BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

Painkiller

  (First Hit #0.5)

  by

  Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Website | Facebook

  PAINKILLER featuring REBEL RAGE ~

  In the battle of wills between Johnny Cage, a wild, out of control rockstar, and Evie Pierce, a disciplined, determined female MMA fighter, who will get in the first hit? Or better yet…just who will be pinning who?

  A prequel novella to a new, super sexy and suspenseful duology that crosses over characters from the bestselling Lost in Oblivion rockstar series.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Readers,

  This is a first date... Sort of. It’s hard to define how one night changes everything and nothing at the same time. Both Evie Pierce and Johnny Cage are equally driven and lost.

  But what happens when you meet that one person who lights up everything inside you before you’re prepared for them? You fumble and you try to find your footing. You try to hold on, even while you’re telling yourself to let go.

  This is how their story begins.

  ONE

  I took the stairs at a dead run. Sevendust’s new album growled in my ears as I took them two at a time. Training was my every breath lately.

  The burn of the unforgiving incline seared muscles that had already been pummeled into submission at The Cage. Flying kicks at the bag for an hour would do that.

  Oh, and then an hour in the weight room didn’t help. But, as I said, it was my life. Would be my life for the foreseeable future. I wanted back in the octagon, even if I had to do it alone.

  I’d cocked up the last fight with Fancy Bitch and wanted at her again, but obviously, I still wasn’t ready. So, training.

  No matter what.

  I slapped the bar of the weighted steel door to the third level. The building was fucking swank and took a full three stops on the subway to get to. Fucking Brooklyn. I fought and trained there, but I sure didn’t want to spend my free time there. Who in the sweet loving hell would?

  Richie girl, Lindsey York, that was who. Barbie girl to boot.

  I shook my head. It was weird to have mates again. Weirder still that I was willing to hang with them when all I really wanted was to faceplant and tell the world to fuck off.

  At least until six am when I had to start all over again.

  The ornate iron door slid open and a dark waterfall of hair with blue flame tips swung free from a jarringly angular-faced chick. My favorite chick. “Whore, what took you so long?”

  I laughed. “Who are you callin’ whore, ya dodgy beast?”

  Jamie DuCaine stepped out and I came to a stop in the middle of the hall. “Oh, hell no.”

  She jogged to me. “Just wait.”

  “You said we were just hanging.” I looked at her ultra short skirt and red tank. “That’s not hanging clothes. That’s fuck-a-man clothes.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not intending to fuck anyone tonight, but if it happens.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Easy access isn’t a problem, now is it?”

  “As I said, whore. And that’s fine. You and Barbie should go out. It’s a Friday night.”

  Jamie grabbed my arm. “Exactly. It’s a Friday night and we’re young, man. Time to party.”

  “Training, remember? Or did you forget it’s my job?”

  “Look, don’t get all snooty Brit on me, woman. You’ve been training every day—even sportos take a night off.”

  “And I am. On your very comfy L-shaped couch with a Supernatural marathon like you promised. I fancy the short one, but wouldn’t mind having a go at the tall drink of shoulders either. That’s what I had in mind tonight. Not…” I wiggled my fingers at her. “Whatever that is. And I’m not dressed for that.”

  Jamie looked at my battered jeans with more holes in them than a screen door. I liked these jeans. It had taken five years to get them just right. But they were definitely not going out attire.

  She tilted her head. “The jeans work. Banging jeans actually. I have a pair just like them except I spilled bleach on the ass.” She folded her arms over her barely there boobs. “Now it looks more like a bull’s-eye for butt-fucking.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “No. You do not get me to laugh about this.” Though the idea of Jamie DuCaine allowing a guy to blow in her backdoor was fairly ridiculous. She’d probably snip off his dangly bits first.

  “C’mon. It’s just a club. We want to catch Johnny Cage’s solo set tonight.”

  Musical acts that didn’t include metal or the British underground rarely hit my radar. I liked their kind of stuff. Jamie and Lindsey were in Brooklyn Dawn—a NY-based rock band that edged toward Halestorm and Paramore’s sound.

