Strike: Dax

by Heather C. Leigh

  “Do we just—knock?”

  Tasha shrugs. She doesn’t know any more than I do. She just knows how to act the part. Bolder than I could ever be, her arm thrusts out past my shoulder to bang on the metal door, the loud clanging piercing the silence.

  “Bloody hell, Tash. What the—”

  My words die in my throat when I find myself face-to-chest with a wall of solid muscle. Tasha takes my elbow and pulls me back a step.

  “What do ya want?” The large man looks mean, terrifying actually, and a small, condescending smile lifts one corner of his mouth. Strangely, when I look at him, I’m reminded of Dax. Except this man’s brown eyes are cold and unwelcoming whereas Dax’s are slightly warmer and friendlier. The reality of where I am and what I’m doing takes hold, causing my stomach to cramp with anxiety.

  “I-I-”

  Tasha gracefully steps in front of me, slithering right up close to the huge man. I let her take over. My nerves are shot to shit. It’s quite clear—I’m not cut out for illegal activities.

  “We’re here to see Dax.” She says it so casually that even I believe she has every right to be here demanding to be let inside.

  An odd look passes over the man’s handsome face, then it lights up with some sort of understanding. He looks us up and down lustfully, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His scrutiny makes me feel as if I were naked and splayed out in front of him. I feel cheap and more than a little pissed off.

  “Of course you’re ‘ere fer Dax. ‘Nuff said, yeah?” He smiles, opening the door wider, letting us enter. “Two, eh? Dad’s gone all out tonight. Dax will be quite pleased, I’m sure. If he wins that is.” Big and Creepy lets out a deep chuckle, sending another round of goose bumps across my neck.

  Tasha plays the part perfectly, going along with whatever he says. “Yes, he will.”

  The man grins and I have to hold in a gasp. He really does look just like Dax. One of his brothers, maybe? I know Dax has several. I just don’t know their names, not that I’m about to introduce myself to Mr. Scary.

  He nods his chin toward another door at the end of a short hall. “Thanks,” Tasha tosses over her shoulder, walking confidently towards the door, swaying her hips as we pass.

  “It’s me pleasure, or should I say, Dax’s?” He gives us one more lecherous look and winks before returning his attention to the entrance.

  “Creepy, but hot,” Tasha whispers. I nod, still too frightened to speak. Behind the next door we can hear the dull roar of a large group of people. Tasha reaches out and grips the doorknob, pulling it open slowly.

  As we step through, the crowd howls with delight. It’s so loud I have the urge to cover my ears with my hands. The place is packed with people, every one of whom has their full attention on the elevated ring in the center of the room. The ring is brightly lit with spotlights, standing out in the sea of darkness surrounding it.

  My senses are so overwhelmed I’m not sure what to do first. Thank god for Tasha. She grips my arm and pushes me forward.

  “Right. C’mon, then. Let’s watch your man fight.”

  Her words break me out of my trance, as does the constant jostling of the other patrons as we make our way up front. “He’s not my man, Tash.” Not for lack of wishing.

  “Well, not yet anyway,” she says, smiling as we weave in and out of the lively crowd. “Maybe by the end of tonight.”

  Great. Now I feel all awkward and pressured to make an impression on Dax. It’s bad enough that not only did I sneak off to an illegal fight club, but I also let Tasha do me up like some tart in order to make Dax think I’m desirable. I run a nervous hand down the tight-fitting shirt and jeans she made me wear, hoping to hide my overwhelming anxiety. What if I vomit? God, that would be just like me, ruining everything with a bout of sick.

  “Look! Dax is fighting next. We almost missed it!”

  We’re finally close enough to see what’s going on in the ring—honestly, it’s more like a cage than a ring. Elevated a few meters off the cement floor is a boxing ring, but there’s some sort of tall, black chain link around the perimeter, extending up a good ways above us.

  “This is so awesome!” Tasha bounces up and down on her toes, clapping like a kid in a candy store.

  “Awesome?” I stare at her incredulously. “This is going to be barbaric!”

