The Devil's Match

by Amo Jones

  “Ha.” I shook my head, turning back around in my seat just as Jada sat beside me.

  “Sorry about him,” she muttered, smiling at Ol’ Falla, who then began prepping her drink.

  “No need to apologize,” I brushed her off. “Is he usually like that?”

  She swiped her drink just as ‘Ol Falla poured me another. “Who? Frost?” she asked around the rim of her glass just as she shot the rest back. She was stunning, and I mean a total babe. She had an angular sharp jaw, perfect cheekbones and a face structure that any model would die for. I was insanely jealous, what with my ‘innocent vibe.’ I’ve never been considered sexy, I’ve had cute, but not sexy. And that annoyed the fucking shit out of me. But Jada was nice. Genuinely nice, so I couldn’t hate her. Not that I would.

  “Yeah, that’s Frost. Sort of. I mean, he’s different to the bikers around here.”

  Bringing my drink to my lips, I tried not to sound too interested. “Oh? How so?”

  “Well.” She leaned forward and cocked her head. “He sticks to himself a lot. He doesn’t talk much, just does a lot of that scary staring thing that he does.” She grinned when I didn’t answer and then her eyes locked on mine. “You interested?” Her eyebrow cocked.

  “What?” I coughed as if to choke on my drink. “What do you mean?”

  She rolled her eyes and then flung her hand toward where Frost stood at all his six-foot whatever inches he was.

  “Is he your type?” she further asked, waiting for me to answer.

  “Ah, I mean, I don’t think I have a type per se, like, I fight. In the octagon, that’s my type. I don’t really have time for boys.”

  “And…” Jada continued, rolling her hands.

  “And…” I looked around the place before dropping my voice to a whisper. “And, what?”

  She tilted her head as her lips curved in a half smile. “Honey, I know.”

  “You know, what?” Okay, now I was genuinely confused as to what the fuck she was talking about.

  She leaned forward, her face an inch away from mine and dropped her voice. “I know you have blood on your hands, and what’s worse?” Her grin deepened and her eyes fucking twinkled with a gleam. “Is that you enjoy it.” She sat back to her normal posture as if she didn’t just knock me on my ass, then shrugged. “Which is why I’m going to recommend you don’t go near Frost.”

  “There are a few things I want to ask you about what you’ve just said…” I began, the grip I had around my glass tightening in unease, because for once, for the first time ever, someone saw through my façade. “But I’m going to ask, just for shits and giggles, why you would recommend someone like me to stay away from…” I stared toward where Frost was, running my eyes up and down his delicious body. Loose but tight faded ripped jeans, thick combat boots, a white t-shirt that hid under his club colors, and all the ink that I can see running up the backs of his perfectly sculpted arms and thick neck. “Him.”

  Jada followed my line of sight while jumping off the stool. She leaned into my ear but kept her eyes on him. “Because you’re both so very much the same, the only difference is…” she paused and then leered. “He doesn’t hide it.” Then she tapped on my knee and in my stump, I faintly looked down to it. “Now come on. Did Beast tell you we have a ring here?”

  Chapter 3

  “Holy shit!” I gasped, following Jada through the double sliding doors and into the massive confinement of, what is going to be, my playground. I continued toward her until I finally came close enough to the octagon ring to smell the rich smell of rubber. “This is awesome.” I ran the palm of my hand over the foam cover that protected the wiring. “For some reason, I didn’t think bikers would train.”

  “Oh?” Jada jumped into the octagon and flung her shoes off. “And why the assumption?” She jumped around, warming up her arms and I knew what was coming, so I jumped in too.

  “Well, I don’t know. Don’t they usually deal in weaponry and all that snaz?” I removed the laces from my Chucks and then tossed them off.

  “Mmmm, yes. But these aren’t your average bikers.” She twirled her hair up into a ponytail until it was trailing down her back.

