Slam: A Bad Boy Romance

by Holt, Leah

My body panted heavily, tingles shot from my belly to my toes. I couldn't hold back anymore, his ferocity slammed hard. Exploding over my hand, my body jolted with electricity. Turning my face into the pillow, the orgasm filtered through my bones.

  He had turned me wicked, spilled me from the inside.

  And I only wanted more.

  Forcing my mind clear, the weight of the day shifted to a heaviness of my eyes. Quinn hovered over my thoughts as slumber took over.

  The ghostly feel of his arms wrapped around me, cradled me in comfort. In the mess of my world, he brought ease to my mind.

  Chapter Six

  Cadence

  My hand came up and banged on the heavy metal door. It was rusted and rotting around the edges, small bits flaked off onto the ground around me.

  I hate this fucking place.

  A small stream of light poked out from a hole near the center. The glow darkened and the door creaked open. The sound of glass scraping against metal punctured my eardrum.

  Cringing to the sound, a large man opened the door. Sticking his head out briefly, he flagged me in.

  “Hey, Dizz,” I said, smiling up at him.

  His scratchy, deep voice spilled out. Hitting my ears in the same spot as the door. “Cadence, nice to see you. Wasn't sure if this was an on night for you.” He sat back on his stool, lifting his Playboy magazine. “Head on down,” he said, his eyes falling back to the pages, bulging from their sockets.

  Dizz had been working for my dad for years. He used to be one of his top guys, it would take a fucking freight train to get him down.

  And that's basically what happened. One night after a fight, he went out, got wasted, then fell asleep in his car parked right on the train tracks. Luckily for him, it was only the ass end of his car on the rails.

  The train came along, hit him full force, and sent the car tumbling. Long story short, he had massive head injuries and can barley see straight.

  Hence the nick name; Dizzy, or as we call him, Dizz.

  My father won't put him in to fight any more, he says he's a liability now. Instead, he uses him for the main entrance and crowd control. Dizz might not be able to get in the ring, but he can still take one hell of a hit.

  Heading down the stairs, the roaring of voices echoed through the walls. It sounded busy tonight, a lot noisier than usual for a Sunday.

  Wow, tonight there isn't any special matches. No high rollers. Why does it sound so packed?

  Hitting the bottom step I pushed my way inside. The room was loaded, filled to the brim with guys hooting and shouting. The smell of piss and vinegar hung in the air.

  Glancing around, my father was standing in the center of the ring, microphone in hand. His arms held up, egging on the observers. “Welcome to the Ground Game! For those of you who have been here before, you all know who I am.”

  The crowd began to chant, “Macro! Macro!” Grunts and yelps, fists raised and began to pump in the air.

  My father grinned wildly, feeding off the excitement. His face glowed with the power these people infused inside him. “We're going to get this blood bath started! You all know the rules. Fists and pure brute force only! No weapons! Fighters will go till they tap out or unconsciousness sets in!” The sea of people yelled louder, barking like rabid animals for the fights to begin.

  I made my way over to the bar. Once a week I had to work here during the fights. I hated it, every fucking second of being here caused my skin to crawl.

  My dad insisted- or for lack of a better term- forced me to be here. Our legal business was closed on Sundays, and he thought it would make him look bad if I didn't participate in some way.

  Every muscle in my body tensed with disgust for this place. It was awful, the things people would pay to see. To get a quick thrill out of watching two guys beat the living shit out of each other, spill blood from one another for no purpose other than money.

  It made me cringe. I despised the assholes who used these guys for gain.

  My father was one of them.

  He loved to walk out of here after a long night of fights, pockets filled with green and ready to do it all again.

  Gliding behind the bar, I eyed the crowd. I was hoping to see Nico, see how his face was looking after the other day. Wonder plagued me as to how swollen or bruised he was.

  Seeing that would definitely put a little more spring in my step.

  What did Quinn decide to do?

  After getting him back to the bar, my father had sent me home. He told me that I had done all I was needed for. The rest was between Quinn and himself.