  “Pfft, lighten up Kate. It’s hot to watch two built guys fight.” She glares at me reproachfully. “It’s sport, no different than our footy matches.”

  Not wanting to argue the blatant differences between football and illegal fighting, I stand in place gaping, my eyes glued to the cage. Tasha has gone mental. There’s nothing hot about this. Scanning the area, my eyes find Dax, standing in one corner, rocking his head back and forth on his shoulders. He bounces around on his bare feet while punching the air in front of him. And he’s doing it shirtless.

  Watching his sinewy muscles stretch and flex with each movement does something to me. Fiery heat licks up my body, starting from the bottom of my feet and traveling all the way to the top of my head. Suddenly, it’s very, very warm in here.

  Tasha laughs. “See, admit it. It is hot. You’re blushing so hard right now!”

  “Shut it, Tash,” I grumble, attempting to look unaffected. Who am I kidding? Of course I’m affected. It’s Dax! A nearly naked Dax—every muscle of his perfect body on display for my viewing pleasure. I lick my lips at the thought of tasting that tan skin, from his ripped shoulders down to the glorious six-pack that tapers on his waist.

  “Ladiiieees and gentlemeeennn! Tonight is your lucky night. Right now, we have a great fight for you! Most of you know that tonight is our welterweight championship fiiiiight!”

  Everyone around us explodes with excitement, cheering and yelling and whistling in response.

  “In the blue corner, weighing in at one hundred ninety-nine pounds we have—” he pauses dramatically, “Noaaaaah Bakerrrrr!”

  Half of the large crowd boos and the other half cheers excitedly. We’re jostled about as the punters scramble to get a drink or put in their final wagers. We get more than our share of lewd stares from pervy blokes who are much too old to be looking. Even I have to admit, Tash and I stick out in this club like a nun in a brothel. Especially with our tight clothing and Tasha’s liberal use of makeup.

  “Now, in the red corner, weighing in at two hundred and one pounds—our own Dax Daaaaavies!”

  “Oh my god! It’s starting!” Tasha is so excited she’s practically pulling me to the ground.

  “Shhhhh, Tasha, I can’t hear.” I wave her off, annoyed at her for distracting me.

  “Kate, it’s loud as hell in here. Me talking isn’t going to change whether or not you can hear. You just don’t want me interrupting your ogling.”

  “Whatever,” I snap, knowing she’s exactly right.

  The referee finishes up describing the rules and sounds the bell, starting the fight.

  Dax and his opponent circle each other slowly. I can’t take my eyes off of Dax, his body arching and gliding like a lethal jungle cat. Even from several rows back, I can see the primal instincts glinting in his dark eyes as he watches his enemy. Without warning, Noah strikes out, two quick punches that Dax deflects easily.

  They continue this dance for a while, Noah advancing, Dax rebuffing. I’m beginning to wonder when the actual fighting will start when it happens. In the blink of an eye, Dax lets loose a series of jabs, knocking his opponent back.

  Once the man is pressed into the chain links of the cage, Dax pounces—striking Noah over and over with his fists, raining them down all over the man’s head and torso. Somehow, Noah regroups and is able to push Dax off right as the bell sounds.

  Oh. My. God.

  Now I see what Tasha meant about watching two men fight being a turn on. My skin is tingling with heated desire and a knot of pleasure begins swirling low in my body, begging to be let loose. A big blonde bloke that looks exactly like the one who let us in the front door wipes d
own Dax’s face and squirts some water in his mouth. Dax nods as the man speaks in his ear. Before I know it, the bell sounds again and the men are back on their feet.

  The crowd is clamoring for more, their shouts and whistles so loud I can’t hear anything else. But I’m so entranced by Dax’s smooth, sweaty skin, my eyes taking in every single bare inch, that I don’t notice the noise. I don’t notice anything, actually, until Dax’s opponent is on the floor and the announcer holds up Dax’s hand in victory.

  “Winner, by knockout, the new light heavyweight champion of the London Underground fighting circuit, Dax Daaaaavies!”

  Tasha grabs my arm. “Did you see that, Kate? That was incredible!”

