When Sinners Kneel

by R. Scarlett

  The roar of the crowd made my body shake as I paced in the ring, flexing each of my fingers. I glanced at the thrashing crowd, still on high alert, still thinking back to the night of Ares’ brutal attack. There had been many dead and injured but to the lowlife that flooded the Pit, it was nothing out of the ordinary. These motherfuckers were used to death and violence. So they’d come back the very next day, unafraid and ready to start betting, fighting, drinking and fucking.

  My eyes fell on Danny, relaxing in a booth full of his entourage. Aphrodites were amongst them, no doubt enlisted to stroke their ego.

  A slow, sinister smile graced his busted mouth and he lifted his glass to me. The longer I stared at him, the more my doubts set in. He hadn’t been here the night of the attack. Odd, considering he loved to scan the crowds each night, examining how well the business was doing.

  I never trusted him, and now the bastard knew exactly which button of mine to push to make me feel powerless. All he needed to do was threaten to harm Lex in any way.

  Fucking hell.

  And the fact that he had touched Alexandra like he had the right to---boiled my blood to the point I wanted to scream.

  If it came to strength and skill, sure, the motherfucker would be six feet underground already. But I had no power over the Pit and Danny. If Danny pressed charges against Lex…

  For now, all I could do was fight here and gather my money earned with blood and sweat.

  Steel stepped into the ring, lanky and inked and pierced in every inch of his body.

  Another shadow emerged from the changing rooms and I eyed his structure. He was large, possibly the same height as me but stocky. He wasn’t lean and each time he cracked his knuckles, his biceps bulged in his t-shirt.

  He entered the ring, his gaze focused on me—with a shit-eating grin.

  I scowled. I had never seen this guy before, but I didn’t like the way he smirked at me.

  The noise of the crowd heightened around us—cries of girls begging me to fuck them—guys asking for bloodshed. I tuned it out. I tuned them all out and focused on the guy.

  “You know the rules,” Steel said to me, patting my shoulder once. “No weapons. No interference from outside the ring. It’s between the two of you. No one else. Once someone’s down, the fight’s over. Got it?”

  I didn’t bother to nod, and I noticed the guy didn’t either, still smiling at me, cracking his neck with a twist of his head.

  Steel raised his hand and I bent, ready to strike, ready for blood to smear my inked hands and let the beast out tonight.

  As soon as his arm lowered, the guy sprung forward, swinging his heavy fist.

  It collided with my cheek and I leaned into it, striking my arm into his chest, pushing him back into the center of the ring.

  When he glanced up with a shit-eating grin on his lips, my beast roared in anger.

  It clawed at me, wanting to break my opponent’s jaw—wanting to make sure the man would never smile again with such cockiness.

  I threw my body weight into him, striking over. He took it, but I saw the falter in his step the longer I plagued him. I felt his nose break underneath my tattooed fist, the blood coating my knuckles in a gruesome splatter.

  His body collided with mine—over and over, trying to break free.

  And yet, still he grinned.

  A grin on the edge of turning into laughter. Even as the blood dribbled down the side of his face and over his mouth, staining his teeth bright red.

  “I hope you said goodbye to whatever pussy your dick has been warming, Savage.”

  Laughing darkly at his taunt, I gripped his loose shirt, pulling him toward myself. My fist was about to collide with his nose when his free hand struck my side.

  But it wasn’t a hand. It wasn’t a fist of blood and gore.

  It was a knife.

  And it was piercing my side.

  The sharp, cold blade ripped through muscle and skin, colliding violently with my ribcage. The jab left me breathless, a searing pain rushing through me.

  The fighter twisted the knife in a quick motion, widening the wound, ripping through more tissues before pulling it out.

  All the surrounding sounds had left my ears, leaving nothing but the beat of my wild, pained heart booming through my head. My vision blurred slightly.

  When the man jammed the blade deep once again just below the first wound, I didn’t see it coming. This time he left the knife in, twisting out of my stomach mockingly.

