And she doesn’t owe me a goddamn thing.
Jackson Wolfe, however, needs to be at the receiving end of my fist sooner rather than later. When I saw him touching Britt Thursday night, I nearly jumped over the table and strangled him in a rear naked choke. The bastard is lucky Gabriel reminded me I would be disqualified if I made a scene. If he hadn’t, a hospital room was in Wolfe’s immediate future.
Fortunately, my memory is long, and waiting is something I can manage. I’ll be back in Atlanta and in the cage with Jack soon enough.
“Come, come!”
Gabriel claps his hands, waving the team in. The team consists of Gabriel, my cutman Pete Emery, that creepy little prick Max, and myself. I hate ritualistic bullshit team building crap, but I respect Gabriel, so I put my hand in the center of the huddle with everyone else and shout the proper cheer when prompted.
The door to our prep room opens, and a man in an AFL polo and a headset signals for us to follow.
Gabriel grins. “Let’s go!”
The man brings us to a halt at the doors to the event center, waiting for our cue. The beginning notes of Skillet’s “Monster” flood the arena and it’s time. AFL employees fling open the double doors, exposing thousands of fans screaming in the darkness, bright spotlights highlighting the octagon, and the undeniable thirst for blood hanging low in the rafters.
I start down the path, following a man who walks backwards with a massive camera aimed at me. The lyrics of the song convey what everyone who looks in my eyes knows to be true—I hide a monster, caged and locked up until the moment I step into the octagon, where the layers peel back and the monster is exposed.
Gabriel and Pete stop at the stairs leading into the cage. Journalists and who-the-fuck-knows who else form a tight, raucous ring around us. Gabriel grabs the back of my neck, pulling me close until our foreheads touch.
Gabriel’s dark gaze meets mine without fear or hesitation. It’s unnerving, and Gabriel notices the tension in my eyes.
“Stay focused, meu filho. You got this one, easy.” He removes his hand, smacking my shoulder.
Pete puts in my mouth guard after offering me water. “No problem, Killer. You’re gonna slay him.” He slathers Vaseline all over my face and brows and steps aside for the official.
I nod and turn to the AFL official. He pats me down, skimming his hands over my skin and doing all the required ringside checks—ears, hands, groin, feet—and has me open my mouth to check for my mouth guard. Satisfied, the ref does the same for my opponent, Darius “Demon” Fernandez. Like me, the guy is new, but this is his second fight.
The minute I’m in the cage, everything around me falls away—the crowd, the flashing lights, the cameras. Only I can’t shake the image of Britt, who I spotted in the front row when Max took his seat next to her.
I crack my neck and force my attention away from the girl with the miraculous ability to break through my impenetrable walls. Right now there’s can only be me and the unlucky bastard I’m about to destroy.
When the pre-fight bullshit is done, the announcer steps up to get this thing going.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the next fight on tonight’s card is an AFL middleweight regulation bout.” I zone out while he explains the rules, laser-focused on studying every move Fernandez makes. Jiu-jitsu is his specialty, but he’s nowhere near as good as me. Plus, his striking sucks.
“In the red corner, from Atlanta, Georgia, representing Souza MMA, weighing in at one hundred eighty-one pounds, Keller Killer Bishop!”
If the crowd responds, I don’t notice. The announcer turns to the opposite side of the octagon and I do something I never, ever fucking do during a fight. I glance outside the cage and lock eyes with Britt.
“In the blue corner, from Fort Worth, Texas, representing Youngblood MMA, weighing in at one hundred eighty-three pounds, Darius Demon Fernandez!”
The announcer’s voice fades from my existence as Britt and I remain locked together, blue and silver. The corner of her mouth turns up and she mouths “you got this…”
“Fighters to the center of the ring!”
That snaps me out of whatever the hell just happened.
The three of us come together in the center of the cage, two fighters and the ref. I pinpoint the exact second Fernandez makes eye contact with me. The cocky attitude, the arrogant spark in his eyes, vanishes like a puff of smoke.. He probably doesn’t recognize his own reactions. But I do.
He’s seen the monster, and he’s afraid.