  I blink rapidly, not understanding what just happened. “No. What?”

  Her eyebrows pinch together. “Dax just pummeled that guy to the mat. You didn’t see it? How could you not?”

  Certainly, I’m blushing again. Or I would be if my skin weren’t already flushed from staring at a half-naked Dax and his gorgeous muscles.

  “Oh, I see,” Tasha smirks. “Too busy getting an eyeful of Mr. Davies’ arse to watch the action.”

  I huff in protest. “No. I was watching the action. I just didn’t comprehend what was going on.”

  “Mmmmm-hmmm. Riiiight, Kate.”

  “Whatever, Tash. Don’t be cheeky.” I huff, feigning annoyance. She’s right… I was watching Dax. He was stunning up there, like a sculpture come to life. His body was fluid and graceful, even as he used it to execute an extreme level of controlled violence.

  “Oi! You aren’t supposed to be here!”

  Startled, Tasha and I whirl around to see Mr. Big and Creepy, the bloke from the front door, storming over to us with a daunting scowl on his face. The punters in the crowd dispersed immediately after the fight, either to collect their winnings or go home as losers, so our safety in numbers has been blown.

  “What do we do?” I whisper to Tasha.

  “Leave it to me.” Tasha grins at the angry man, projecting complete confidence. “Where do you want us?” She flutters her eyelashes ridiculously.

  Jeez, she really does want to walk on the wild side.

  “After the fight, you’re supposed to be in the back room with my brother.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a lone door on one side of the large open space.

  So he is Dax’s brother. That explains the matching glacial expressions.

  “Sorry, love. We were just chatting,” Tasha says with a flirty tone in her voice.

  The man’s frigid exterior melts a tiny fraction at Tasha’s playfulness. “Yeah, well, don’t lounge about. Get moving. You can’t keep a bloke waiting forever.”

  “Sure thing, gorgeous.” Tasha takes my hand, walking me towards the door. On our way past the large, menacing man, she drags a painted fingernail across his chest and purses her lips. “See you later.”

  He grunts, and I swear I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes, the man smiles. The big scary iceman has feelings, who knew?

  Once we’re out of earshot, I whisper to Tasha, “What in bloody hell are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers, panic in her voice. “I just played it by ear. It seemed safest to do what he said.” Tasha looks me in the eye as her hand rests on the doorknob.

  “We don’t know who or what is in there, Tash.” I’m shaking all over. The adrenaline rush from watching Dax fight is gone, leaving me to deal with its uncomfortable aftereffects.

  “It seems a better choice than dealing with that bloke. Although, he is rather sexy, don’t you think?”

  “No, Tasha. I don’t think that!” I hiss.

  I look over my shoulder and see Mr. Big and Creepy staring directly at us, waiting for us to open the door. He has a knowing expression in his dark eyes. Something about it is telling me to be worried what we’ll find on the other side.

  “Here goes nothing.” Tasha turns the knob and pushes the door open.

  We both freeze at the sight in front of us. This room is clearly some sort of locker room or changing room—how I manage to notice my surroundings I don’t know, but I do. The walls are covered with shelving stuffed with equipment. Gloves hang on various pegs and there’s a pile of towels in one corner. But it’s what is seated on the small wooden bench in the center of the room that catches our attention and crushes my heart.

  Or should I say who?

  Dax is sitting, completely naked, with his head thrown back and eyes closed. Droplets of water cling to his body and his hair is damp, indicating he just took a shower. His lips are parted in ecstasy, the angled planes of his jawline clearly visible. This is not the cold, hard façade I’m used to seeing.

  Soft grunts can be heard as they escape from his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. Dax’s large, bruised hands are buried in the blonde hair of the girl kneeling between his legs, controlling her movements as she loudly and enthusiastically sucks his cock.

  “Holy—” Tasha whispers, not meaning to speak but too shocked to keep quiet.

