CAGED (Bad Boy Romance): THE UNDERGROUND

by Alexx Andria

  When nothing happened, my guardian angel seemed to be on permanent lunch break, I knew I couldn't stay in that café much longer.

  In the end, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't sleep on the streets and I couldn't involve anyone else.

  Even though it was probably a suicide mission, I had to make it back to my own place.

  I wasn't stupid, my house would be the first place they would look for me.

  But it was a chance I had to take. I had a little bit of cash stashed away and I needed different clothes.

  The reality sucked but what choice did I have?

  This was real life, not a feel-good movie. No one was coming to save me and no one was going to stand up to Davonte.

  It was either submit to that disgusting pig of a man or die trying to get the fuck out of Detroit.

  Chapter 7

  Damon

  I left Davonte’s place feeling like a piece of shit but at least I was alive.

  That was something, right?

  Everyone was someone else’s bitch, that was just life.

  Survival was something I was used to.

  Same shit, different day, that’s all this was.

  So why did I feel like I’d just slathered myself in raw sewage for the promise of moldy bread?

  Charlie.

  I shoved the mental image of her curled in my bed, looking like a sweet morsel that my mouth wanted to devour.

  Yeah, she was hot.

  I got why Davonte was hard for her.

  But there was something deeper than pure lust that got men twisted like Davonte was over this woman.

  I knew this because I felt it, too.

  I knew it the minute I saw her.

  That spirit, that innate glow.

  It made simple men like me want to bask in that light, roll around in it, in the hopes that some of that beautiful energy might rub off.

  Not that it was possible.

  Men like me, like Davonte, just tainted things that were pure.

  No wonder Charlie didn’t want anything to do with Davonte — the man stank of corruption.

  And now I was going to bathe in that rot, too.

  I wouldn’t say that I suffered from an abundance of conscience but something kept pinching at me.

  Get your head out of your ass, I grumbled to myself. I had to find Charlie or I was dead.

  That was the long and short of it.

  Davonte was giving me one week to return his prize girl and I was going to deliver.

  No matter what my misgivings.

  What a fucking time to grow a conscience.

  But where to start? I didn’t know a damn thing about the girl, except she had an exceptional rack, a pert ass, and the most beautiful red-hair I’d ever seen.

  Chances were someone in The Underground knew who she was. I’d start sniffing around the gym rats and see if anyone knew anything of value.

  She looked young — maybe early twenties, if that.

  Which made me feel like a dirty pervert.

  At thirty-five, I was an old fucker on the circuit, much less standing next to that sweet little thing.

  Fuck, if I looked old, Davonte had to be like a fossil.

  I mean, Davonte had to be about sixty-something.

  But his age had never been a deterrent to the fresh pussy he always had at his beck and call.

  I swallowed the bile splashing my throat at the thought of Davonte’s thick fingers touching Charlie’s soft skin.

  That was damn near criminal.

  And most definitely disgusting.

  But fuck, Davonte had the cash to make women drop their panties willingly.

  So why did he have to pant after the one who didn’t want him?

  Maybe it was the chase.

  Davonte fancied himself the King of Detroit.

  And kings took what they wanted.

  No matter the cost to anyone else.

  I climbed into my beat up truck and headed for The Underground gym, McConnell’s. Someone would know Charlie there. A girl like her…she got noticed.

  And I was counting on it.

  Davonte could’ve helped me out, given me a name and address to go from but he was punishing me for breaking his nose.

  I didn’t doubt that he half-hoped I would fail just so he could put a bullet in my brain for the sheer pleasure of it but at the end of the day, the man was all business.

  If he could make me an asset…he was going to do that.

  I walked into McConnell’s and breathed in the familiar scent of sweat, old leather, and the lingering odor of copper as it assaulted my senses.

  This place — to anyone else might think it stank like shit — but to me, it was home.

  McConnell’s, with it’s worn out, duct-taped equipment, dingy walls, and faded posters, was the place where I’d finally found where I belonged.

  I rubbed at the sudden sharp pain in my chest.

  This wasn’t my home anymore.

  I spied Manny in the corner chatting up two young bloods, their eyes bright with hope and dreams, their tight bodies still unmarred by too many rounds in the ring.

  Shit, I was riddled with scars and injuries.

  But I’d held my own, won a few rounds. Even started to gain a following.

  Until that fucking injury to my shoulder took me down with it.

  And Manny had dropped me like a bad habit.

  Just like that. See ya, fucker.

  I cut my glance away. Fuck, get on with it, Damon. The pity-party is getting old. Nothing worse than a fighter past his prime always trying to relive his glory days, right?

  Yeah, sad as fuck.

  My pride wanted to send my feet walking straight outta that gym but I didn’t have that luxury so I forced myself to interrupt Manny’s spiel right as he was about to close the deal.

  “I need information,” I said, blunt and to the point.

  “And I need you to get the fuck outta my gym,” Manny returned, his gaze as hard as his soul.

  “Davonte sent me.”

  Magic words.

  Manny’s mouth firmed with the words he wouldn’t dare say and motioned for me to follow him into his office. “Shut the door, will ya?” he instructed as he dropped into his chair. Once the door was closed, he said, “What the fuck you talking about? Davonte sending you? What for?”