  “Really? So, they’re like, unicorn bikers? Oh no, wait!” I got to my feet and removed my leather jacket, tossing it toward my shoes. The long ends of my hair hitting just below my mid-back reminding me how badly I needed a trim. “Let me guess,” I pretended to think it over, my index finger coming to the corner of my mouth. “They ride hellhounds, not bikes!”

  Jada busted out laughing while clutching her stomach. “I like you.”

  “Aw, don’t say that…” I grinned, cracking my neck.

  “Why?” Jada’s eyes narrowed, but her smile told me she knew exactly why.

  “Because I’m about to kick your ass.”

  She laughed again, and I took this time to use a hair tie that was around my wrist to tie my loose tank into a crop top.

  “That’s cute.” She winked, and I leaped onto my toes.

  “Too many people call me cute.”

  “Woah!” A male voice broke into the empty room and we both looked to where it came from. A tall, very muscular and very hot guy came walking in with a smirk on his face. The sides of his hair were shaved close to the scalp and he too was dipped head to toe in ink. More colorful than Frost’s ink though, Frost’s ones were mainly, from what I had seen, black and grey.

  “Now, if there’s going to be a bitch fight, I would at least like to have a seat, ya know, since this is my octagon.” He took a seat in one of the chairs and kicked his foot up to rest it on the back of one of the other chairs.

  Jada rolled her eyes. “Melissa will kick your ass and you know it.”

  “Melissa is very secure with her placing in my life.” His smirk deepened.

  “Melissa will, in fact, kick your fucking ass.” Another voice interfered, just as a woman, around my age, walked into the room. She had blonde hair and killer legs, from what I could see.

  The biker’s smile dropped innocently, and he shot up from his chair. “Hey, baby.” He went in for a kiss, but her finger comes straight to his lips and her head cranks back. She scrunched her face and raised an eyebrow. “You better move. Right now.”

  He growled. Straight up growled and then spun and walked out of the room.

  Jada chuckled loudly and then jumped out of the octagon. “Melissa, meet Ella. Beast’s long-lost sister.”

  “And my sister’s trade,” Melissa added, walking toward me. I met her halfway and shook her hand through the safety barriers.

  “That’s me. Hi.”

  “So I’m Melissa, Millie’s sister and that asshole who you just met? Is my man, Hella.”

  “Right!” I nodded, putting my hands on my hips.

  “You fight?” She pointed to the octagon.

  “I do! In fact, Jada was about to get her ass whipped.”

  Melissa examined me up and down, not in a rude way, but more in a “bitch you are dreaming” way. “Really?” She laughed, and then looked back at Jada. “Sorry to interrupt then, but I do need to steal Jada for a beat. It was nice to meet you, be sure to hang around downstairs tonight.”

  “The hog roast?” I asked, tilting my head and trying to calm the pounding of adrenalin and blood that I can now feel soaring through my body. I need to work this off now.

  “Yep. It’s what we call a big biker meet up, drinks, eat, get fucking shitfaced ordeal. You’ll have fun. Stick around.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, though I wasn’t entirely sold. “I’ll stick around. I might just,” I pointed toward the punching bags hanging in the corner, “go exert some pent-up energy.”

  Jada winked at me, collecting up her shoes. “I got you next time, boo.”

  I scoffed, then rolled my eyes and circled the halo above my head. “Sure ya do…” They both left, and I felt a little better about my being there. Jada was welcoming, and I like to think I’m pretty good at picking up fake people. Melissa, I’m not quite su
re about. I feel like she’s not as easygoing with new people as Jada is, and that can be a good thing. Means again, that she’s smart.

  I jumped out of the octagon and decided I really should put some workout clothes on, as jeans and a tied-up tank is really not going to cut it, so I quickly dash out, ducking behind everyone on my journey and make my way up to my room. Pulling open my bag that I haven’t, and won’t be, unpacking, I take out some tight grey yoga pants and a fluoro green and grey sports bra. I threw them on in record time before tossing my Chucks back on because I didn’t bring any runners with me and quickly made my way back to the octagon room. I passed a couple crowds of people but didn’t look at any of them, I was hell bent on getting back to work off this energy, but maybe I should have chosen some different attire. Something that wouldn’t have made people stare at me. I only realized this just as I walked back into the gym-octagon-boxing room.