The ref steps back and the bell rings. He should be afraid. It’s time to unleash the beast.
Britt
Keller. His name is Keller.
Hearing the announcer broadcast K’s real name reminds me of the paperwork I read yesterday. The legal paperwork required by the AFL for every fighter before they step into the ring.
Keller Bishop. It explains the Killer nickname, but not the odd, churning sensation in my gut when I hear it over the loudspeaker.. It doesn’t explain the strange sense of déjà vu I get when I run the name Keller over and over in my head. It’s the same creepy, “ice water in my veins” feeling I get when I look into his haunting silver eyes.
Max drops into the seat next to me. We’re in the front row at K’s corner, Gabriel and Pete about a yard away.
“You think he’ll do okay?”
I turn to gape at Max. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since K—no Keller, nearly took his head off at the training center the other day.
“I-I…” Max stares at me as I start to speak, his mouth twisted, his eyes sending out a silent challenge. One that says I’m either with Max or with Keller, depending on my answer.
Challenge accepted.
I straighten up in my seat and shoot him my own confident stare right back.
“I think he’ll demolish Fernandez in the first round,” I say with confidence.
The hurt in Max’s eyes is obvious, to the point I almost feel bad for taking Keller’s side. Then I remember—there are no sides. Max is the one pitting himself against the new fighter, with my friendship as the prize.
I turn back to the cage and feel the weight of Keller’s, heavy gaze on me. He gives Max a quick glance, his lip curling into an almost imperceptible sneer. Those quicksilver eyes return to mine, sparkling under the bright lights of the ring. A ripple of heat spreads from between my thighs, sending a shudder of pleasure through my body. Reflexively, I lick my bottom lip. Keller’s eyes widen and the fire inside me explodes into animal lust.
I’m practically panting, reeling from the ability of something as simple as a look from Keller turning me into a puddle of hormones.
The bell rings and my moment of dazed bliss ends.
Fernandez immediately tries to crowd close to Keller. He knows that Keller is a better striker and being a jiu-jitsu style fighter himself, Fernandez needs to prevent Keller from landing any kicks or hits, and get him on the ground as soon as possible.
Fernandez executes a swift jab to Keller’s chin. Keller does nothing to block the shot, the other man’s fist landing flush against Keller’s jaw. His head barely moves from the blow. I blink several times in shock. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone land a hit on Keller. The corner of Keller’s mouth pulls up in an almost imperceptible smirk.
He let Fernandez hit him on purpose!
Feeling brave, Fernandez leaps again, this time his fist swooshing past Keller’s face as Keller leans back just out of reach. Keller’s response is to grin, taunting Fernandez. The other man scowls, determined to land another blow, and starts aggressively pursuing Keller. Every step Fernandez takes forward is met by a step backwards by Keller. Over and over, they dance around the cage. Finally, a growling Fernandez runs out of patience and goes for it, leaping into Keller’s space, determined to grab his waist and bring him down.
Anticipating his move, Keller lands a quick jab to Fernandez’s face, shoves him back by the shoulders, and executes a perfect diagonal kick to the side of his head.
/> Fernandez crashes to the mat in a sweaty mound. Keller jumps on top of him, immediately maneuvering him into an arm bar, threatening to break his joint at the elbow if he doesn’t tap out. Fernandez makes a weak attempt to get out of the hold, but he’s still too dazed from the blow to his head to do anything effective.
The ref is about to call the fight when Fernandez taps his hand on Keller’s leg, which is wrapped tightly around his neck.
Keller lets go and gracefully leaps to his feet, leaving a gasping Fernandez on the ground. Gabriel and Pete cheer from the corner where Keller accepts a bottle of water.
The crowd in the arena is going crazy, cheering and shouting in disbelief. Twenty-four seconds. That’s how long it took for Keller to get his first AFL submission. Did he even break a sweat? I watch Keller drink, the long, sexy curve of his throat working to swallow the water. He hands the bottle back to Pete and his eyes search out the front row until he finds me. Chills rush over my skin and can’t hide the pleasure wracking my body from his pointed stare. His eyes say what he can’t—I want you, I did this for you, this isn’t over between us.