  I tried to press him for answers this morning, but was met with angry stares and muted answers. He wouldn't tell me shit, told me it was none of my business and if I pressed anymore, I wouldn't be talking for a long time.

  I knew what that meant; he would send of his guys to break my jaw. Make me pay for sticking my nose where it didn't belong.

  I wanted to see Quinn again. I couldn't get him out of my mind. His muscular chest, jaw cut hard as marble, the massive cock I had gripped.

  Fucking tease, that's what that was.

  Even the idea of him makes my panties wet. I should have just let him have his way with me. Why didn't I?

  Fear.

  The grip my father had around me, my life...

  I'm not weak, I'm not frail.

  But, he was my father. I was raised to listen to him, to show him the utmost respect at all times. No matter what.

  It was burned into my brain, into my soul, into every move and choice I made.

  I fucking hated it.

  'Ding, Ding!'

  The loud bell rang, shaking me out of my daze. The fights had begun, first up tonight was a tall lanky guy named Gavel against a man named Titus. Both had been good fighters here, they fought together once before.

  Gavel had his ass handed to him last time. You could see it in his eyes he wanted revenge. A blood thirsty snarl lifted on one side, sweat poured down his temples, his hands up ready to lunge.

  The two men danced around each other in the circle, the crowed thundering together in one jostling, loud growl.

  Every bone in my body shook, rattled from the intensity of screams and clapping. Shifting my eyes around the space, my father approached from the side.

  “Cadence, pour me a drink, my dear.” He rested his elbow against the edge, twisting to watch the carnage inside the ring. “We have a good turn out tonight.”

  “Yeah, seems that way.” My voice lacked interest in his hobby.

  He shot his stare in my direction. “Not enjoying yourself?” A sneer peeked from the corner of his mouth.

  I slammed the glass down hard, pouring his drink, not a word fell across my tongue.

  He knows how I feel about this shit. Why would he even ask me that?

  Lifting the glass, the liquid flowed effortlessly down his throat. “Well, don't worry. I have a surprise for you tonight.” He rested the empty cup on the bar, his hand raised to touch my shoulder.

  Stepping back from his fingers I said, “I'm sure you do.”

  “Sarcasm, my favorite. I think you'll enjoy this one.” He winked, strolling off towards his throne to watch the game.

  The crashing of flesh against bone ricocheted behind the standing mass in front of me. I couldn't see what was going on, the fight had moved to the floor.

  The sudden bellow from the crowd, and ding of the bell, signaled the fight was over. Titus stood, Gavel did not. His limp body dragged to the back by the aid of other fighters.

  According to the guys at the bar waiting for the next fight to begin, he had been choked. Suffocated until his eyes rolled back in his skull and he finally passed out, hopefully.

  You never really knew the true end result of someone dragged off, especially if they never came back to fight again after a loss like that.

  Maybe they got frightened, they couldn't take it anymore, or maybe worse... There in that dirty ring, their final breath escaping their failing lungs.

>   I hated thinking about that. I was certain we had lost our fair share of fighters over the years. It baffles me that my dad is still a free man.

  But, he had his fingers dipped in several different pockets. A payoff here, a bribe there; whatever it took to keep this place open, and out of the wrong person's eye.

  The bell went off, and the next fight had started. Four finger Frankie vs. Hugo. These men were dirty fighters. Frankie had lost a digit during a previous fight, he stuck his hand into the other guys mouth trying to break his jaw, lost his finger instead.

  Hugo, he was a massive wall of muscle and grit. A mouth full of broken teeth, scars crisscrossing the flesh of his face.

  There was no waiting, or sizing up the other opponent, their bodies collided in one giant crash.

  I didn't want to watch. Turning my eye to the room, I watched the engorged faces of the observers. Men drooling, hollering, fists flying through the air. Against the back entrance, a figure caught my eye. He was hard to make out, standing in the shadows.

  Who is that? Why isn't he up close, barking along side the other assholes?