  This Johnny Cage? Nada. Had no clue who he was.

  And Jamie’s musical taste was disturbingly eclectic, so I never knew where she was dragging me. In fact, I’d met her in a hole-in-the-wall club on the west side. We’d ended up back to back in the middle of a mosh pit.

  She’d saved my ass.

  I’d been fresh from physical therapy and had too much Vicodin in my bloodstream for the amount of vodka I’d thought was keen. I’d taken a swing at a guy three times my weight.

  A year ago, I could have taken him.

  That night? Not so much.

  But the two of us had taken him down with a fat lip for Jamie and a busted rib on my end. She’d been my best mate ever since.

  And she got me into trouble way too much.

  “What’s taking so long?” Lindsey asked.

  I peered around the lanky Jamie to find the lush Barbie decked out in rocker chic. Lindsey probably only had her by fifteen pounds but it was all in her boobs and ass. She was rocking a skintight pair of leathers and filmy white top that put her purple holstered girls on display.

  I looked down at my Breaking Benjamin shirt and B-cups with a sigh. I definitely wasn’t sporting tits like hers.

  “We need to take the bum out of the hot Brit babe hiding under this shirt.”

  I tipped back my head. “I just want to go home and sleep.” I figured I could probably sleep through the Winchester marathon they had in mind. I’d already binge-watched the show when I’d been in rehab after…

  Just after.

  No need to think about that white room and all those surgeries tonight.

  Not when it was obvious these two bitches had plans for me. And I had been living in a sweat-soaked gym for months now. The only place in NY or London that didn’t care if I had tits or a dick. People were there to train. And it wasn’t unheard of for a girl and a guy to spar in the ring.

  Even if I had to taunt someone into fighting me for practice. I was tired of getting the shit kicked out of me. Maybe a night out with them would give me the boost I needed to get back to work.

  I’d been living on sheer will and the blind faith that I could and would get back into shape, but a fair amount of that had to do with mental headspace. And when Jamie was involved I never knew if I was going to get arrested or drunk, but it was never boring.

  Boring was my stock and trade lately.

  Lindsey tapped her blinged-out gold boots. “You done whining, Pierce?”

  “Fuck off, Barbie.”

  She pointed into her loft. “Get in there. We’re going to turn you back into the girl I know you are.”

  I squinted at her. “I could take you down.”

  Lindsey put her hands on her hips. “Maybe me, but Jamie could at least pin you long enough for me to take that stupid braid out of your hair.”

  My eyebrow rose. “Unlikely.”

  Jamie pushed her forward. “Don’t piss me off, Evie. We’re going to make you have fun tonight whether you want to or not.”

  Because Jamie expected it, I turned around and snarled at her.

  “Cut the shit, Brit.”

  “Don’t call me Brit. It’s far too close to Britney for you Yanks. Don’t bleedin’ understand a good nickname.”

  Jamie howled out a laugh. “Yeah, no one would call you Britney. Not if they want
ed to keep their kneecaps.”

  “Damn right.” I swung my head to Lindsey. “And what’s wrong with my braid?”

  “Nothing when you’re in the gym. But here? We need to turn that ripped body into a bit of softer girl-like lines.”

  I tugged up my T-shirt. “These are very sexy.”

  “They are.” Lindsey’s perfectly arched brows shot up. “Is that a six pack?”

  “Yes.” Millions of sit-ups with a medicine ball coming at me like a damn football would do that.

  Lindsey tapped her pink-slicked lips. “I have just the thing.”

  “Barbie, your shirts are not going to fit me.”

  “Oh stop, cotton stretches.”

  I looked down at my boobs, then at her melons. “Stretching isn’t the issue.”

  “Let a girl work.” She crossed the room to a wardrobe big enough to repopulate Fifth Avenue. She swung open the door and took a belt off the door and a pink shirt out of an alarmingly small cubby.

  “I don’t do pink.”

