His Wrath: Underground, 2

by Jenika Snow

  The place wasn’t pretty, that was for sure, but the rent was cheap and the neighborhood fairly safe, aside from a few misguided teenagers that liked to vandalize things on occasion.

  She stared at her reflection in the little window above the sink, her thought replaying the last thing Cameron had said to her.

  “There isn’t a place on this planet that you can run to and I won’t find you. You’ll always be mine, Brea. I’ll find you and I’ll make you submit in every way possible. We are meant to be together.”

  Closing her eyes as her belly tightened in disgust, she wanted to scream out. Her fear had morphed into anger over time, vengeance and survival taking hold.

  “Fuck you, Cameron,” she said under her breath.

  With the wad of cash in her hand, she opened the freezer and shoved the frozen veggies and TV dinners out of the way. She grabbed the frosty can of generic coffee and popped the lid off. Inside she pulled out the plastic bag of coffee grounds and set it on the counter. Maybe it wasn’t the best hiding spot, but it was better than having the bills tucked under her mattress.

  Shoving the cash to the bottom of the can with the rest of the tips she’d earned, she placed the coffee back in, put the lid on, and placed the can into the back of the freezer. The next thing she did, partly out of habit but mainly out of survival, was walk back out to the front hallway and pull out the duffel bag stored beneath the wooden bench. Inside she double-checked all the supplies she would need in case she had to make a quick getaway.

  Extra clothes and shoes, toiletries, a little bit of cash that she didn’t keep in the freezer in case she couldn’t get to it, important documents, and the one thing, the only thing that might save her life: a Colt .45 that her father had given her before he passed away.

  She had another bag filled with the same items, sans the gun, tucked in the trunk of her car.

  Brea reached in the bag and grabbed the revolver, the weight substantial. The ivory handle was worn, but when the light hit it, there was still a slight shine to it. The metal was cold, but she knew if she continued to hold it long enough, it would warm her flesh. It never failed.

  Whenever she held this gun, she instantly felt safer. Why she hadn’t used it on Cameron all those times he’d hit her, all those times he’d threatened her, was still lost on her. That was, until this last time. She knew she would never be afraid to use it on him again.

  Opening the chamber, Brea checked to make sure the bullets were ready to go. She checked her duffel every night, and although it might have seemed repetitive to others, this was Brea’s life. She needed to make sure everything was in order in case Cameron did find her, which she didn’t doubt he would eventually. That’s why she was working on saving up to escape to someplace far away, someplace he’d never be able to find her. She’d change her identity, be someone totally new.

  Before heading into her room for the night, she made sure the doors were locked, the alarm system was in fact engaged, and her car keys were easy to reach. She was tired, mentally and physically. Honestly she had no idea how much longer she could go through this. Constantly looking over her shoulder had her perpetually on edge and never at rest.

  “Just a little bit longer and I can finally be free.” But she needed money to do that … a lot of it.

  She knew if she left the country, she would have a better chance of escaping Cameron for good. At least she’d been smart enough to change her last name.

  After a shower so hot she felt like her skin would peel off, Brea wrapped a towel around her body and ran her hand on the fogged-over mirror. The woman that stared back at her appeared sad. Blue eyes that looked far too big on her face had dark circles underneath. Her blonde hair looked darker now that it was wet, but she knew even dry it was dull and lifeless. Just like her life now.

  And seeing herself that way, feeling this way, pissed her the fuck off.

  She slipped her pajamas on and turned off her bedroom light, bathing everything in darkness. She stood there a moment, feeling her anxiety spike, but closing her eyes and counting to ten. It was a therapeutic exercise she’d adopted years ago, and most of the time it helped her, but there were also times that closing her eyes and trying to breathe through it just made it worse.

  She started to come down from the wave of panic that threatened to consume her. When her strength returned and she was able to open her eyes, she took in her surroundings. Double bed pushed against the wall with worn flowered wallpaper. The lone window in her room was covered by peeling, black-painted metal bars, another accessory that came with the house and one that had helped seal the deal for her moving in. They added to her level of safety.

