by Nora Flite
Nehro chuckled, the knuckles in his hand going white. He was squeezing Huck roughly, eyeing me in distaste. “Employee? That's one way to look at it. Do you know why you're even here?”
Pulling his arm back, Huck was unfazed. He didn't act like Nehro's handshake had hurt at all. “Sure do,” he grunted.
No, he didn't. I was grateful he was lying for me. Having Nehro learn that Huxton had been my get-out-of-jail-free card was demoralizing. I wanted to get him alone so I could spill the details out of earshot.
Crinkling my nose, I put a hand on Huck's shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs. “Alright, enough chit-chat. There's a schedule to keep.” Leaning up, I hissed into his ear quietly. “I promise I'll tell you what's going on, just... away from him.”
Nehro followed us down into the basement. The crowd was buzzing, impatient for the next fight—my fight—to begin. Under my palm, Huck's back was flexing through his jacket. I knew how good his skin felt, I'd experienced it. I prayed his ripped body wasn't just for show.
At the bottom step, I led Huxton towards a far wall. There wasn't much down here besides the ring. Nehro had a tiny office across the way, there were some benches in spots but everyone tended to stand around the circle in the cement instead.
I'd never seen another underground fighting pit. I bet they all looked just as grimy. “Okay,” I said, pushing Huck into the corner. “We have maybe three minutes.”
Facing me, he tucked his thumbs into his pockets with a confident smile. “That's very specific.”
Jerking my head towards the round clock on the wall, I spoke faster. “You should have been in the ring five minutes ago. Nehro is smoothing it over.” I could hear the change in the air, angry murmurs becoming agitated, but subdued. “What do you have on under your jacket?”
“I thought you called me to be your muscle, not to get me naked again.”
Heat swam up my neck. “This is serious.”
Pursing his lips, Huck slowly zipped the front down. “Stripping for you certainly was serious.” It took a great effort not to let my mouth fall open. He saw into my head, or the guy was just good at body language, because why else was he smirking so wickedly?
The shirt he had on was basic grey, long sleeved for the season. Too easy to grab, plus it'd slow him down. “That's going to suck to fight in,” I muttered. “The jeans might be alright, but...”
“Back up. Tell me who the hell I'm even fighting.” Scanning the mass of people, he looked less surprised than I thought he should.
There was a giant erase-board nailed to the opposite wall, close to Nehro's office. Pointing, I reached out to take his jacket. “His name is Shrapnel. Here, let me hold that for you.”
Huck offered me the garment, eyes slitting together. “Shrapnel? Sounds dangerous.”
Clutching the leather, feeling Huxton's warmth on it, I nodded. “He's not exactly going to hug you.” His smile melted, and with it went whatever fraction of false courage I had left. The shame was bigger, weighing me down. “Look... maybe this was stupid of me. Asking you to go in there and take on a guy you don't even know, it's kind of insane.”
Fuck. I was talking my only savior right out the god damn door. Huxton fighting was the only method left to avoid paying Nehro off in whatever perverse fashion he could come up with. If he just fought for me, just tonight... I could find someone else for next time.
Maybe.
...Doubtfully.
But I'd have the time to try.
“Calling me wasn't stupid.”
Stunned, I struggled to find my tongue and make words. “What?” Through the air, a bell chimed. The last warning, the fight was going to start now—or not at all.
Huck turned away from me, strolling toward the ring as he talked. “Muscle for hire, that's my job. Besides...” Tossing me one last smile, he peeled his shirt over his head and exposed his marble-carved body to the room. “You're acting like this is going to be my first fight.”
My heart swayed. Could he get away with being so cocky? “Do whatever you have to in there,” I blurted. “Shrapnel... he won't hold back. This isn't normal fighting. This is illegal, violent stuff. You could get really hurt in there.” You could die. I didn't say that last part.
Would you believe that his amusement never faltered? “Again. Not my first fight, doll.”
I caught his shirt when he threw it. Eyes had turned our way, Huxton weaving through the crowd with me chasing his heels. The ring was just a thick chalk outline, wide as a backyard swimming pool. On one end waited Shrapnel, a man with just as much mass as Huck—and no where near the same stock-pile of smiles.
