groveling was the plan.
Except, my bedroom was empty.
And the woman was gone.
4
Charlie
Maybe it wasn't the most inspired of plans but cut me some slack I was thinking on-the-fly. So basically, from what I knew of men in this particular field, they were relatively simple.
Food. Sex. Train.
I couldn't do much about the training aspect but I could certainly appeal to his gut and his sex drive.
First, every fighter I knew ate gobs of protein and washed it down with water and coffee.
So while he was in the shower I hustled down the street to the small corner store and bought what I could to make a decent breakfast.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn’t Betty Crocker by any means but I knew how to throw a few things together.
You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to fry up some eggs and bacon.
I returned to the small apartment with the bag of groceries and ignored the odd leap in my stomach when I saw Damon standing there with nothing but a threadbare towel wrapped around his chiseled midsection.
"I… I bought breakfast." I managed to stammer, pulling myself together. "I thought you might be hungry."
But his expression was neither happy nor grateful, In fact, he looked annoyed.
So much for appealing to his gut.
His gaze bounced to the bag of groceries and his expression hardened.
"Look, don't get comfortable playing house. I'm not interested in whatever you're selling, honey. For reasons I haven't quite figured out yet, I put my nose in business that wasn't mine. So don't go thinking that I'm your knight in shining armor, because I'm the furthest thing from it. You can treat me like a king but that don't mean you're my queen. You belong to Davonte and I aim to see that you go back to him."
What a piece of shit. My disillusionment hit me hard. He was no different than most of the douchebag losers in this town, looking to use their fists to make them famous. Stupid sheep, all of them.
I dropped the bag on the counter, a muffled crunch told me the eggs had broken but I didn’t care.
No sense in playing the demure, little flower if the lug wasn’t going to play his part.
My tone held all the contempt I felt for men like him. “You're an idiot if you think you can waltz into Davonte’s office as if all is forgiven just because you throw me at his feet. If you think that he will forgive you, you're dumber than most."
I wasn’t pulling any punches. The man was a card-carrying idiot if he thought Davonte was going to shake his hand and pat him on the head after Damon had knocked his lights out.
That kind of disrespect was the killing kind.
And I knew Davonte didn’t have any qualms with dropping dead weight in the river, never to be seen again.
Although, Davonte would need four cinder blocks to weigh down someone as big as Damon, just saying.
But Damon didn’t even flinch. “That may be true but something tells me that he wants you bad. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to fix the damage.”
“Anything?” I sneered, my rage driving me to the lowest point I could go. “Funny, you didn’t even trip my gay-dar. I guess you’re pretty good at hiding the fact that you’re a tonsil-juggler.”
His face turned a florid shade of red. “I’m not fucking gay. I’m not sucking anyone’s dick.”
“Not even Davonte’s?” I threw back with a sweet smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I don’t know, I’ve heard he can be very generous if he likes you. Tell me, are all those muscles some kind of compensation for a lack of equipment elsewhere?”
In a sharp motion, Damon knocked the bag to the floor with a swipe of his hand. I yelped and jumped back but not before he managed to grab my arm in his meathooks, his fingers digging into my flesh.
“You’ve got a nasty streak for such a pretty mouth,” he growled, his gaze raking me up and down. I shivered against the open perusal. “I’m sure Davonte will put it to good use.”
“You’re a bastard,” I hissed, glaring up at Damon. “Do you have any idea what he plans to do to me?”
“Not my problem, princess.”
“Wrong. It’s your problem now because for whatever reasons, you stuck your fists in my business. Davonte is going to have you sliced and diced before lunch, I can promise you that.”
I wasn’t lying for effect. Davonte was a crazy, narcissistic sociopath. He didn’t suffer rejection, nor disrespect in any way.
Damon was as good as dead if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass and listen to me.
“You’re hurting me,” I said from between gritted teeth. I probably looked like a possum baring its fangs, ready to sink into flesh. “Let me go.”
But he didn’t.
Instead, he drew me closer and I sucked in a shocked breath, my eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
Then, he sniffed me.
