Savage: A Bad Boy Fighter Romance

by Isabella Starling

  “So sorry, Memphis,” she mumbles, setting it down as Sage locks the door again.

  “You really did a number on Jorge. It took a bit longer with him,” she explains.

  She keeps her voice low, knowing how well sound travels in the cells. I can’t help but give her a smile. She’s been with Wilson for longer than I have, and she’s the one consistent feminine presence in my life so far that I haven’t had to hurt or violate in some way or another.

  In her own mousy way, I know she’s tried her best to make sure that all the fighters are as well-off as they can be, sometimes sneaking them painkillers and medications when Wilson won’t allow anything. Though there’s a very strict ‘losers get to die’ rule around here, then we still have practice matches that don’t count towards our total and those can mess a guy up just as bad.

  Wilson has this real tough love approach to his fighters. You get hurt? You get over it, stop being a pussy. Apparently in his mind, raging infections and possible sepsis are something that can be dealt with using a bit of good old fashion conviction and manning up. Of course, it’s not like I don’t know that the man is insane. At a certain level of sadistic tendencies and immense income, I guess that can happen to anyone.

  And hell, aren’t I the one who enjoys beating other people into bloody piles of flesh and bone? Not like I can judge. Not too much, anyway.

  “He’ll be fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders as I undo my knuckles again. “Everything okay with you? Haven’t been seeing you down here lately.”

  “Oh, no, I’m okay,” she says with a light smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

  I narrow my blues slightly, looking at her. She doesn’t look fine. But you’re not supposed to pry too much around here, lest you learn something you shouldn’t have. It’s hard enough living in constant darkness without shouldering the burdens of others as well. And lord knows I have enough bullshit of my own to deal with.

  “What is it?” I ask, taking a step towards her. “Has someone been trying to touch you again?”

  There used to be a guy, Slammer, who kept thinking that he was entitled to any piece of ass that walked by him. That meant that he made a few passes at Hannah when she came to bring us supplies. After she confessed it to me at one point, I took great joy in making sure that Slammer wasn’t going to be grabbing for anyone for the rest of his life.

  Hard to take advantage of a woman with all his fingers broken and his balls shoved back into his stomach cavity.

  “No, nothing like that,” she says quickly, looking horrified at the thought.

  I relax a little, nodding as I dunk my hands into the water again and then proceed to rub myself down. I catch her watching me do it, her eyes tracing the path of my hands shyly. I don’t call her out for it.

  “What then?” I pry on, somewhat curious at the fact that Sage is leaving her in for so long.

  Maybe he thinks I need to handle some orders for pain killers after all those fights in the last couple of days. I guess he’s not that bad of a guy, all things considered.

  I won’t lie, I am feeling slightly more worn down at this point than I probably should, but nothing I can’t handle. I don’t need Hannah’s pill stash quite yet.

  “It’s… It’s Adrienne,” she confesses, and I immediately stand up straighter, my expression getting hard as I look at her.

  “Tell me everything,” I say sternly, surprising her and even myself with how demanding my tone is.

  Shit, that girl is really getting to you.

  I shake the thought away, giving Hannah a look that allows for no disagreements.

  “Well, I just can’t help feeling horrible for her,” Hannah says after a small pause, used to gather herself. “She’s been through so much, the poor thing, and now this? Being offered up as a prize in a tournament… It’s so unfair to her.”

  Hannah gnaws on her lower lip, a nervous twitch I’ve seen on her before. I cross the distance between us and pull her against my chest without comment, wrapping my arms around her small frame. She hiccups with tears that seem to well in her eyes immediately, her hands going around my waist.

  I’m sweaty and disgusting and probably still bloody in places from the last guy I beat, but she doesn’t seem to mind and I won’t say anything about it if she won’t.

  “Come on, it’s okay,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “Really?” Hannah asks, looking up at me with those big eyes with her, glimmering with tears.