Nehro hovered by that side of the ring, his arms linked behind his back. Those piercing eyes found me among the shouting bodies. I didn't appreciate the anger in his frown. He'd wanted me to fail. The bastard had thought he'd had me tonight.
Well, too bad for him. Even if Huck lost, I was safe. I'd fulfilled the shitty, iron-clad bargain. One fighter per event, that was my part of the deal. Screw Reese... I'd come out on top.
You're just going to owe someone else, now.
My reality was cold and hollow. I buried it under my rush of excitement. The tension in the air had hit a peak now that the fighters were both facing off.
Shrapnel had wrapped his hands, the red tape foreboding. Many men had soaked his knuckles with blood. The guy was a brute, no mouth guard and missing teeth. Scars dappled his skin where tattoos didn't, and he'd shaved his head so that no one could grab his hair.
He didn't play around.
Huck is about to get destroyed. Knotting my hands in my dress, I migrated around the ring—shoving the screaming attendees aside—until I was able to get a better look at the green-eyed man. He was standing comfortably on the balls of his feet, fists low at his hips. I looked and felt more nervous than he did.
Again, I found myself appreciating his appearance. I wouldn't ever call myself shallow, but I had a type and as much as I loathed that—Huck fit the bill. His strong jaw had a slight indent, his cheekbones solid, ready to cut glass. Thick, blue-black hair, a dapple of stubble that gave him a relaxed appearance. Huck wasn't the kind of guy who worried if he was shaved clean.
How would that roughness feel on my skin?
He'd whispered in my ear before, touched me, rubbed close... but not once had I felt the scrape of his five o'clock shadow.
A bruise-colored heart pulsed on his jugular, dangling knuckles stamped in diamonds. It was funny. He'd been all over me earlier, but I'd been entirely too wrapped up in my battling emotions to catalog him so well.
I'm doing it now because—why? Eyeing the way his belt clung to his hips, I shivered. Because I know when he loses, he's going to look nothing like this ever again.
Shrapnel would pummel Huck into puree.
Nehro shouted, voice booming over the roar. “Shrapnel versus Huxton! Betting is closed, folks. Standard rules, no weapons...” He looked right at me. “And no mercy.”
There was a second where time stood still. I felt it, debated the things I could or could not do. Leaping into the ring would have been heroic. Foolish. It would seal my future.
It could save his.
Maybe, after I died and met my maker, they would consider that I'd at least thought about stopping this massacre. I didn't deserve that kind of consideration, though. There was no salvation for fuck-ups like me; in this world, or the next.
A bell rang, stopping my white knight dreams in their tracks. Shrapnel spit on the ground, fists held high by his square jaw. He'd never met Huck, but it was obvious to everyone that this new fighter in our ring hadn't come prepared. Who fought in jeans and boots, who didn't at least wrap their hands or put on gloves?
I'd have given him some, if I'd had any. I owned no gear that would fit him. I owned... nothing. Increasingly nothing, not even my own life.
Nehro held that in his spidery fingers.
The men studied each other as they circled. Huck's steps were fluid, slow, and never moving cl
oser. He kept a constant gap between them.
Shrapnel was eager to get in that space.
Everyone screamed—delight for most, panic for me—when Shrapnel leapt forward. He propelled himself, a living projectile. A ham-sized fist sought out Huck's beautiful, unfairly handsome face.
I'd known this would go bad. I hadn't expected this bad, or so fast, but—fuck. I was a worse monster than Nehro. I'd put Huck in front of a god damn train, waved my hand and said Good luck!
I deserved what was going to happen to me.
Every molecule in the air vibrated expectantly. Huck's face, against all odds, didn't explode into fragmented red. Faster than seemed possible, he ducked low and rolled away. That alone had my mouth falling open. But he wasn't done.
Spinning on his knees, Huck threw his arms out and tackled Shrapnel around his thighs. The thick man toppled over, grunting in disbelief. With the upper hand, Huck wrenched a shoulder back and crushed his knuckles straight into his opponent's temple.