  Dax’s head snaps up, those deep chocolate eyes locking onto mine even as the girl’s head continues dipping up and down in front of him. As the tears begin to well up, the horrible scene in front of me goes fuzzy. Not enough that I don’t register the horror on Dax’s face before the tears are too thick to see. Unable to do anything else, I turn and run.

  I realize I’ve put Dax up on a pedestal all these years without ever really knowing a thing about him. Now that I’ve seen who he is—what he is—I’m done. I am getting the hell out of this sodding town, leaving Dax Davies and my shattered heart behind.

  CHAPTER 4

  Six months later

  Dax

  “Gorgeous, aren’t they?” I have my arms around two girls, one on each side. They want me so badly they’re practically humping my legs. Getting women in L.A. is easy. I don’t have to work for it at all. Hawke says it’s the British accent. I have to agree. It makes American women strip their clothes off faster than you can say ‘shag me’.

  “Lovely,” Adam growls, in a piss poor mood again.

  I stifle a growl. “Ladies, excuse me for a moment.” They giggle ridiculously as I grab my mate’s arm and shove him into a corner of the loud club.

  “Fuck off, Davies.” He drains the rest of his drink, slamming the glass down on a nearby table.

  “When are you going to start having fun? You going to spend the rest of your life moping around because Ellie broke up with you? It’s been two months, Reynolds. Haven’t any of those American pussies made you forget about her yet?” I lean into Adam’s space, practically snarling at him.

  “What do you care? Go fuck your tarts and leave me be.” Adam sounds angry and determined, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re the eyes of a broken man. I would know. I see the exact same thing in the mirror every day since I fucked up with Kate.

  It’s why I’m so cheesed off at his behavior. When I see him self-destruct, when I watch him try to fuck Ellie out of his head, I’m reminded of my own actions, my own hurt, my own screw-ups with Kate.

  I shrug off the memories. I don’t need her or any other girl. I’ve got a successful band, my father doesn’t have any say over my life anymore, and I have more women available than I ever could have imagined.

  So why do I still obsess over one woman in particular?

  “I care because you’re my best mate and you’re miserable! I care because the band needs you and you’re bloody rat-arsed all the fucking time! I care because you’re a mess and I’m tired of having to mind you all the damn time!”

  I don’t shout out that I need him to move on and stop reminding me of the girl I left back home. A girl who is now in the same city as me. Thinking about Kate makes me feel like the biggest fucking bastard in the world.

  Adam’s brows come together at my chastising. The dark look he gives me is shocking. Adam is always happy. It’s not always genuine, but he puts up a good front. Tonight
is the first time I’ve ever seen such a furious expression on his face.

  “You’re not my keeper, Davies! I’m not your bloody responsibility. If you don’t like what I’m doing, then don’t fucking watch!” He shoves past me, knocking me back with his shoulder as he heads for the bar.

  Stunned, I return to the two attractive girls I left on the edge of the dance floor, my mood now dark and dangerous. “Ladies, I’ll have to take a rain check. Sorry,” I growl.

  They pout, but I’m halfway to the exit so I don’t hear their protests. The familiar agitation roars through me, flooding my veins with rage. The same feeling I used to get back in Hackney when I had no choice but to follow my dad’s orders. If there’s one thing that can unsettle me and drive me over the edge, it’s not being in control of my own life.

  I don’t care about people. Ever.

  These fucking feelings of helplessness, of giving a shit that I let Kate down, of not being able to just let it go and be the cold prick I know I am—it has my skin crawling and my fists eager for a fight.

  Outside, I hail a cab and give the address of a run down gym near my flat. It’s for serious martial artists, boxers and the like, open until after midnight most nights. While the driver weaves in and out of heavy L.A. traffic, I think about that night in Hackney. The night that took everything I knew to be true about myself and turned it all into a lie.

  My cock was buried deep in the throat of the slag my dad hired for my reward when the locker room door opened. She was giving me one of the best blowjobs of my life, yet all I can remember from that night is the wounded, desolate look on Kate’s gorgeous face.

  Shit. Pining after a girl. Maybe I’m more like Adam than I thought. Only, instead of using a bottle to bury my pain, I use my fists.

  Kate