  She looked at me. “No, I don’t suppose you do.” She stuffed the shirt back in and came out with a black headband. Because it sure as bloody hell wasn’t a shirt. “Off with the concert tee.”

  Modesty had been removed from my vocabulary long ago. Between weigh-ins and doctors, I’d been stripped of any issues there. I flipped it off and Lindsey’s huge blue eyes got wider.

  “Are you wearing a sports bra?”

  I looked down at the comfortable white bra I was wearing. “No, but then again, my girls don’t require fluffing.”

  “Obviously.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You really want to get into it with me?”

  Lindsey waved me off. “Your body rocks. You just need to show it off.” She threw the headband at me. “Lose the training bra and go with that.”

  “Bitch.” I tucked the end of the wanna-be shirt into my front pocket.

  “Bitch Barbie, thanks.”

  Jamie snorted from behind me. “She does this to me all the time too. I wouldn’t wear a bra unless she forced me into it.”

  I glanced over my shoulder as I flicked open the hooks to my bra. “That’s because you are little more than a pair of nipples, Stretch.”

  “I know. What’s the point, right?”

  “I will make you two into girls if it kills me.”

  I snapped Lindsey with my bra and pulled the bit of elastic fluff over my head. At least it was comfortable. Lindsey handed me the black belt with blinged-out buckle, and then she shot my bra into the wastebasket.

  “Hey!”

  “That’s where it belongs, Evie.”

  I tipped back my head. Well, there was twenty bucks down the drain.

  I didn’t have twenties growing out of my ass like Lindsey did. Between her billionaire daddy and trust fund, she wasn’t wanting for cash.

  I’d been pretty flush on the London fighting circuit until I’d gotten hurt. Between the doctors and the rehab, and the time out of the ring, I’d blazed through most of my savings.

  Convincing someone to train me again had taken the rest. I’d unloaded the rest of my finery on High Street and managed to get to New York. At least here I could start over.

  I wasn’t the broken Hummingbird like I was throughout Britain. I was just a fighter with a scar.

  And that was all right with me.

  I snapped my head back when Lindsey pulled my jeans low on my hips. “There.” She twisted me to the antique mirror propped in the corner. “See. Hot.”

  I brushed my hand over my bare midriff. The muscles I’d worked hard to get were still there, but the stretchy cotton hugged them and made them seem softer. My jeans were lower, showing off the hip lines that meant I was strong—but also made men long to touch.

  It had been a damn long time since I’d been touched for anything other than a judo flip or punch.

  Lindsey came up behind me. We were even in the mirror thanks to her five inch heels. She held a necklace next to my cheek. “A little bling.”

  I hooked it around my neck. It hugged my neck and dangled just below my collarbone. She quickly unwound my fishtail braid and fluffed out my wild mane of curls.

  It so didn’t help me in the ring, but when it was plaited down, there was really nothing to pull. That’s why I left it long.

  She flicked it down my shoulders and sprayed some coconut-scented crap in there. The curls activated and took on a definition I only saw fresh out of the shower.

  “Look at that, you’re turning into a girl right before my very eyes.”

  “Watch it, Barbie.”

  “Now makeup.”

  I glared at her in the mirror. “Jame? Help a girl out,” I called.

  “I have to wear mascara, you have to wear mascara,” she answered.

  “Kill me.”

  TWO

  My metro card was getting a workout tonight, that was for sure. We ended up at a funky club in the city named Purgatory. It seemed just as limbo-esque as the name suggested.

  Outside, an impressive scatter of tables and seats that meandered around to a back patio. Waitstaff weaved in and out of the circular pattern in a weird sort of ballet. The exterior was all black and Day-Glo colors with café style seating and girly chitchat sessions galore.

  I was a second away from bolting. I could run in heels. I was raised in Cambridge where heels and pearls were expected before the magical teen years began. And these heels were a borrow from Jamie, so they were actually boots with a good, solid weight to them. I could go a good two miles before I’d have to stop.

  “Quit looking for an escape route.”

  My eyebrows snapped down. “I wasn’t.”