A hush lulled the crowd. It hung a mere second, then resurfaced as a tornado of cheers and fucking barking. They weren't human, they were animals.
Liquid pride flooded me. Holy shit! Cupping my palms around my mouth, I joined in the noise. Huck's jacket and shirt came along for the ride, his essence sinking through my nose and into my brain. My lungs thrummed with pure excitement. It wasn't possible. This wasn't possible.
But it was happening.
He was winning...
I was winning.
Not wanting to look away from the fight, Nehro still caught my eye on the opposite end of the pit. There was no disguising the horrific tilt to his tight lips. His entire aura smoldered, a nuclear flare that begged to leave me in ruin.
That man, he hated what was happening—hated that I was slipping away.
I lifted my head and gave him the biggest smile I could.
Shrapnel growled, shoulders rippling. More bear than human, he tore at Huck and threw him to the side. Wincing, Huck skidded to a halt on his knees. Those green eyes flashed, looking past Shrapnel—right at me.
My heart burrowed down into my stomach.
I wanted to scream, “Don't watch me, watch him!” I'd lost my voice, hands making a megaphone that I never used. What was Huck doing? He had to get up, Shrapnel was going to cave his brains in!
The giant man's skull gleamed in the overhead lights. He grinned, teeth crimson from his own blood. For the second time, he spat on the gritty floor.
Unlike Huck, Shrapnel never took his eyes off his target. He'd been meant to fight my ex. If that had happened, he would have lost. Reese, for all his flaws, was an expert fighter.
Now, facing down someone like Huck, Shrapnel was cocky. He was going to win, that realization gleamed in his dish-water eyes.
In a rush, air returned to my lungs. I pushed it out and up, begged my tongue to do something useful. “Huck!” I screamed, tearing at my vocal cords. I needed to be heard over the blood thirsty shouts. “Look out! Move!”
That stupid fucking grin of his. He'd die with it so firmly on his face.
Shrapnel rammed forward, reaching for Huxton. Slippery lightening, Huck darted aside at the last second. The momentum sent the other man flying, falling into the cement. A rabid animal, yet somehow entirely in control, my fighter—my fighter—jumped onto the broad back of his enemy.
Tattooed arms wound tight, sinking into Shrapnel's trunk-like throat from behind. The raspy gag as the man choked for air ricocheted around the ring. People pumped their fists, no longer obvious in who they cheered for.
I realized I was digging my nails into my palms. Shaking, I forced my fingers to unclench. I couldn't make my stomach do the same.
Sweat glistened along Huxton's spine. Every fiber flexed, I could count each of them. I did it, just to keep myself focused. They popped along his shoulders and forearms. Under him, Shrapnel strained... and in a great wave, went entirely limp.
It was happening for real. Huck had done it.
We'd really won.
My ears rang with the new roars of adrenaline. Howling, they became wolves under a full moon. Everyone was jumping, shoving, clapping or scowling. Money did funny things to people. So did violence.
Pushing through the mess, I darted over the chalk outline just as Huck let Shrapnel go. The big man was still, mouth open and drooling blood. He'd be fine. This was probably one of the least messy fights Shrapnel had come out of.
“Huck,” I gasped, reaching out for him instinctively. I needed to know he was really okay, and that... that he didn't hate me for getting him into this.
Turning, he looked down and met my eyes. There was nothing even close to hate there. Not anger, not disgust. Emeralds watched me, glowing like Huck had eaten the sun and replaced his blood with it.
Dammit. The bastard had my heart pumping again.
Grinning crookedly, he said, “Are there more of them?”
I blinked. “More what?”
“Men I need to tear down for you.” His eyebrows drifted low, shining with the dampness of his sweat. I forgot how words even worked.
Footsteps came to us, men bending down to drag Shrapnel away. They'd patch him up, make sure he was fine. It was doubtful he'd go to a hospital. Nehro had people he could pay that were almost as good as real doctors. Involving actual hospitals put the ring at risk.
Nehro liked to gamble... but he was too smart for risks.