  His arms were crossed tight, shoulder leaning against the wall. Despite the dark mask across his face, his eyes glowed. The bright shine flickered as they darted between the fighters. A hand fell across his hair, brushing it from his view.

  My father stepped off his throne, made his way through the mass. Approaching the man, he held his hand held out in gesture.

  Was he a new bidder? A guy with deep pockets ready to drop thousands in bets?

  The two walked side by side. My father's hands motioned as he spoke, pointing around the ring towards the fighters.

  Reaching the bright lights of the circle, my heart stopped, breathing slowed to a mere gasp.

  It was Quinn.

  No! Fuck! Fuck! What the hell is he thinking? He shouldn't be here, this place will eat him alive. Kill him over and over without mercy.

  The glass in my hand slipped out, my grip loosened and it shattered against the floor. I couldn't move, couldn't think. My stomach spun with butterflies and acid. Wanting to see him again, laying my eyes on his face, was exciting.

  Seeing him here, talking with my father, made me sick.

  My dad's face turned my way, eyes smiling the most deceptive stare. The grin he held across his cheeks was false and unwelcoming.

  My surprise, this was my surprise? Mother fucker!

  Pushing their way through the crowd, Quinn held his expression on me. A slight smirk tugged on his lips, hands shoved into his pockets.

  The desire to feel him flooded my soul, my panties warming between my thighs, prickles ran across my neck. He looked so hot in his tight blue shirt, fabric spread across his chest. The outline of his hard, rippled stomach flexing beneath.

  “Cadence, look who came to visit.” The devilish tone filled my body. My father had his tricks, he doesn't do anything without an underlying motive.

  Pursing my lips, I said, “What are you doing here?” Both hands gripped the edge of the bar squeezing tightly.

  Quinn shot me a crooked glance. “What? I can't come and visit?”

  “You know what I mean. Are you under contract now?”

  I didn't want him here, didn't want him to fight for my father. He would be under my dad's control, his force would be owned.

  And for me, his hands would never grace my skin again.

  Not a single chance of having him to myself, it wasn't allowed.

  A rule that I needed to follow, needed to obey.

  My father cut in. “Whoa, Cadence. I invited him to come and watch. He has potential, and we both know that.” He lifted his hand and patted Quinn's shoulder. “Quinn, watch some fights, think about what I said. I'll find you later. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ring to run.” Pulling a cigar from his pocket, he lit the end, strolling off.

  I stared at Quinn, anger and rage filled my gut. I wanted him for myself, needed him just for me.

  It pained me to think he wanted to be here, wanted to see what this place was all about. If he didn't, he wouldn't have accepted my father's invitation.

  “So, you're thinking about fighting?” I said, hands resting against my hips.

  “I didn't say that,” He said. His eyes ran over my body, watching my breasts as they rose from the heat of my lungs.

  “Then what did you come here for?” My arms pulled up, trying to cover my chest. The effort was fruitless, it only pushed them higher, bare flesh spilled out. His eyes remained firm, hand dropping to shift his cock.

  I wanted him to bend me over the bar, fuck me till I couldn't feel my legs. My skin heated from head to toe, while ice cold sweat hardened my veins.

  Quinn's tongue ran across his bottom lip. “You weren't in the bar when I left the meeting. Which by the way, thanks for the heads up it wasn't for a thank you.” Wrinkles formed across his forehead, clicking his tongue.

  “Sorry, my dad-”

  “No, I get it. Don't worry.” His fingertips came up and slid down his jaw.

  “Are you going to consider my dad's offer?” Worry flooded my expression. Brows turned up, lips thin and tight.

  “Well, it got me next to you again. That in itself is a bonus to me.”

  “No. No, don't use me in any of this. My father is a horrible man. He doesn't care about you or how well you fight. It's only about him, it's always been that way.” The water started to well up, but I pulled it back, held it in.

  I don't cry.

  Not any more.

  The strength of Quinn's hands fell around my wrists, pulling me into the bar. He stared into my eyes, leaning in as close as he could. His cologne curled up through the air, hitting my senses. A surge of chills climbed my spine, goosebumps mimicking the electricity crawling over my skin.