“Fuck, that was fast,” Max mumbles.
The officials enter the cage, pulling Keller away to announce his victory. The moment between us over, I turn to Max. The desire to rub Keller’s win in his face ricochets loudly in my head. With a sigh, I tamp it down, not wanting or needing any more animosity between the two men.
“Yeah, it was,” I agree, and stand up. “I’m going back to make sure everything is okay.”
“You’re not going to watch Jack fight?” Max looks both surprised and irritated at my decision.
I frown at Max. “I’m the therapist. I have to check on the fighters,” I snap. I’ll be back in time.” I walk off without further explanation.
So much for no animosity.
It takes forever to push through the throngs of spectators, employees, and reporters to get to the training room backstage. With all the jostling, the nearness of so many strangers, an uncomfortable tightness begins squeezing my lungs. With each accidental shove or bump, the feeling increases, sending my pulse skyrocketing. I clutch my chest, spots beginning to appear in my peripheral vision. No, no, no. I’ve been doing so good. I can’t have a panic attack on the floor of the Nevada Desert Arena. Trembling, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, blindly making my way to the hallway lined with training rooms.
After an eternity, I grab the knob with a sweaty hand and duck inside, slamming and locking the door, leaving the loud group of nosy journalists on the other side.
“You okay, Britt?” Gabriel is staring at me, concern marring his kind features.
Keller is sitting on the edge of the table, his hands out for Gabriel to unwrap. His dark head of hair lifts and shining gunmetal eyes lock onto mine. Keller’s mouth drops open for a brief moment before his expression changes from shock to rage.
“What happened?” Keller demands, jumping off the table to stalk over to me. Sharp eyes rove over my body, checking for injuries. “Are you hurt? Who did this to you?”
“W-what?” I’m still recovering from the adrenaline that flooded my bloodstream, so my mind is slow to respond. “I-I don’t…” I close my eyes and shake my head. “What did you ask?”
“Gabriel!” Keller’s loud voice startles me, sending my poor heart stumbling back into overdrive.
“Yes?” Gabriel is behind Keller’s shoulder.
“I need a moment alone with Britt.”
Gabriel’s brow furrows as he thinks over the request. His dark eyes find mine and somehow, I manage to nod that it’s okay.
“All right, Killer. Congratulations. I will go talk to those sharks.” He jabs a thumb at the door.
Numb, I allow Keller to maneuver me out of the way so Gabriel can exit the room. The door clicks softly behind him and Keller locks it before scooping me up in his arms to set me on the padded exam table. He nudges my knees apart until he’s standing between my legs.
“Britt, tell me what happened?” His tone is soft, calm, but I can tell he’s far from calm. Keller runs his hands over my skin, searching for injuries.
I squeeze my eyes shut, lowering my head. “Nothing. Just…”
“Hey. Look at me, baby.”
I swallow, forcing my eyes open. Keller is inches away, his bare chest nearly touching me. I drink in his skin, the dark ink slashing across taut, sweaty muscles. He brings his huge, taped hands to gently frame my face. “Tell me what happened so I can kill whoever made you feel like this.”
Those words, coming from someone as dangerous and as lethal as Keller, should frighten me. It’s a clear warning to run far away without looking back, because I have no doubt he would do exactly what he says. But to me? The words are a blanket of comfort, a warm fire to curl up in front of on a cold day. They’re the words I need to hear to feel safe, to silence the forgotten trauma that unnerves me each and every day. The time apart has only made me crave him more.
Without thinking, I lean into one of Keller’s hands. His thumb caresses my cheek, soothing, calming. My heart slows and I’m able to sort out my thoughts as the panic recedes.
“It’s just the crowd.. I get a little… freaked out sometimes.”
His eyes narrow as he thinks over this new information. “You get freaked out?”
I nod and lick my dry lips.
Shockingly, Keller chuckles, a sound I never thought to associate with him. “I don’t get it. You’re one of the bravest people I know and you’re afraid of a crowd?”
Shame rushes down my spine, releasing a flood of heat across my skin. “I’m not brave,” I whisper.