Thinking about the long-limbed man, I glanced around. Nehro was gone, no where to be seen. That was more than fucking fine. My match was done, I wanted to get out of here. I avoided Nehro like the plague when I could.
“Well?” Huck asked, rolling his neck, testing the muscles. “The fights. Are they over?”
Shaking myself, I stared back up at him. Oh. Right. That whole thing.
Clearing my throat, I motioned for the stairwell. “They aren't done, but for you they are.” Handing him his jacket and shirt, I regretfully watched him hide himself under the clothing. “Let's go, you could use some air.”
And so could I.
- Chapter Three -
Huxton
What the hell was wrong with me.
My fingers—the fingers that had curled their way so happily around my phone when her fucking call came—were aching. I'd hit Shrapnel so hard, I wondered if my whole hand would be swollen tomorrow.
It wasn't the pain that bothered me.
It was my reason for allowing it to happen.
Zoe had asked for my help. I mean, god, when I'd heard her breathless voice my insides had flipped around. When she hadn't returned for her party, Eliza had drank with me then sent me on my way, ranting about her roommate and her weird actions.
Sure, I'd been disappointed. Zoe had gotten me so hard my cock could have snapped in two. I'd almost asked Eliza for her number, but I'd held off. I hated looking desperate.
So... when that red-head with her fluttering lashes and little lies had reached out to me...
I'd lost it.
Really, I should have told her I wasn't driving anywhere without more details. She'd given me enough that logically, I should have hung up. Should have rolled over in my bed and gone back to jerking off and waiting for one of my clients to call me. I'd needed to fuck, not to drive out into an unknown alley for an impromptu fight.
None of it made sense. But I'd done it.
And now that I was standing there, next to this intriguing woman in the cold air of a Hollywood December night...
I regretted none of it.
Zoe hugged herself, jacket pulled to her chin. The dress she wore wasn't keeping her legs warm, apples blooming on her pale cheeks. There were no stars to be seen, the light pollution of the city hid them away. But when this girl looked up at me, teeth chattering, I saw bursts of color in her crystal-blue eyes.
She nodded her chin. “Nice bike, by the way. How fast does it go?”
Glancing at my Harley, I pushed my tongue against my teeth. “Pretty fast. Fast enough to get me her
e in the nick of time, it sounds like.”
Darting her eyes to the ground, then to the side, she spoke under her breath. “Sorry, I should be thanking you.”
A strand of her copper hair flew loose. I craved to tuck it behind her ear. “Then why aren't you?”
Her eyes widened, strangely accusing. “Asking you to come here was selfish of me. I'm not stupid, though. Thanking you isn't good enough. You could have gotten really hurt in there.”
“But I didn't.” Cocking my head, I shrugged with a smile. “You called me, I showed up. I tend to do that when I hear a pretty voice begging so nicely.”
Fuck, I craved the blush that danced over her cheeks. I wanted to turn every bit of her hot and red. She asked, “How much?”
“How much for what?”
Digging into her purse, Zoe slid out a crumpled piece of paper. I didn't recognize it as my card until she smoothed it. “Muscle for hire. How much do I owe you?”
A thanks isn't enough. Now I understood. She wanted to pay me. It was weird, but I hadn't even thought about money. This was so unlike any job I'd taken before. It wasn't a house-call, it wasn't sex or strutting. It was sort of like the times I went with a girl when she was fucking a John and needed to make sure he didn't hurt or rob her.
Still... even that wasn't the same.
Rubbing my cheek, I watched Zoe's plump pink mouth tug down at the edges. She didn't like my silence. I wanted to see into her skull, gather up her private thoughts and worries. Instead, I moved closer to her. Those blue eyes twitched a hair wider. “How much do you think I should charge?”
“More than I have on hand.” Sighing, she handed my card to me. I didn't take it. “Just tell me a number. I'll do my best to pay it off.”
Purposefully, I slid my hands into my pockets. “Keep the card, you'll need it to call me again.”
“I'm not going to call you again.”
Arching an eyebrow, I stared at the rusty door of the building. Below our feet, according to Zoe, men were still fighting. “How can you know for sure?”