  “Really,” I tell her, feeling the conviction rise in me to a fever point.

  I brush a lock of brown hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. She closes her eyes when I do it, a couple of tears streaming down her cheeks in the process. I wipe those away too as I gently guide her to sit on my bed, taking a seat next to her.

  “Come on now, honey, tell me all you know,” I urge her.

  “Well… she’s… Her father died. Wilson had him killed,” she starts, and already I feel the cold dread of memories long repressed welling up in me. “And then Wilson brought both her and her mother here, basically holding them captive.”

  “So not only has she lost her dad now but she’s being used as a toy to make men fight and kill one another, while all she wants to do is mourn her father and live her life. I feel so bad for her, I just can’t… She cries all the time and I feel so useless,” she sobs, each word filling me with dread.

  It all sounds too fucking familiar.

  I remain quiet, the memories flooding my mind’s eye. I can see the night as clear as it had happened only yesterday. Walking home from the movies with my parents, laughing and chatting, how much they loved one another clear for anyone to see. They were holding each other’s hands when we walked down the dark street connecting the main road with our cul-de-sac.

  The guy who came out of the shadows didn’t even ask for our stuff before opening fire. The metal glint of the gun being hit by the light of the streetlamp a split second before the first shot went off is so clear in my mind that I inhale sharply.

  The next thing I saw was my father jumping in front of my mother, and then both of them going down. I don’t remember thinking a single thought, just going for the guy with the gun. I had been a fighter all my life, having taken classes and competed when I was a kid, and then starting the path of going pro when I was old enough. All of those aspirations died in a pool of blood that night, right along with my parents and the fucker who shot them.

  I didn’t stop hitting him until I could feel pavement under my fists instead of skin, blood and bone. I didn’t even feel it when he managed to pull a knife after I knocked the gun out of his hand. The long scar on my hand is the most prominent physical mark I have of that night.

  He was practically a body without a head by the time I stood up, staring at him in shock. My parents never had a chance, clean headshots having killed them in an instant.

  After that, I ran. There wasn’t going to be any justice for a guy who fought for a living. One look at the headless corpse was enough to tell anyone that I had gone far and beyond simple self-defense. The best case scenario for me would have been to end up in jail for manslaughter for a few years.

  It feels like a block of ice has wedged in the bottom of my stomach as I feel Hannah stirring next to me. Our eyes meet and she gasps, raising her hand to wipe away a lone tear that is rolling down my cheek.

  I recoil from the touch, jumping up and wiping at my face.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, her voice shaking.

  “No,” I say sharply.

  Hannah pulls back a little and I feel like a fucking jerk.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s nothing,” I add, warding off any questions she might have.

  “Okay,” she practically whispers, standing up. “I think I should be going now. Thank you for listening, Memphis. Tell me if I can help you with anything, okay?”

  A thought hits me when she’s at the door, rai
sing her hand to knock.

  “Hey, wait,” I say, stopping her. “I think there is something. Let me just find a piece of paper. I need you to take a note to Adrienne.”

  I’m not the kind of guy to write letters, but something’s telling me that I can help Adrienne, even if it is just a little.

  And hell, maybe I can help myself too, in the process.

  Five

  Adrienne

  The rest of the day is a blur. I try not to think about what I just found out in the dungeons, but the fact that I am now a prize for a fighting tournament keeps coming back to haunt me. But that’s not the only thing I can’t stop thinking about.

  Those eyes.

  The ones that belong to Angel, the man who carried me to my bedroom. I don’t understand the pull I have towards him, but there is no denying it. It’s almost magnetic, the way my body responds to his. I think Cobb noticed it down there as well, and he’s going to use it against me.

  The first week in Cobb’s mansion passes uneventfully, mainly because I’m confined to my room most of the time. The house and the ground it sits on are so enormous I don’t even catch a glimpse of my mother that entire week. The only human contact I have is with Cobb, a few of the guards, and Hannah, my personal maid.