  “You’re fine. You aren’t back there, and he isn’t here.” Yeah, as long as she kept telling herself that, everything would be all right. Brea laughed bitterly. If that wasn’t the biggest load of shit she had ever uttered.

  ****

  “Hey.”

  Brea set the empty glass on the rubber mat on the bar and glanced up. Matt, the bartender on Thursday nights, handed her two filled glasses of beer and smirked at her.

  “You free Saturday?”

  “Matt, you already know the answer to that.” She shook her head and smiled at yet another one of Matt’s attempts to pick her up. Although he was persistent, he was also harmless. In fact Brea knew that he’d knock an asshole out if they even looked at one of the waitresses wrong.

  He grinned and shrugged. “Gotta try, right?” His shaggy brown hair hung across his forehead, and his whiskey-colored eyes rivaled their most expensive bottle of Johnny Walker.

  She chuckled softly. “Sorry, but that’s a pass from me.”

  He looked mortally wounded as he placed his hand over his heart. “Shot down again.”

  She grabbed the two glasses and set them on her tray, not bothering to hide her smile. Brea deposited the filled glasses wigh the customers and made a sweep, taking a few more orders and collecting more empties.

  Once back at the bar, she started clearing off her tray.

  “Brea. Please come to my office.”

  The voice in her ear was deep and authoritative. Brea adjusted the earpiece that connected every employee with the owner, Tate Wessen. Instantly her heart started to pound. There were only two reasons the boss called an employee into his office. He was either about to fire her or ask her to work underground. Both scared the shit out of her.

  Matt gave her a nod when she gestured she would be heading into the back to talk to Tate. She hadn’t been the only one to hear Tate’s deep command. Everyone working the floor had heard him through the same earpiece system. Making her way through the sea of bodies, she stopped when she got to the large steel door that led to the back portion of the club, where Tate’s office was located.

  A big, burly bouncer stood in front of it, and at her arrival he gave a tight nod and let her pass. Once the door was shut behind her, all sound from the club ceased. A long, brightly lit hallway stood before her along with another bouncer-guarded door. For this being a nightclub, she might have thought the extra security was a bit extreme, but given the fact there were illegal dealings going on right below them, she wasn’t all that surprised.

  In fact, that was one of the reasons she felt so safe working here. The security was phenomenal. Nothing and no one entered or left the club without Tate and his team knowing.

  “Evening,” Roe, the bouncer in front of Tate’s door, said in a deep baritone voice.

  She offered a tight smile and nodded. He knocked on the door once before opening it and allowing her to enter. Tate’s office was just as intimidating as he was. Dark hardwood and brushed steel covered every square inch.

  There was a minimalistic approach to it all … just like the man himself.

  Brea stayed close to the door, although she knew it was false security. Tate wouldn’t let her leave until he wanted her to. She didn’t know why she felt so uneasy around him. This wasn’t about the Cameron issue, but about Tate being so frighteningly male
. He’d been nothing but professional and accommodating to her, but underneath all of that she sensed something hard-core about him.

  “Brea.” Tate glanced up from the stack of papers scattered around his desk. He smiled almost warmly, but Brea wasn’t fooled. Tate was a brutally handsome man, with short dark hair and amber-colored eyes, but Brea knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Tate was definitely one of those men.

  “Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the plush black leather chair in front of his steel-and-glass desk. When she was seated, he laced his hands together on top of his desk and watched her. “You like it here, Brea?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He leaned back in his chair, getting more comfortable. “Please, call me Tate.” Brea nodded but didn’t speak. “You’re one of my best workers. You get along with everyone, and I’ve never had a complaint about you. You also pick up extra shifts constantly.”

