by Rose Hudson
Hammered
Copyright 2017 Rose Hudson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without the written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Published by: Rose Hudson
Published date: May 5th, 2017
Editor: Ellie McLove (Love N. Books)
Formatter: Stacey Blake (Champagne Formats)
Cover Designer: Sommer Stein (Perfect Pear Creative Covers)
Cover Photo: Calvin Smith (Dream Digital Photography)
Cover Models: Jurnee Lane & Lance Jones
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue 1
Prologue 2
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Other Books
Acknowledgements
Dedicated to:
Finding friends in unlikely circumstances. To 3am brainstorming sessions. To second chances that motivate and inspire. To finding a sort of real and crazy to match your own.
Love and thank you, Kimme.
Months earlier…
“I THOUGHT DAMON IS SIGNING a contract to fight in the UFC?” I ask Madi as we make our way down dank smelling concrete stairs beneath an even smellier south side bar.
“He is.”
“Then why in God’s name are we headed for our possible demise in an underground parking garage? I mean, I don’t know much about fighting, but I’m pretty sure it’s more legit than this.”
She loops her arm in mine and pulls me forward as we reach the last step, and suddenly, it’s like someone turned up the volume, the sounds of men yelling and cheering echoes around us.
I don’t deny I’ve lived a sheltered life. So, I’m aware things sometimes seem wrong and immoral to me, when to others, more worldly people, they don’t. But law school has broken me in, and now my mind deals in corruption, illegal activity, or the wrongly accused.
But as soon as we step up to this group of men, and now I see a few ladies with questionable morals, it’s almost like illegal takes on a smell and gives me a nosebleed from its potency.
There are several guys sitting off to the side, getting what I assume is considered medical attention in underground garage fights. The smell of pot is thick, but almost overpowered by alcohol of all colors and flavors, and a couple of men with small flip pads jot down bets and collect cash.
But of course, no sport would be complete without the girls, and although the few I’ve spotted have seen better days and are definitely on that side of thirty, the men in here hassle them like they’re Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders.
“Really, Madi? What the actual hell have you brought me to?” And God bless her, she laughs.
“Oh, stop it, Lydia. You really do need to get out more, you know?” Spotting someone across the room, she waves wildly and pulls me by the hand.
“Whoa, where—”
“It’s Damon’s manager.”
“Well, looky looky. Who’ve we got here, angel?” The greasy guy says to Madi as he pulls her in for a hug, looking me up and down in my black slacks and black chiffon top like I’m an alien he’d like to fuck.
“This is my sister, Lydia.” She always introduces me as her sister, which causes confusion, but she doesn’t care. Her father, Aston, and my father, Stellan, are business partners and best friends, so we have basically been sisters our entire lives. Although I’d rather scratch out my eyeballs with the heel of my stiletto boots, I extend my hand and plaster on a smile.
And of course, the skeezball kisses it. Gag.
“Hi Lydia, I’m the hungry shark and I’d love to eat you up.” He laughs way too hard at his sorry attempt at a joke.
“I thought it’s a wolf that says that?”
“Today it’s Shark. That’s what they call me, so if you ladies need anything, just ask for me.”
I remove my hand from his grasp as quickly as I can without slapping myself in the face and look over at Madison like I could light her on fire. I swear, all her parents, Liz and Aston, did while she was pregnant with Madison, was get high. Madison is a total flower child.
Miss free spirit.
Miss make love, not war.
Miss hey-let’s-go-watch-my-asshole-boyfriend-partake-in-illegal-activity.
Considering I’m mere months away from becoming an attorney, I’d say this speaks volumes about how dumb I can be when it comes to her. I swear to God, she wouldn’t be alive today if I hadn’t been attached to her hip since basically birth. But I wouldn’t be either.
And don’t get me started on her asshole boyfriend, Damon. Even though we are twenty-five, this is the first guy she’s done more than bang on occasion. Make love, not war. Yeah. I can’t even bear to think she could actually be in love with this guy.
I’ve had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach since he came into the picture, but I’ve been chalking it up to jealous best friend syndrome. I work at our fathers’ law firm and go to school. I have no boyfriend.
But as we watch Damon and some other guy stand in the middle of this crowd, the only safety precautions being the light wrap of medical tape across their knuckles being applied as the final countdown to the fight begins, I know this is why my gut ties in knots every time I’m in a room with him.
The look on his face is menacing, his stance malicious. Almost as if a dark cloud falls over him and he transforms into a midnight creature.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Madi asks, pulling me up to her side from where I stand behind her. I look down at her face and see pride and adoration for this man and it’s like I’ve been doused with cold water.