  I ignored Manny’s questions. I wasn’t here to satisfy Manny’s curiosity. “There’s a girl…her name is Charlie. Red hair, short, big tits. Where can I find her?”

  Immediately Manny knew who I was talking about. “Charlene ‘Charlie’ Williams,” he said with a slow grin. “Yeah, she rings a bell. Hot little number. Barely legal spitfire if I remember right.”

  That sounded like her.

  “What do you know about her?”

  “What does Davonte want with her?”

  “Just answer the question,” I deadpanned. “You know where she lives? Hangs out? Friends?”

  “Jesus, what do you think I am, a stalker?”

  I ignored his rhetorical question. Manny knew everything about anyone who stepped into his gym.

  Manny shrugged, giving up the game early. “Alright, alright, yeah I know some things about her,” he said. “She’s the older sister of Tommy Williams.”

  That name rang a bell.

  “Tommy Williams…wasn’t that the kid who died in the ring a few months back?”

  “Yeah, real tragedy.” Manny nodded absently but there was zero emotion in his eyes. “Some kids just ain’t cut out for the ring.”

  I remembered thinking that the kid never should’ve been paired off against his opponent. The kid had been outmatched in every way. The fight had been rigged from the start.

  “He was out of his weight class,” I said. “He never should’ve been in that ring with Julio. That was some fucked up shit.”

  “The kid wanted to prove himself. I warned him it was a bad idea,” Manny said, gesturing as if his hands had been tied. “But you know, some kids with that wil
d ambition, they do things that are stupid.”

  “And then there are gym managers who look the other way when they’ve been told to,” I countered, calling Manny on his bullshit. Davonte had made that fight happen, knowing full well, the kid was going to be pulverized.

  “You here to bust my balls or get information?” Manny said, shrugging with irritation. “You were always a pain in my ass and now you’re Davonte’s problem. So shut the fuck up and get outta my gym if you’re not gonna do nuthin’ but act like a pussy.”

  Davonte had his fingers shoved so far up Manny’s ass they practically poked out of Manny’s mouth.

  Maybe I’d shrugged it off then, content to look the other way for my own purposes, but now, it felt different.

  Was it because of Charlie? Hell, I didn’t know — I wasn’t in the habit of soul searching, you know? But I felt myself bristling for no good reason.

  “How do you sleep at night?” I asked Manny, disgust curling my lip.

  “Like a baby,” Manny said with a hard smile.

  Yeah, I bet you do. I wanted to rip Manny’s face off, maybe not just for what he’d done to me but for Charlie’s brother, too.

  Holy hell, this conscience thing was quickly becoming a liability.

  “What else do you know about the girl?” I growled, wanting to get this over with. Just being around Manny again made me want to do dangerous things — like give that ugly fucker an even uglier mug to carry around.

  “She’s nothing like most girls, I know that much,” Manny answered sourly. “Got pride thicker than a porn star’s cock. She ain’t interested in climbing the ladder, if you know what I mean. I never seen Davonte try so hard for pussy when he could just as easily have ten girls prettier and easier to fuck.”

  Again, that growly feeling returned at the casual mention of Charlie and Davonte being together in any capacity.

  “Anything else? You got an address?”

  “Yeah,” Manny said, pulling a file free from his bottom drawer. The name Tommy Williams was scrawled at the top. “She lives with her dad in the Northeast part of the city, 543 Barton Park.”

  I knew the area. At one time, it’d been thriving but the city had taken too many hits in recent years to recover. Now urban blight was the norm.

  And Barton Park was on the fringe of everything that was rotten with Detroit.

  No wonder Charlie was tougher than nails.

  “I never thought I’d see you as Davonte’s bitch,” Manny said with a smug smile that I wanted to rip off his face. “He knows about your bum shoulder, right?”

  I ignored Manny’s question. “What else do you know about her?” I needed details, facts. I wasn’t here to shoot the shit with this fucker. “Friends? Hang-outs? Boyfriends?”

  “That was always your problem Damon. No social skills. You’ve got the personality of a rock. No stage presence. That’s why you were never going to go far in the ring.”

  My fists clenched and Manny chuckled. “Oh, yeah, you’re built like a fucking mack truck and those meat hooks of yours can do some damage but it takes more than brute strength and that’s what you never got.”

  My days of taking business advice from Manny were over. “If she shows up around here, call me,” I said.

  “Sure,” Manny agreed with a negligent shrug. “But the chances are slim she’ll show up. She hates The Underground and everything and everyone associated with it. The girl’s got shit for brains even if she’s hotter than the devil’s asshole.”

  “Fuck off,” I growled before I could stop it. I don’t know why I prickled whenever someone talked about Charlie but I did and I couldn’t seem to control it.

  Which meant the faster I got the girl delivered and out of my life…the better.

  Chapter 8

  Charlie

  From my hiding spot, I watched my house. I looked for cars I didn’t recognize, people who didn’t belong.

  Barton Park used to be a nice neighborhood back in the ‘50s, when my grandparents owned the house but it’d since deteriorated with time and the burden of poverty.