  Jamie elbowed me. “Please. You were sizing up all exits and streets.”

  “That’s what a fighter does.”

  Jamie’s eyebrow went up. “Yeah, if you’re moonlighting as a cop, maybe. You’re not fooling me. The inside is less…” She waved her long, elegant fingers. “Girly.”

  “It better be,” I muttered.

  Lindsey came back to us. “They’re opening the doors in five, but I got on the VIP list thanks to a call. C’mon.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “Evie,” Jamie said in a warning tone.

  I sighed. Once upon a time I just had to walk up to a door and bouncers recognized me. Now, I was less than a memory. Even on the underground MMA circuit in the city, I wasn’t close to a contender. The men lived and breathed fame. Only women like Mia Anderson and the twat, Vanity, had any pull on the women’s side.

  Vanity had taken me down in twenty-eight seconds. Fucking unacceptable. I had to be ready for our next bout. There was no way that bitch was going to beat me again.

  “C’mon, Whore.”

  Two girls next to me went wide-eyed. I just grinned and slid my arm around Jamie’s waist. “You’re such a cunt.”

  “God, I love you,” Jamie said and hooked her arm around my neck. Tall bitch didn’t have any trouble wearing four inch heels to beef up her already five-feet-ten frame.

  “Did you see their faces?”

  Jamie snorted and glanced over her shoulder. “They think we’re trashy dykes now.”

  “Strictly dickly,” we said together.

  Lindsey turned around and stomped her way up the walk backward. “Tell me it’s not going to be that kind of night?”

  “We haven’t even gotten to the tequila or Jack yet, love.”

  Lindsey groaned. “Yeah, it’s going to be one of those nights.”

  I laughed. It was nice to have a friend who let me cut loose like Jamie did. I didn’t have to worry about being proper, or uncomfortable in the crowd. She let me be just who I was. A little wild, and a lot loud and dysfunctional. Probably because Jamie was pretty much my soul sister in that regard. We’d been tearing up the town between her touring schedules.

  Neither one of us was real good at behaving.

  We followed Lindsey into the club, sailing past the suited dudes at the door. Wannabe
-mob types with black ties on black shirts and jet black suits. They reminded me eerily of the guys who surrounded my brother. Not the mobster look, Sutton was too fucking proper for that bullshit. No, the similarity involved the blank stare devoid of emotion.

  Too serious.

  Too boring.

  Everything I’d run away from the moment I hit university age. I was so tired of being locked in the Cambridge box that I’d run to London with only a weekender jammed full of clothes. Going to an all-girl boarding school had been a surprisingly keen way to learn how to defend myself. That and my uncontrollable mouth. I’d taken my knowledge of kickboxing and self-defense and carved out a life.

  Now I had to start over again.

  But tonight I was just a girl looking for a good time.

  The inside of Purgatory was a helluva lot sweeter. It had the New York City vibe that reminded me of a glammed-up London. Slick purple lights and leather U-shaped booths filled the room. LED chandeliers gave it an air of modern sophistication with a coat of rock ‘n roll. Spinning lamps threw red and purple light against the metal walls and oddly carved arches. Probably something to do with the acoustics.

  There were two bars on either end of the room, each with a large screen. One projected fluttering angel wings, and on the other, flames surrounded a pair of eerie eyes that blinked out of the heart of the fire.

  Nice touch.

  Lindsey led us to a booth kitty-corner to the stage. The center booth was marked reserved.

  The stage was tall and bordered with slim speakers.

  I’d more than certainly be deaf by morning.

  Lindz slid into the booth and situated herself front and center. She was checking out every angle of the club. She and Jamie were babbling about the equipment being set up. They seemed more than excited about it, whatever it was.

  I just knew I liked music. I didn’t really give a shit about how it happened, just that it came out of the speaker. I either liked it, tolerated it, or hated it. I wasn’t hard to please. Give me a good driving beat and I was pretty much happy.

  I sat on the far end of the booth for easy access to the bar if I had to get up and get my own drinks when the night got crazy. That or a quick escape if necessary.