  “Thank you, sir, I mean, Tate.” She shifted on her seat uncomfortably. She didn’t want to be put in any kind of spotlight. She wanted to go unnoticed. If people started paying attention to her, that could cause her a lot of problems.

  “You worked underground before, correct?”

  Instantly her heart beat a little faster and her palms started to sweat. “Yes, that’s right.” Throat gone as dry as the desert, Brea already knew what he was going to say. Hell, she’d known it was one of two things before she’d even set foot in his office.

  “How would you like to work down there permanently?” She didn’t respond right away, and he must have sensed her unease. “I know it’s a different crowd, and I assure you what happened before will not be happening again.” His voice dropped lower, and there was menace in his tone.

  After the incident security had been beefed up down there, or so she’d heard. Tate had asked her if she’d wanted to discuss it, but she’d declined. The last thing Brea wanted was to relive that night.

  She’d also gotten one hell of a bonus in her next paycheck, and she knew it had to be compensation from Tate for what had transpired. But the temptation of more money wasn’t a sure thing where it concerned working the fights.

  “If you’re afraid, I promise you there’s no need to be.” His voice took on a gentler note. “I’ll have security on you the entire time. No one will bother you, Brea.”

  At that she relaxed.

  “But there isn’t anyone else I’d trust to work the fights more than you.”

  That surprised her, seeing as she was fairly new compared to some of his other employees.

  “You keep to yourself, not get into shit you’re not supposed to, and I know you’ll do your job.” She stayed silent still, not sure how to respond. “I’ll increase your pay by double, including hazard pay.”

  Why was he choosing her? Why was he going to all this trouble for a nobody? There were already waitresses that worked the underground. “I—” After her one night down there when she’d freaked out, she assumed she’d never be placed to work in the fights again.

  As if he read her mind, he spoke again. “I’ve recently had some issues with a few of the girls down there”—he paused for a moment before continuing—“distracting the fighters. Those types of distractions tend to cost me money. I need employees who have good heads on their shoulders and can handle the pressure. Despite the situation you endured the last time, you didn’t cower. In fact, you finished off your shift. That shows a lot of dedication, and that is something I admire, Brea.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’ve already proven you aren’t afraid of a little shit from the drunks. Not to mention you’re beautiful and will no doubt sell a lot of drinks.”

  She blushed even though this wasn’t a pickup line from Tate. He was a businessman, so obviously this was about increasing his revenue. What the hell could she say? She knew if she refused, it would be an insult to Tate, and Brea desperately needed this job.

  “Your pay will double,” he reminded her.

  She could leave this town even sooner. Could she stomach it though? She remembered all too well the crush of bodies, the deafening noise, the smell of sweat and blood. It was overwhelming, for sure, but all she could think about was the pay and escaping for good.

  Despite her fear and the remembrance of the last time she’d worked the underground still fresh in her mind, it was hard to pass up. She knew what she had to do. Brea knew what she would do.

  “Yes, I’ll work the underground, Tate.”

  His approving smile made her stomach clench, and she had no idea why.

  4

  Adrenaline pumped through Adrian’s veins. Eyes closed, he bounced on the balls of his feet and focused everything inside of him on the night ahead. The small room he currently occupied didn’t dull the roar of the crowd outside. He ran his hands over his short hair and breathed out.

  These fights never failed to pump him up. This was his outlet, his way of getting rid of all his anger, his hatred. Even though he had an insurmountable amount of pent-up rage that would never be purged, he got a minimal amount of relief.

  The sound of his knuckles cracking echoed in the cramped room. He rolled his head on his shoulders, feeling the excitement that these fights caused inside of him skyrocket. He was ready for this, had been ready. He wasn’t nervous. Hell, he was fucking pumped about smashing his fist into some guy’s face.

  Now what the hell did that say about him? The only real competition he’d ever had was a dirty yet talented fighter named Kash Alexander. That boy sure knew how to throw a left hook. If Adrian was being honest with himself, he didn’t even know if he would have won that fight, if it hadn’t been for the fact he’d heard Brea scream, even though the noise had been earsplitting. Kash might have given him a TKO.