  Heading straight for the bags, I put my headphones in my ears and flicked through Spotify. Music. Music is probably the only thing that comes close to evoking some sort of feeling for me, other than what fighting gives me. I try to feel. I try to feel every single day, it’s why I’m in love with the idea of love, because I’ve never felt it, and I’ve never witnessed it. The only display of love I’ve ever been old enough to witness is the love between Raze and Miles, and they kill people in their sleep and then feast with the corpses laid at their feet. Not exactly family Sunday roast dinners, but they’re my family.

  I hit play on “Change” by Deftones. I’m strapping my gloves on when the guitar hits and I begin to feel it. I feel my veins pulse beneath my flesh and my hands and feet start to tingle with anticipation. Bouncing on the tips of my toes, I start light. One two combination jabs, then the song kicks up and I unleash. One, two, two, three, four, three, four, five, six, two, combos. Sweat begins to pour from the pores of my skin and seep into my eyes, but I continue. Every punch I land on the bag, Frost’s eyes come into view. One, two. His smirk when he was waiting at the bottom of the stairwell. Three, four, two, one. His eyes bleeding into mine as the alcohol slipped delicately down his throat. Five, six, eight, one, two, one two. His fucking throat. His tattoos. One, two, six. Roundhouse kick. The song switches to “The Bleeding” from Five Finger Death Punch, and I crack my neck to stretch it out. Really wish I fetched a water bottle before coming back. Wrapping a towel around the back of my neck, I turned around and jumped when I saw Frost leaning on the octagon ring. Pulling the headphones out of my ears, but allowing them to dangle over my shoulder, I slanted my eyes. “You following me?”

  He pushed off the railing and started walking toward me. “You fight?” He ignored my question while pointing to the punching bag.

  “Just a bit.” I’m being modest, I’ve been fighting MMA since I was eight, then when I hit high school, I found that it was my out. It’s what kept my emotions turning, or they’d shut off completely. Feeling flesh hit my knuckles was still a feeling. May not be the healthy psychological feeling that a therapist would suggest I practice, but I mean… progress.

  “Those combinations weren’t thrown by someone who does ‘just a bit’ of fighting.” He cocked his head, then his eyes roamed up and down my body, triggering chills to break out over my cooling skin.

  He laughed, then removed his club patch, tossing it across the floor.

  “Ah, whatcha doing?” I lifted my eyebrow because he better not be doing what I think he’s doing.

  “I wanna see what you’ve got. Get in the ring.”

  “Um, no… first of all…”

  He paused, then slowly slipped off his shirt, and holy sweet mother of God. I’d never seen a body that had been crafted with such athletic expertise, and then further iced with some of the most beautiful tattoos I had ever seen, and when I said beautiful, I was meaning the obvious talent of the artist, because I don’t think calling demons and skulls beautiful was very accurate. He was absolutely covered in ink. His stomach, his shoulders, arms, neck, he’s all covered.

  The clinking of his belt buckle sucked my focus back into gear. “Scared?”

  “Hmm?” I snapped myself out of my stupid slumber and looked up at him. “Wait! Why are you taking off your pants?”

  “I’m not. I’m removing my belt.” He grinned. “Unless you would rather I take them off?”

  “No!” I jumped, a little too quickly because now he was laughing at me and I knew it was because of how obvious I was being on how much I do not want him near me naked. “Get in the ring.” I let out a defeated sigh.

  Jumping up onto the board, I flung my legs over and stood, warming up my arms now that they had cooled down. He pointed toward a booth stuck to the wall. “See that.” Then he strode toward it, pushed on the top of the glass panel and I watched as it dropped down and opened. “Is a sound system. It’s linked up to all the speakers in here. Use this. Not your headphones.”