  In those first few days, I quickly realize Hannah is going to be a rock to lean on in this place. She is sweet and kind, always ready to listen to me and lend a shoulder to cry on. I don’t know how she hasn’t gotten tired of me yet - it seems as if all I do in this wretched place is cry and feel sorry for myself.

  I need to get over that. Wallowing in self-pity won’t get me anywhere.

  It’s another uneventful day today, and I’m feeling exhausted, even though I haven’t been doing much. I’ve mostly filled my days here with reading the countless tomes of books that decorate the bookshelves in the library. I don’t know what else to do, to be honest. All the plotting in the world hasn’t shown me a way out of this place that would include my mother as well.

  I’m in bed, my legs pulled up to my chest, when Hannah comes inside and brings me my breakfast. She sets everything up on the small table next to the window, and I get up, still in my nightie, to get something down my throat. Even eating has been a struggle, but I know I need to keep my strength up.

  After she’s set up my breakfast, Hannah lingers nervously, and I look up at her, frowning. She’s always a little twitchy and always looking over her shoulder, but today it seems as if she has something to talk to me about.

  “Is there anything else?” I ask her. I’m desperate to strike up a friendship with Hannah, but I think we’re both afraid of what Cobb might do if he found out we were friendly with each other.

  “I…” She looks down at me awkwardly, fidgeting with the strings of her apron. “I have a message for you.”

  “From Cobb?” I raise my brows, waiting for another blow. He always has something up his sleeve for me. “Go ahead then, tell me what it is.”

  “It’s not from Cobb,” Hannah shakes her head. “It’s from the dungeons.”

  “The dungeons?” I repeat.

  Who could send me a message from down there?

  The stormy eyes enter my mind again and I know who it is before she even goes on. The mysterious Angel. The one who looks like a monster and has the eyes of a kind, loving man who’s been through hell and back.

  Excitement wells in my chest

  “Is it from…” I speak at the same time as her.

  “It’s from Angel.”

  Hannah blushes when she realizes she interrupted me, but I shake my head, motioning for her to go on, hanging on her every word.

  “He wanted me to bring you a letter. I… may have mentioned how down you’ve been feeling lately.”

  “Give it to me.”

  My voice shakes as I order her to do it, neither of which is something I usually do. I feel sorry for snapping at her like that, but I need to see that letter, I need to know what he wrote.

  Hannah takes a small piece of paper, folded several times, from her pocket. She passes it to me with trembling fingers.

  “Here,” she says.

  I take the paper with equally nervous fingers and glance up at her. It seems as if she already knows what I want, as she bows her head and leaves the room right away. My steaming hot omelet forgotten, I get back on the bed and unfold the letter from the monster, my heart fluttering in my chest.

  His handwriting is crooked and almost childish in a way. His words are clumsy, but he seems eloquent in what he says.

  So not a monster, after all, I think.

  Adrienne,

  Hannah told me you are feeling rough these days. I know it’s hard. I’ve been in a dark place too - guess I still am, the light isn’t great down here. But remember, you can handle this. Keep your head up and everything will work out.

  I hope we’ll see each other again someday. Don’t worry about the tournament. There is only one man who could possibly win it, and he will be gentle with you.

  Memphis

  I read and re-read the note a dozen times before I place the piece of paper in my lap. His name rings in my ears.

  “Memphis.”

  I try it out on my lips, whispering the name just to see how it feels on my tongue. It’s different. It suits him.

  I have a strong urge to call Hannah back. I want to write him back. I barely care how dangerous it is… I want him to know how much it means to me that he’d reach out like that.

  And I keep wondering about one thing - who is this man Memphis is so convinced will win the tournament? Is it him?

  Oh God, I hope it’s him.

  The thought makes me slap a hand over my mouth, even though I didn’t say it out loud. I can’t believe I’m rooting for someone to win me like some kind of trophy, no matter how hot and dangerous he is.