Madison lives in the gray areas. For me, life is black or white and there is no in-between.
“Are you sure we should be standing in the very front? Can we at least back up a little?” I plead with her. She concedes and we allow a couple guys to slide in front of us. We locate a bare area on the concrete wall at our backs and decide to sit on the edge to give us a better, and safer vantage point.
One of the men taking bets and collecting cash yells, “Shop’s closed.”
Everyone takes two steps back and spreads out to form a wider circle around the fighters. ‘Shark’ steps to the inside and speaks
to them both loud enough for everyone to hear.
“This is a rough and tumble bout, so all’s I got to say to you boys is- may you both live to see another day. Demon, you ready?” He points to Damon who replies by spitting on his opponent’s feet. Fucking imbecile. “Barista, you ready?” The other fighter nods. “Let’s go!”
Shark quickly bows out of the circle as the guy’s size each other up and begin to move around. Damon is one cocky bastard because he doesn’t even guard his face. He stands there, unmoving, making it apparent to all that he wants this guy to make the first move. It doesn’t take long for the sound of fists hitting skin to sound out in the now quiet atmosphere. And that’s all it takes for the crowd of vultures to go nuts.
Fucking kill him!
Knock his ass out!
Go for blood, Demon!
I’m sure it’s that last one that gets him moving, and when he does, my stomach somersaults like I’ve just gone down a roller coaster drop. Madi told me on our way here these guys fight under names given to them by the organization, and Damon is known here as Demon.
Fitting.
With his hands planted on the back of Barista’s head, he brings it down onto his knee, slamming it over and over until the guy frees himself. Barista’s eye is covered in blood and he wipes at it to clear his vision. Damon grins, eyes hooded and looking more like Lucifer than any depiction I’ve ever seen.
Barista lands a thump to the side of Damon’s head contacting his ear, causing him to reach up instinctively. He pulls his hand away and I can see the red color on his fingers from where we sit. We’re two minutes in and already both are bleeding.
Bile rises in my throat.
I’ve seen fights in movies before, but nothing as barbaric as this. And just when I think it can’t get worse, Damon head butts Barista, his blow landing on his already damaged eye and causing it to release from its socket as I can only assume the bone around it shatters.
I lean back, throwing up behind the wall we’re sitting on. Madison pats my back and hands me a water bottle from her tote, seemingly unaffected.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod, covering my mouth with my hand, studying her as she returns her attention to the circle. I can’t help but wonder how many of these fights she’s already been to and if they are always this gruesome. But I think I already know the answer.
“That’s a first.” She makes as much of a shocked face as Madison is capable of. I shake my head at her, but mostly at myself as I hop down from the wall. I look up at her expectantly. “Just one more minute? It’s almost over,” she says, holding up a finger.
I start to scream at her, but the shouts of the crowd turn to roars, and even though I’m beyond disgusted and disturbed, I turn to see what’s happening. Like a disaster I can’t look away from, what I see is Barista on the ground, unmoving, and Shark in the center holding Damon’s arm up in victory.
I scan the crowd and listen to their screams and chants and praises for Demon, concluding that these spectators are just as vicious as the men who tear each other apart in the circle.
These people are fucking animals and I feel dirty just being in the same cage with them.
But when I look up at Madison perched on that wall, yelling in celebration just like them, I realize that I’m worse than dirty, I’m a shitty best friend for ever letting her get wrapped up in a world like this.
That’s why I’m the worst.
Months earlier…
EVER HEARD THE EXPRESSION ‘THE mean streets of Chicago’? Well, I grew up on those streets and I can tell you firsthand, that only begins to cover it. But what’s crazier is there was a time that I would’ve chosen those streets over the four walls of my foster home. At least until I became useful to Jerry, my foster father. I learned quickly that keeping him happy, kept my two younger brothers out of harm’s way, or kept them from being Jerry’s next project. My youngest brother, Rush, was just a newborn when we were given over to the state. But Thorn, just two years younger than me, was always next in line. That just made me learn faster—work harder. Just made me the strongest kid in the room wherever that may be.
My foster mother, Celia, was everything our own mother and father could’ve hoped for us in their absence—all be it by choice on our mother’s end. If she would’ve just been stronger.
If only we’d mattered more.