  The warmth of his lips hovered beside my cheek, a soft whisper fluttered into my ear. “I only came here hoping to see you.”

  I wanted to grab his chiseled jaw, grip his hair and kiss him. He was everything I tried to run from, and everything I fucking wanted.

  His fingers stroked my hair, my face falling in closer, control being lost in his touch. Swiftly, I turned my head away, forcing space between us. The roar of the crowd pulled me back into reality, into where I was.

  From the corner of my eye, the fire of my fathers black stare burned into my soul. He sat, rolling his fingers together, face still as stone.

  Shit. We're too close. Did he see him touch me? Fuck, if he saw that... Instinctively I lurched back. Quinn's lip tugged to one side, a light chuckle rolled from his tongue.

  He shifted against the bar, turning towards the ring. Watching the fighters, a seriousness fell over his face. His body tensed, each ridge of muscle bulged beneath the fabric.

  “So, are you going to take my fathers offer?” Dipping towards the floor, I swept the glass into a pan. My question was met by silence. Standing and dumping the debris into the trash I asked, “Well?”

  He wouldn't look at me, his mind was someplace else, eyes darting between the fighters, his chest lifting heavy with each breath.

  A screech from the microphone shot through the dirty underground room. My head jerked towards the ring, and there was the Macro.

  What is he doing? He only talks before the first fight. Why is he out there now?

  Lifting his hand to silence the crowd, his glare froze on Quinn. “So, tonight I have a special treat for all of you. We have a special fight, a newcomer. There are no bets on this one, it's a judge match. Let's see how this new guy stands up to one of our own.”

  Quinn's back went stiff, his muscles pulsing, eyes narrowing towards my father.

  My heart sank, falling into the pit of acid that was tearing through my stomach. I knew there was a reason my dad had invited him. He's conniving, this had been part of his plan.

  Throw Quinn to the wolves, see if he can take it.

  A devilish laugh echoed through the microphone. Steel, one of the top fighters, walked into the ring. His arms held up,
hands wrapped in black tape. He released a loud grunt, and the room erupted in cheers.

  Every face looked around, waiting to see who was stepping in with him. A new fighter always fueled the masses, energy charged through the room.

  My father held his hand out. “Come on out here. You know who you are. Give these people what they want.” His lips were sharp as a blade, a hint of his teeth shined through.

  Reaching my arm out, I pierced Quinn's shoulder with my nails. “Don't. You don't need to.” Fear stretched from behind my words.

  His lip snarled. “Now I have to, he called me out.” Both of his hands drew deep into his hair.

  “No, you don't. Fuck him, Quinn. You can't get in there, you're not even ready.” My chest pounded, ribs cracking as they were pushed to their limit.

  His movements never flinched, he stood strong, concrete was the base he was built from. Inhaling a deep, ominous breath, his fingers intertwined, cracking the knuckles, head tilted side to side.

  The mass spread, a gorge emerged for him to cross. The Macro stood, face shining like a diamond under the lights, teeth bared.

  Clutching my chest, the pounding of my heart numbed the screeching. Silence filled the space between my ears and my thoughts.

  “Don't worry, doll. I'm always ready.” Pressing forward, he walked on air. His form light, as he weightlessly glided through the crowd.

  Chapter Seven

  Quinn

  The Macro had twisted his hand around my balls, forcing me to do what I had walked away from years ago. The blood boiled inside my veins, burning to break the surface.

  I had come here to see Cadence. She had been the only reason I stepped through those doors.

  Her father had offered to pay me; and as much as I could use the money, it wasn't an option. I made a promise to never step back into the ring. A promise made to a friend, a best friend.

  But, this changed everything. I'm not a coward, I won't back down from a challenge.

  That's one of my biggest flaws. I'm not going to run with my tail between my legs, hide in the corner and hope I can sneak away, unscathed.

  I was on a war path now, demanding respect.

  He wanted to call me out, see what I could handle...