  I was vaguely aware of an agonizing roar tearing past my clenched jaw. A trembling hand, my hand I realized in a daze, went to the wound, applying pressure as if trying to soothe the wound. When it left my side, it was blood red. I couldn’t tell whether the crowd around us was wild or completely silent. What seemed to be Steel screaming from the sidelines crashed through the fog, but I couldn’t decipher his words. Blood kept rushing to my eardrums, overpowering everything else.

  Then the taint, metal-like smell of blood filled my nostrils, wrapping itself around my consciousness and all my senses came back, crashing in violently.

  Sounds, smell, sight, touch, taste. They all assaulted me at once, anchoring me to reality.

  I pulled in a wavering breath. My lungs burned with labor and pain. The knife had grazed one of my lungs, missing it by a breath. I yanked it out and more blood gushed from my side.

  My skin felt wet and warm, but my hands had turned white and cold.

  Weapons were forbidden in the ring, but my opponent had used one nonetheless.

  I walked forward, like a beast about to pounce on its enemy, attempting to ignore the raging pain in my side.

  My fury burnt my insides brighter than the pain anyway.

  My fingers clenched and unclenched around the knife’s handle reflexively, testing its weight.

  There was nothing like the feel of a weapon in your tight grip, moments before you were about to do some well-deserved damage.

  My opponent struck first, his fist slamming across my cheekbone, and the taste of warm copper filled my mouth.

  The hand holding the knife plowed into his stomach, the blade slashing his skin in the process. My other fist followed behind quickly. He roared but he didn’t relent, his fingers finding the wound he’d given me and digging in deep.

  I sneered in pain, gripping his collar and raising my fist one final time and striking him hard at the temple.

  He went flying, his large body twisting in a wrong angle before it hit the floor with a thud.

  I crouched over his body like a dark shadow, my side protested painfully as I did so but I didn’t care. Still gripping the knife, I jammed it deep in his throat, relishing at the feel of cartilage and muscle tearing apart.

  Satisfied, I ripped the blade out from the fresh wound, tossing it on the floor next to us.

  The crowd was abnormally quiet, as if in a trance. They were sinners and beasts and criminals, but even they had always respected the sacred rules of the Pit.

  The king of the Pit had been hit, but he had not been brought to his knees.

  He would never be.

  A gurgling sound came from my opponent’s throat as the blood bubbled out, running down the side of his neck and pooling around us.

  I traced my hand onto the blood-soaked dirt of the ring, letting it further taint my skin.

  Then with a raw, vicious snarl, I slammed my hand down hard onto the ground next to the dead fighter, announcing my victory.

  The crowd erupted into a violent cry and I panted, trying my best not to grip my throbbing side.

  I couldn’t look weak, but it was becoming harder and harder to push through the pain.

  When I glanced at the crowd, looking for someone in particular, my eyes caught Danny’s instead. There was a smug smirk twisting his lips.

  Realization dawned on me.

  This was a threat.

  This hadn’t been a simple fight gone wrong.

  No.

  This had been an attack against me.


  I took every ounce of strength I had, but I fisted my hands and walked off the ring showing none of my agony to the onlookers. Steel followed after, shouting in my ear that we needed to stop the bleeding. Things were starting to get foggy again.

  “You need to sit down,” Steel shouted in my ear, gripping my shoulder, but I didn’t stop and shoved through the crowd.

  “Savage,” Tegan called beside me, her features drawn into a distraught frown. “You need a doctor. Fuck! You’ve lost too much blood at this point, a doctor probably won’t even do. We need a warlock.”

  “I don’t need a single shit,” I hissed, rolling my shoulders to somehow ease the tension in my burning side. I spat on the floor, blood and spit running down my chin. I wiped it away roughly.

  Tegan gripped my wrist. “Over here.” She guided us to the changing rooms. A large group of fighters sat on the worn down leather couches, drinking and smoking just outside of the lockers and showers. Steam rose to the ceiling, leaving a mist in the room.

  At the sight of us, they grew silent.