  He switched it on and I tried to ignore the way his muscles flexed with every movement. His entire back was inked in the club patch. He was, by God, probably the most lethal looking person I had ever laid eyes on.

  “Why no headphones?” I asked, clearing my throat.

  He didn’t turn, he just continued to punch buttons. “If something happens, how will you know it’s happening if you’re distracted with headphones in your ears?”

  “Something like?” I prodded.

  He snatched the remote from the top and then turned, making his way back toward the octagon. “Ella, you’re living in The Devil’s Own clubhouse. All though nothing would happen, you can’t count that out. At least if you’re playing your music through this, it will shut off if something does happen. It’s wired to do that.”

  “That’s a lot of what-ifs, biker.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of shit to warrant them.” He glared at me, and then jumped up into the ring with the remote in his hand. He hits play, then I watch as he cracks his neck. He curls his finger. “Come on then, baby. Let’s see whatcha got.”

  “—Frost!” Someone interrupted us from the doorway and walked in. “Needed in church.”

  “What? Like right now?” He straightened.

  “Yeah, brother.” His eyes landed on me. He had a long beard, dark brown hair and a large frame. Couldn’t see much on his features from here, though, but I could still see the colorful tattoos on his arms.

  I regarded Frost, just as he grinned. “Your ass just got saved. Until next time.”

  “Not likely,” I called out, just as he and the other biker strolled out of the room. “Jesus.” I jumped out of the ring and collected my stuff. After all that fighter foreplay, I definitely need a drink, which means I will definitely be taking Melissa up on that offer.

  “Ella!” Meadow called out, just as I was on my third glass. I didn’t want to make this drinking thing a habit. I’ve gone most of my life not drinking much, but I guessed considering I had applied for colleges, I may as well start getting into the spirit now. Providing, I actually get accepted, that is.

  “Yes?” I turned to face her, and I swear, every time I saw her my self-esteem dropped a couple notches.

  “You good at cooking?”

  I smiled and stood up from my chair, swooping my glass up too. “I’m excellent at it!”

  She leaded me into the kitchen where Melissa, Jada, and another girl were cooking over large pots. Meadow gestured toward two big plastic bowls that were sitting on the kitchen counter. “You can be on salad if that’s okay.”

  “Sure!” I noticed Melissa didn’t acknowledge me when I came in, and the other girl who was there went one notch above that, she glared at me with disdain. Anyone would think I had stolen her puppy.

  “Great!” Meadow clapped her hands, smiling in appreciation. “Oh! Sorry, Ella, this is Asha. She helps manage our club Red Moon in town.”

  I focused on the redhead Meadow had just introduced me to, the scowling goddess, and dipped my head in greeting. “Hi.”

  She plastered a very brief, and fake smile on
her face before going back to what she was doing. “Well, all right then.” I turned to my task at hand, making salads and started chopping up some iceberg lettuce, to hell with the lasers I can feel aimed at my back.

  “Don’t worry about Asha,” Jada whispered to me, bumping my hip with hers. “She’s just pissed that Frost has been eye-fucking you since you got here.” Great. So I guess in her eyes, I basically did steal her puppy. Girls are fickle creatures; I never seem to completely understand them. For instance, I could never understand the depth of their emotion to get so tied up and worked up over a male. Shit makes no sense to me. See no emotion, hear no emotion, feel no emotion. To me, it really was as simple as that. The human brain is just wired to complicate things.

  “I wouldn’t say he’s been eye-fucking me,” I whisper-yelled back to her, just as she scoots her butt onto the counter and crossed her legs.

  “Really?”

  “That could be how he looks at everyone,” I countered with a shrug.

  Her head tilts back and a loud laugh erupts out of her. “No, no, and no.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Asha, and then back to me, hiding a smirk behind her shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  Before I could ask her what she meant by “you’ll see,” she jumped off the counter and went back to what she was doing.

  Two hours later, we had cooked and prepped all the food that we needed for tonight. I was tossing my disposable gloves into the bin when Melissa brushed past me.