For the last seventeen of my twenty-seven years, that’s what fueled my drive in the ring. Hurt or be hurt. I’ve had enough fucking hurt for the lot of us. It’s my turn to give back some of what I’ve been handed. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t some fucking pity party, this is fuel. This is the force behind each blow as it makes contact with my opponent. This is the strength within hands that inflict such hurt upon these sorry motherfuckers I’m surrounded by. The difference between them and me?
I want better. I want out.
I’m losing my sight, losing my mind…
The music blares through the speakers of the cheap stereo in the corner of the parking garage under Timmy’s bar, where my Tuesday night fights take place. They blare the loud, rage-filled music through the speakers to pump us up, to ensure a good fight. If only they knew I didn’t need that shit they’d get a much better show. Let us fight within the silence, let them hear the crack of bones, the slap of fists to the face of the dumb fuck in front of me. That’s what they came for after all; blood and utter demolition.
I’ve paid my dues.
I want far away from this life
Breathing in the stale aroma of sweat and mold, and the body odor of the old fuckers that form a circle around the two of us, is enough to make me tear a hole the size of a fucking Mack truck through the brick wall at my back. They’ll get their show, and I’ll get my money and become one step closer to that goal because unlike these animals I have something to work for.
A better life awaits me.
That’s why I’m the best.
Months later
CHICAGO WINTERS ARE BLISTERING, WITH well below freezing temperatures and about five hours of sunlight each day. But from the double corner windows of my office, you could almost mistake it for a winter wonderland in the late afternoon hours. Surrounded by smells of a catered holiday feast, and the knowledge that a new year is mere days away, you’d think I would be happy—hopeful.
A new year means new beginnings.
But ironically the biggest part of me would rather fall, tumbling down from this window, rather than see the wonder in the snow-covered Chicago Loop below.
“I’m not going to say that you need to just lay down your sword, Lydia. But what I will say is remember you’re talking to Aston and that you both want what’s best for her. You’re here every day, yet somehow, you manage to avoid him. You need to talk. He loves you,” Helaena, Aston’s sister, and our firm accountant, says. I look down at my hands, tamping down the urge to spur the pointless conversation further, picking at my nails to keep from it.
“I’ll talk to him after we come back from New Year’s,” I say, turning away from the window to look at her. The look on her face changes like a set of automatic blinds.
“Speaking of New Year’s, what’s your plans?” She leans forward, clasping her hands on the desk. I shrug.
“Nothing. I suppose I’ll stop by the hospital and—”
“Not on New Year’s Eve you won’t.”
My eyes round at her.
“I’ve wanted to invite you for some time now, but decided to wait until I felt like you were up for it.”
“Up for what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little intimacy without intricacy.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, smirk evident on her red lips. I ease to my chair, propping my elbows on the desk and coming closer as she continues. “Members of the Elite will bring in the new year at my home and I would love for you to come.”
“And the Elite is what?”
“Professional twenty and thirty something’s that don’t have time for dating or relationship
s.”
“Isn’t that most Chicago singles these days?”
“Most Chicago singles aren’t on the list, so no. We meet once, twice a month. No last names, no business talk. Just light conversation, and if you meet a match, multiple orgasms.” She treats her response as if she were discussing hiring a maid service. I lean back into the chair and look at her for a second.
“So, I come to this party and find someone to fuck, basically?” I try not to sound like a child, but by the way she looks down and smirks, I’d say I failed.
“We’re all human, Lydia. We all have needs, but not all of us have time to find an appropriate mate to satisfy those needs. Right? You need an outlet, and as classless as it is to say, sometimes a good fuck is the best outlet there is.” Helaena has always been a straight-shooter, but as bold as her words are, they still aren’t as bold as the thought of walking into a room full of strangers with the intent of singling out someone to have sex with.
I’m stunned. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never considered meeting people strictly for sex. I’m not a prude, I just never knew that existed—the Elite.”
Helaena stands, gathering files from the seat beside her.
“When you are in an intimate, romantic relationship with someone, what purpose do they serve in your life?”
“I suppose someone to enjoy life and possibly grow old with.” She faces me fully, placing the remaining files in her briefcase and grabbing her suit jacket from the back of the chair.
“And maybe fulfill your desires?”
I shrug and nod.
“Then if you aren’t at a place in life where you’re ready for all that other stuff, then wouldn’t it make perfect sense to find someone, multiple people even, to bring you pleasure? Meet those desires?” Her words wash over me like a wave of provocation and she grins as realization transforms in my eyes. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so I’ve got to run. Our gatherings usually aren’t formal, but we dress things up for New Year’s. Find a dress that doesn’t say monastery, and be at my house at ten Saturday.”