  “Holy fuck,” one muttered, a cig in his mouth.

  The thick taste of belladonna filled the room in smoke and I closed my eyes as I sat down on the edge of the couch, finally letting my hand go to my side.

  The blood on my fingers was slowly starting to lose its warmth. His blood and mine, tainting my skin scarlet red. Too much fucking blood.

  “If you won’t get a warlock,” Tegan said, folding her arms underneath her ample chest. Her dark eyes became heated as she scanned me. “Then you need someone to use. You exerted yourself by finishing the fight, your energy is too low for your body to be able to heal itself quickly. It’s dangerous, Savage.” The deep frown on her face made it clear she was one of the few people who actually cared whether I lived or died.

  My throat grew tight at that thought and I clenched my jaw, glancing down at the wound.

  “I can sew it myself,” I told her, my commanding words were clear, but they didn’t seem as firm and unyielding as usual. “Just get me the needle and thread. Some alcohol too.”

  “Savage,” she snapped, her chin high in the air. “Listen to me! You’ll pass out if you don’t get energy right now. And if you crash, you won’t wake the fuck up.”

  I sighed heavily, licking my bloody teeth in frustration and annoyance.

  Tegan didn’t wait for my nod. She lifted her t-shirt over her head, revealing her toned tanned stomach and her breasts supported by her sports bra. A few of the guys whistled and gawked at her beauty.

  I wanted energy, I needed energy, but the thought of getting it from her didn’t feel as appealing as it once did.

  The door opened, and all heads turned to see Lex. And my hunger flared deep in the pit of my stomach, in my groin, and in my mind.

  My entire body shook with need for her and my nostrils flared, my hands digging into my kneecaps.

  Lex’s dark hair shone in the dim lighting of the room and her cheeks flushed at the sight of me and every other male watching her.

  Her pouty mouth dropped into an ‘o.’

  But her baby blue eyes stayed on me and I could feel the heat of them even from this distance. The anger, the fear—trembling through each of her limbs.

  “Everyone out,” I snapped, my chest heaving with impatience. The men didn’t wait and rose from their chairs. Steel gave me a look, cocking his brow, but didn’t say a word. It was Tegan who frowned down at me, a hand on her bare hip.

  Lex went to turn, her head bowed, and my pulse jumped.

  “Except you, Alexandra,” I said, my eyes focused on her. “You stay here.”

  She paused at the sound of my voice and glanced over at Tegan who looked just as blindsided.

  Tegan sighed, grabbing her shirt and walked out.

  And then it was the two of us.

  And that burning, toxic need between us.

  Lex’s fingers played with the tips of her long dark hair, nervously looking up at me through her thick lashes. Like a school girl caught red-handed.

  Her chest rose quickly, bringing my attention to the tops of her breasts visible in her low cut top.

  “I can—” she swallowed with difficulty, as if she couldn’t handle the sight of me like this. “I can give you the energy you need,” she whispered, her eyes focused on the ugly bloody mess that was my side.

  I was giving into temptation. I could give her my body, but not the rest of me. This would purely be physical.

  I shook my head, the need now aching inside of me, the utter tiredness that came with a lack of energy now rearing its head. It felt like I needed to sleep for days, months, maybe even longer. “Fuck, just touch me, Alexandra. I need you to touch me.”

  Her panicked expression morphed into a determined, heated glare and she marched forward, stopping in front of me. I watched as her throat constricted and she swallowed thickly.

  “Then use me as you please,” she whispered.

  And it was my undoing.

  All the air left my shaking lungs as the words escaped my lips—and it felt shameful and powerful and so so so wrong.

  Beau’s features hardened at my voice and I knew it had wavered. I could feel the violent crimson climbing up my chest to my neck, all across my face, but I didn’t look away.

  “On your knees,” he said—in that rough, husky voice that stirred the impatient need low in my stomach and pulsed between my legs.

  I hesitated for a second, watching the dark swirls in his eyes undress me. I bent in front of him, my bare knees touching the hardwood floors, never looking away, never bowing my head, but my body trembled for him. I knew my nipples had hardened, and he could see them through the white fabric of my tight t-shirt.