  My dad had inherited the house from my grandparents but he’d done nothing to help keep the house in good shape.

  My heart always broke a little when I saw the damage that was never fixed or addressed.

  If my Pops could see what’d happened to his beloved little bungalow, he would’ve died a second time.

  I waited a good long time, in spite of the fact that I couldn’t feel my toes any longer and my legs felt like leaden stalks of cement.

  But when I didn’t see anyone or anything that tripped my internal alarm, I cautiously made my way to the house, slipping in through the back.

  The house was empty — thank God for small favors — and I went straight to the fridge to scavage something to eat.

  I found some left-over Chinese food, sniffed, and then devoured when I determined it hadn’t been in there for too long.

  I needed a shower and a change of clothes but what I really wanted was to climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head and forget the nightmare that I was lost in.

  But that wasn’t an option.

  Hell, I’d never wanted to disappear in misery more than when Tommy had died but I’d managed to soldier on, so this time was no different.

  I knew Tommy hadn’t been a baby, but he’d always be my kid brother in my eyes. Try as I might, I’d still seen that dirty blond mophead with the adorable brown eyes.

  I’d been the one to protect him, keep him on the straight and narrow, all with the intention of splitting this dump when Tommy graduated.

  But fucking Frankie had put the bug in Tommy’s ear that the ring was the way to go.

  Easy money.

  Fast money.

  And Tommy had always been more soft-hearted than me when it came to our dad. Whereas I’d evaded that need to have daddy’s love, Tommy never had.

  Nothing I’d said seemed to make a difference.

  “The ring isn’t for you, Tommy,” I’d exclaimed one night when Tommy had come home from McConnell’s with a fat lip and a black eye. “Can’t you see you’re being toyed with? Let’s get the hell out of Detroit and start fresh somewhere else, please!”

  “Where we gonna go, Charlie? We got no money, no car, and I know you got big dreams of going to college but I’m not as smart as you. College ain’t for me.”

  Tears burned behind my lids as anguish crushed my spirit. “You are smart! Who’s telling you this bullshit? Just trust me, Tommy. Come with me. Let’s leave tonight. I have some money saved. It’s not much but it can get us out of this city. I can’t stand watching you get beaten to a pulp for a dream that was never yours to begin with!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong! I want this. I want to be somebody. Manny says I got what it takes. He says I remind him of ‘Mad Dog’ Wilson!”

  “Who?” I cried, shaking my head at the total nonsense coming out of my brother’s mouth. “Who the fuck is Mad Dog Wilson?”

  Tommy gestured wildly at my ignorance.

  “See? You don’t care. He’s a big name on the circuit and Manny gave him his start. I ain’t stopping, sissy. C’mon, take a chance and believe that I know what I’m doing.”

  My heart spasmed at the memory.

  I would’ve gladly eaten my shoe if I’d been wrong about The Underground but I hadn’t been wrong.

  Fuck it all, I’d been so right.

  And now Tommy was gone.

  I struggled to draw breath into my tight lungs as grief squeezed hard. I’d never recover from losing Tommy.

  Ever.

  I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

  Big girl panties, on, Charlie. Grieve later. Survive now.

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, fresh resolve straightening my backbone.

  I stuffed clothes, my toothbrush and toothpaste, and my small wad of cash into my backpack.

  I figured I had enough to get a bus ticket but then what?

  Being homeless in a differen
t state was still homeless.

  And women without resources had one option.

  Fuck that.

  I wasn’t going to prostitute myself for a few dollars.

  Fresh rage percolated in my veins for what Davonte and The Underground had done to my life.

  That life had taken the one person I’d ever cared for and set me on the run.

  Davonte acted with impunity because he had the money to grease whatever wheels he wanted in motion.

  And, to be honest, even if I managed to make it out of Detroit, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t chase me to wherever I landed just to drag me back by my hair.

  Davonte wanted me and there was no escaping that fact.

  I needed cash — more than what my paltry stash could provide — if I was going to be free of Davonte.

  I’m talking, change-my-name-disappear-kind of money.

  And Davonte was the only person I knew who had access to that kind of cash.

  But how was I going to get my hands on Davonte’s money?

  Maybe inspiration would hit me in the shower.

  Tommy used to say that a shower was the best place to think.

  Instant tears crowded my sinuses.

  Oh, Tommy, why hadn’t you listened to me? We could’ve been out of this shithole with a real shot at a better life if you’d just listened.

  I wiped at my tears and dragged myself to the shower, stopping briefly to wince at the ugly black eye and bruised jaw staring back at me from the bathroom mirror.

  I sure wasn’t winning any beauty contests today.

  No wonder Damon had been ready to toss me back at Davonte.

  Well, fuck him.

  If he was too stupid to realize Davonte would simply use him, too, then he deserved whatever came to him.

  I stepped into the spray and closed my eyes as the warmth thawed my bones. Detroit in winter was no place to be outdoors.

  Damon jumped to mind the minute my eyes closed.

  All that big, hard muscle bunched beneath skin toughened in the ring.

  I didn’t want to think of Damon.

  He’d been willing to deliver me to Davonte without thinking twice.