What the…?
I shuddered at the low growl that seemed involuntary. The half-mast of his lids, the sudden parting of his lips caused my stomach to tremble.
And not with fear, exactly.
But just as the moment stretched between us, the inexplicable heat building, he released me abruptly with a terse order. “Stay put. I’m going to get dressed and then we’re leaving.”
I released the pent-up air in my lungs, gasping as if I’d been deep-sea diving.
Fuck that, I thought, shaking. Fuuuuuck that.
If he thought I was going to sit like an obedient puppy so that he could take me to my death, his head was filled with rocks.
But the very thought must've flashed through his own pea brain because he stopped and turned, eyeing me warily. “Are we going to do this the easy way or the hard way? Because I don't have any qualms with delivering you trussed up like a Christmas turkey."
And if the gleam in his eye was any indication, he rather liked the idea of me tied up, helpless.
Inside, I quailed but I wasn’t about to show weakness. I jutted my chin with all the stubbornness of my Scottish heritage and fairly spat back at him, “I’m not going back to Davonte so go fuck yourself.”
“Yes, you are."
I grabbed a pocketknife lying on the counter and clicked it open, the blade glinting in the morning sun. “Go ahead and try, see what happens,” I hissed, white-knuckling the knife. “I won’t go down without a fight.”
If he had no qualms with delivering me to that bastard, I had no problem with cutting him like a pig.
I grinned with malice. “So what's it going to be?”
I never expected a man of his size to move so quickly.
Maybe I thought the towel would slow him down.
Maybe I thought a guy built like a brick wall would lumber like a bear, not sprint like a jaguar.
But fuck, it happened so fast, I didn’t even know how it’d gone down until the knife was squeezed out of my hand and he’d thrown me over his beefy shoulder.
His towel dropped to the floor and forgotten, my face was dangerously close to that firm, muscled ass as he strode into the bedroom. His skin smelled masculine and spicy, a scent that made my body soften against my will.
I bit back a cry as he tossed me to the bed roughly.
He stood there, naked as a jaybird, his cock bouncing as it hardened. I averted m
y gaze as my cheeks flushed with embarassment.
“You belong to Davonte. Best get right with that and just accept it because otherwise, you’re in for a world of hurt,” he said flatly as if he wasn’t signing my death warrant, too.
“I don’t belong to any man,” I shot back, fighting the tears that threatened. “I’d rather die than let that asshole between my legs.”
Something flashed behind his eyes but it was gone before I could question.
“Don’t move.”
Fear of another sort snaked into my brain. “Don’t touch me,” I said, the tremble in my voice genuine. “I swear I’ll turn you into a eunuch if you try.”
The disgusted look on his face was an unexpected slap. “Girl, that pussy ain’t fine enough to risk my life over. Get over yourself. I ain’t like most men who see a pair of big tits and lose their fucking mind over the idea of sticking my dick between them.”
“You’re lewd and disgusting,” I said, scrambling away, putting as much distance between us as I could. “No wonder you’re alone. I can’t imagine any woman putting up with you for longer than it took to listen to two words falling from your mouth.”
“Talk is overrated,” he said by way of a grunt as he jerked his jeans on, tucking his cock behind the fly without benefit of underwear.
Damon grabbed the nearest shirt and sweatshirt and within seconds he was dressed. His curt gesture told me it was time to go.
“He’ll put a bullet in your brain the minute you step into his office,” I said, desperate to drill some sense into the big idiot. “Do you have a death wish? Davonte doesn’t forgive and you broke his fucking nose. What do you think he’s going to do to you for that insult? Take you out for dinner?”
I knew my words gave Damon pause, probably because he’d wondered the same, but he seemed stubbornly stuck on track. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing my hand and yanking me toward the door.
I screeched and tried to pull away but it was like trying to free my arm from an alligator once it’d clamped down.
“What kind of man are you?” I demanded, struggling as he dragged me toward the door. “You would knowingly take a woman to a man who planned to rape and God-only-knows-what to her? Where’s your fucking conscience?”