  He watched me in molten silence, and I let myself examine the features of a cursed man. His haunting eyes, his cruel mouth—so full and soft and misleading.

  His chest heaved violently, and I eyed the ugly wound at his side. My mouth opened to speak, but his inked fingers clasped my chin in a harsh grip, forcing me to meet his gaze again.

  “Is that what you truly want? Me to use you like a toy? Like an incubi would use a souleater?”

  My lips trembled at his cruel, vicious words. But my body leaned in closer, my fingers finding balance across the inside of his thighs, spread apart to make room for me.

  All his anger—his hatred—his emotions filled the air and it was like a poison I’d tasted and couldn’t help but want more of. I knew I was tiptoeing on a dangerous line. A deadly edge for a souleater. I was giving into the high of the Pit—and ultimately the high of Beau Knight.

  If I let him use me, if I had another taste of him, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  I’d been warned many times in the past by other souleaters I’d met along the way. They’d told me to never let my soul attach itself to another because it was incredibly dangerous for the souleater. They became utterly dependent on the soul they’d attached themselves to. It was toxic.

  And I wondered if that was what I was feeling for Beau’s soul.

  His soul sung to mine—two damaged souls aching for another to soothe our darkness.

  “I’ve never felt like this.” The words tasted far too light on my tongue, like I was already high off of him. I rested my cheek against his fingers and he cupped my face.

  Those beautiful dark, heavy brows creased in confusion. “Like what?”

  I didn’t know how to describe it to him. That his emotions were too powerful, too addictive that I wanted to swallow each word he said and soak in his darkness.

  I straightened, my fingers ghosting over his until I reached his inked thumb, dragging it to my mouth.

  I watched him under my lashes as I widened my mouth—only slightly so his thumb disappeared, and I sucked lightly.

  All the muscles tensed and bulged in his body and his jaw locked under his clench, eyeing me like a hungry beast.

  I sucked once again—and that sparked him.

  His other hand jerked forward, and he gr
ipped the back of my neck, tangling his fingers in my dark hair and yanked me forward. “Tell me, Alexandra,” his harsh breathing battled on my mouth and he slowly removed his thumb from my mouth, only to spread the bottom lip open. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

  “Like an angel about to sin,” I whispered. “But I’m no angel.”

  Beau growled deeply in his throat and like the hungry animal caged inside of him, he struck, his mouth colliding with mine in a bruising kiss of lust and anger and power.

  He yanked me in-between his steel thighs and trapped me there. But I wanted to be there—caged by a god sent to ruin me in the best ways possible.

  He growled, low and dark and everything that made me ache for him so badly. He was vicious and violent in his approach—as if still in the midst of a fight. Still trying to destroy his fiercest opponent. In that moment, it was me. I was his enemy.

  The sinner devoured me like I was the last sin he’d get to commit.

  “Fuck,” he hissed against my mouth, breathing out harshly. He glanced down at his side and I followed to see the knife wound had closed and was now slowly fading.

  It was working. Beau was healing. He would be okay.

  “Should…should we stop?” I asked, my voice hushed, afraid he’d actually hear me.

  His eyes—now dark and molten clashed with mine.

  “I’m not done using you,” he said, lowly.

  His powerful hands ran down my sides and grabbed my backside, lifting me up—a gasp escaping my mouth.

  He ate it, not allowing me to breathe without tasting him on my tongue.

  He carried me, away from the lounge area and onto the tiled floor. Steam rolled over our heads, clouding my vision. Voices of men echoed against the walls and I bit my lip.

  We’re not alone in here.

  Beau stopped in front of a dark stall and moved me into the corner, up against the tiled wall.

  I gasped at the cool wetness left from a previous shower as it hit my bare shoulders and upper back.

  Beau stood in front of me—his eyes tracing over my trembling, aching body. My nipples hardened from the cool air and my arousal, but I didn’t hide from him.