  No, he wasn’t going to think about Brea, a female so sweet and innocent that it made him feel like a worthless piece of shit. But thinking about Brea made him think about Addie. The one person he’d given himself to and lost.

  But that had been years ago, and even if he didn’t have love for that life anymore, even if he’d loved her long ago, the guilt of it all, of what he’d allowed to happen, strangled him.

  He wanted to wrap Brea up, protect her from the ugliness of the world, but he knew for both of their sakes he could never do that. Hell, he was part of the ugliness.

  “You ready, boss?” Mica, the newest and youngest fighter in training, stuck his head around the corner and grinned.

  He was a quiet kid with a mop full of ash-colored hair and blue eyes so fucking intense they didn’t look real. He might be one of the silent types, but boy, could that kid kick some ass. He had a body like a swimmer, all lean muscle and stamina, and was faster than anyone Adrian had ever seen. He also knew how to throw a punch in the kidneys to make a man fall to his knees and have him pissing blood for a week.

  “Knock that boss shit off,” Adrian said and grinned. A quick nod from Mica and Adrian was following him out of the door and into the makeshift octagon.

  His opponent was already waiting on him, and Adrian could tell this guy was one tough motherfucker. He was a damn beast.

  Adrian rolled his shoulders back as he climbed the stairs. He could hear the announcer pumping up the crowd, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. All his focus was on the fucker staring him down. He might have been big, but Adrian was bigger and had far more pent-up rage than this pussy.

  They faced each other, and everything else faded away. He took a deep breath, needing those painful memories, needing that rage to consume him so he could use it in the cage.

  But despite thinking about his past, Adrian couldn’t help but picture Brea.

  Her big blue eyes, promising a hell of a lot that he knew he couldn’t take. There were many times he’d wondered how it would play out if he just let himself have her. It had been years since he’d been with a woman, since he’d even been interested in one. He’d focused on fighting, on surviving.

  There had been a time when he’d wanted t
o die, but as the years passed, things had slowly shifted, especially after he’d seen Brea looking so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was fight, to get out everything that was inside of him until he could live.

  The announcer rang the bell, and his opponent, Slick, grinned and charged forward. These mediocre fighters he was matched with were always the same. Their anger and greed made them sloppy. All they thought about was the payout.

  Adrian didn’t give two shits about the money he would earn tonight. Sure, it helped and was one of the reasons he did these illegal fights, but the real reason he was here was strictly personal.

  Slick swung his meaty fist out, and Adrian easily dodged it. He threw a right hook, landing a solid hit in Slick’s side. A deep grunt was the only response the other fighter made before swinging again.

  Moving to the left, Adrian brought his fist up and connected with his opponent’s jaw. Blood started a slow trickle out of his mouth, and Adrian didn’t wait to land another one on him. Throwing a left punch, he slammed his knuckles into Slick’s nose. Blood sprayed like a fountain and bathed the unfortunate drunks watching on the sidelines. The cheers erupted as Slick swayed slightly.

  He swung first his left arm and then his right toward Adrian. They were easy enough moves to avoid, and Adrian knew he needed to finish this so he could move on to the next sorry fuck. Ducking to avoid getting hit in the head, Adrian slammed his shoulder in Slick’s chest and brought the guy down. They wrestled on the floor for dominance, and finally, when Adrian had the upper hand and straddled the man’s chest, he started throwing fist after fist.

  Blood coated both of their chests, faces, and the white mats beneath them. Slick struggled at first, but soon he was lying limply beneath him. Adrian pulled himself off and took several steps back. A few medics rushed forward to make sure Slick was still breathing.

  Once Adrian was announced the winner, he quickly made his way toward the same back door he’d come through. He needed to get cleaned up and have a few drinks before his next fight.