  Stop it!

  I’m still blushing as I get off the bed, determined to write him that letter.

  Because I’m impatient as hell, I rip out a piece of paper from a notebook in my nightstand. My hand is surprisingly steady as I write a message back to the man in the dungeons.

  For the next few hours, I wait for Hannah to return with my lunch, the door locked as always. As soon as she comes back to the room, both of our eyes sparkle with mischief. It’s a small rebellion against Cobb, and it makes me feel good. The bright smile on my maid’s face reveals she feels the same.

  Six

  Memphis

  “Whoa there, bird boy. Take it easy,” Barrage grumbles as I whisk a hit past his cheek so close that he must be imagining in vivid detail what it would feel like to get his cheekbone caved in.

  “No time,” I huff back, dancing around him on quick feet. “Gotta get ready.”

  Barrage rolls his eyes and puts up his arms again. We’re going a few rounds in the practice room, a ratty old gym that’s the perfect copy of two others sprinkled through the underbelly of Wilson’s mansion. It’s the one ‘joy’ we get, if you can call it that. Unlimited gym time, as long as there’s a guard around us to keep an eye on us.

  As always, good old Sage is in the corner of the room, glaring at anything and everything that dares get in his path.

  “Barrage, it’s time for you to go,” a voice calls a moment before I connect my knuckles with his stomach, making him sputter and lurch forward.

  I give Barrage a friendly kick in the back as he flies into the ropes of the boxing ring we’ve been using as a makeshift cage. He flicks back a look that’s all hatred, but I grin in response. I like Barrage. He’s about twenty wins in. Good kid.

  I bet he’ll be dead in a month.

  “What?” Barrage spits, righting himself and looking at Tommy, the guard that came to retrieve him. “I’m in the middle of something here.”

  “Doc’s orders,” Tommy says, and that makes Barrage quiet down.

  We don’t really get medical attention down here. There’s one guy who sort of counts as a medic, one of the guards, and we listen if he tells us to
sit down and shut up. So when Barrage stalks out of the ring, I don’t even mock him for it. I just shrug and roll back my shoulders, giving him my sweetest smile and wave.

  “See you next time, honey,” I tell him, and Barrage bares his teeth at me.

  Cute kid.

  I’m just about ready to climb out of the ring myself when Barrage and Tommy make their exit, when someone much more interesting comes through the door. Sage and I both look up when Adrienne peeks in uncertainly, her golden honey hair tumbling over her shoulder as she glances around. Sage jumps up on his feet and I smile wide.

  I wasn’t sure I’d see her again before the end of the next fight I’ll inevitably win. She’s a sight for sore eyes.

  “Has anyone seen Kane?” she asks, her voice little more than a whisper.

  I have to strain to catch what she’s saying.

  “He hasn’t been around, Miss,” Sage says, wearing a frown on his face.

  “Oh,” Adrienne says, her blue gaze locking with mine.

  I’m leaning on the ropes now, shamelessly devouring her with my eyes. She’s so damn sweet I can feel a tooth ache coming on, and she doesn’t even realize it. Women like her never do. Young, innocent, so pure that fresh snow would feel dirty next to them, they’re everything a man would want. And everything a guy like me never gets. It’s nice to fantasize, though.

  “Are you lost?” Sage asks, trying to make sense of the situation while I’d prefer him to shut up.

  “No… Well, maybe,” Adrienne says, glancing behind her before stepping into the large space of the gym, closing the door behind her carefully. “I was sent down here to see what I’d… well… Wilson wanted me to see the… men…”

  She stutters and blushes and it’s so adorable I just want to scoop her up and make her embarrassment go away. Sage realizes what the situation is though and I do as well. Somehow, Kane, the big oaf meant to guard her, has wandered off somewhere, leaving this little lamb down here with the wolves. Sage gives me a look and I nod in agreement. We can’t keep her, but we can make sure that she’s okay.