Keller lifts my chin and stares right into my eyes, our noses almost touching. “You are more than brave, Britt. You’re fearless. I’m in awe of you.”
The rough pad of his thumb leaves my cheek to brush over my lips. “I’m not.” My mouth scrapes against his thumb. The desire to pull it into my mouth and lave it with my tongue, to taste his salty sweat, is near overpowering.
Keller tilts my head back, our mouths a fraction of an inch apart. “You’re not afraid of me.”
I don’t hesitate to respond. “No. I’m not.”
“You should be.”
His mouth crashes down over mine, the kiss punishing yet somehow tender. My body melts and fire rips through me, sparking nerve endings that explode in a burst of white-hot desire. I grip his waist, pulling his hips flush against the edge of the table so I can wrap my legs around him. Keller groans into my mouth, his hands dropping to grab my backside so he can grind his hard length into the soft space between my thighs. He curses and reaches into his shorts, tossing his required cup to the floor.
“God, Britt. You make me so fucking crazy. You make me want things I haven’t thought of in years.” Keller lets go of my face to tug my shirt off. He bends me back, easing me down until I’m lying on the exam table, Keller still standing between my legs. “These need to go,” he snarls, yanking down my leggings and panties, leaving them around my ankles to bind them together.
I whimper as he draws a lone finger across my skin to the pulse point at my throat. He continues down, over my collarbone, between my breasts, stopping at my navel. My back arches into his touch, craving more, needing more.
“Harder,” I gasp. “Make me feel.”
“Shhhhh.” That wicked finger dips lower, tracing a path to my slick pussy. “You’ll get what I give you, baby. I know what you need.” Bending over, Keller bites one of my breasts through the thin lace of my bra. As the glorious pain shoots through my body, Keller thrusts several fingers inside my tight channel.
“Oh god!” My hips buck off the table and I scrabble for something to hold on to, my hands gripping his thick hair.
Keller withdraws his mouth and hand, stepping back.
“No!” The loss of his touch has me aching. Keller smiles, his eyes alight with desire.
“I would finger your pussy all day if I could.” Without a word, he grabs my hips a
nd flips me over, landing a stinging blow across my ass. His large hand presses down on my lower back. “If I move my hand will you stay still?”
Panting, I control the urge to squirm and beg. “Yes.”
His hand vanishes and I can hear him rummaging around the room. When he comes back, he’s in front of me. I’m draped over the exam table, my feet on the ground, tangled in my pants, my naked ass in the air, and my torso laid out over the table.
Keller takes my hands and begins winding a red hand wrap around my wrists, over and under, again and again until he’s satisfied. “There. Don’t move,” he growls.
I test the bindings as he circles the table and a sharp, blistering slap lands across my backside.
“I said, don’t move.” Keller leans over me, the silky softness of his shorts sliding against my upturned ass. His tongue finds my left ear, plunging in, sending shivers rippling down my spine.
If he says something, I can’t hear it on that side, nor do I care. Keller puts one hand on each of my shoulders and drags them down my back, his blunt nails gouging into my skin.
“Ahhhhhhh!” My neck arches back at the sting of the scrapes.
Smack! Another blow hits my ass, then another. Slaps rain down on me until my skin is on fire and my entire body is trembling for release, making me forget everything—the crowd, the anxiety, the past. Keller moans his approval, his voice husky. “God you’re so fucking hot, Britt. So responsive. You want to feel alive? What you don’t know is that you have it all wrong. You make me feel alive.”
Keller reaches down between my legs and pinches my clit, twisting it, and I fall apart. Wailing, I shatter into a spectacular climax. The blunt head of Keller’s cock presses at my entrance and without warning, he slams in deep. What was merely an orgasm has now become a transcendental experience. Fast and hard, he fucks me through my climax and I swiftly peak again.
When Keller grabs my shoulders, holding tight as he fucks me, I swear I nearly black out from the pleasure. My body is floating, soaring, living. From somewhere, I hear Keller shout out his own string of obscenities as he falls over the edge, but I’m still flying too high to take much notice.
Killer Page 11
