The Savage Sinner

by Harlan, Christopher

  Being inside her is like no other feeling in the world. I press my hips forward and back, thrusting into her slowly, so that I can feel every inch of her pussy. She claws at my back as I fuck her. Every touch just makes me go harder, faster, more intensely. I put my mouth next to her ear when I feel her getting close, and I whisper one more time. “I love you, Harper. I love you so much.” Then I feel her explosion. It’s like her body is fighting to get out from underneath me, only it isn’t. It’s an explosion of passion happening under my body, and I let it happen as I feel my own orgasm building. Her pussy is clenching me hard, and the feeling of it makes me lose all control. I come harder than I ever have before, exploding inside her, screaming as it happens.

  I’m breathing as heavy as I ever have, my chest heaving up and down. I feel guilty thinking this, but I have the better end of this deal. Lucas has to stress about a million things over the next few days, the least of which is the fact that he wants to win his UFC debut in dominant fashion. But me? This is all gravy.

  “So now what do we do?”

  Harper looks over at me. “We’re in Vegas. I say we hit the casino,” she insists.

  “See, I knew I brought you for a reason!”

  28

  Damien

  Ten Minutes After Lucas’ Fight

  That was amazing.

  The T-Mobile Arena is so much bigger than any arena I’ve ever stepped foot in before—and way bigger than any Lucas or I have ever fought in before. I’ve seen it on Pay Per View a few times for UFC events, but being here in person is another thing. The energy that I normally feel at a fight is one hundred times more intense here, and the energy courses through my body.

  Lucas fought in the preliminary fights, which means that his fight was before the main card. Here’s how it went.

  He fought a Brazilian dude who was represented by our rival gym, Brooklyn Fighting Academy, and who had one other fight in the UFC. The first round was slow, with neither guy exerting dominance or clearly winning. There’s a lot of pride on the line when two gyms are rivals—especially on a stage this large and this public. Everyone sees our banners, and once we get back to New York everyone wants the bragging rights of knowing they beat a guy from the other gym on live TV. What that means is that, a lot of times, no one is willing to risk anything.

  When he got back to the corner after they sounded the bell, Matt had a few choice words for Lucas regarding his technique and approach.

  “Stop being such a fucking pussy!” he yelled. “I don’t even recognize you out there. You look like you just learned how to throw a punch. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Lucas looked at Matt, a little surprised by the approach, but Matt was absolutely right. Even if Lucas out-pointed the other guy to a boring decision, it’s not going to do anything for his career. Being conservative isn’t going to make him a household name. Matt let it be known that he needed to win, and that he needed to win spectacularly.

  Round two was something different. The Brazilian started the same way, throwing a few feeler jabs out to gauge distance. He figured that round two was going to go the same was as round one did—but Lucas listened to his coaches.

  When his opponent threw a lazy low kick, Lucas dove in on his other leg for a takedown, taking him to the mat with ease. Once they were down, I knew it was a matter of time. The Brazilian is a blackbelt, but there are levels to grappling, and Lucas is on another one from most guys. He got mount, landed a few elbows to make the Brazilian give up his back, and then he choked him unconscious.

  I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud, or been so excited. I was almost as excited for Lucas as when I won my last fight. Now we’re all in the back—Me, Lucas, Matt, Lucas’ girlfriend Mila, and Harper.

  “That was epic, dude!” I tell him.

  “Holy shit, was I nervous,” Lucas says. “Wait until you feel this one day, man, it’s a different kind of pressure.”

  “I felt it just sitting there watching you fight. The energy is amazing.”

  It really was. Part of my brain is happy, and the other is already thinking of what I need to do over my next two fights so that I can get here myself.

  I’m meant for this kind of stage. I’m meant for all of it.

  Harper comes up to me and gives me a huge hug. “This is something else. I’ve never been to a UFC fight before.”

  “Me either. You look amazing. Your body looks ridiculous in that dress.” She really looks incredible.

  “That’s what you’re focused on right now?”

  “I’m always focused on your body, are you kidding me?”

  She smiles and we have a small kiss—even that gets me excited, but there are too many people around to do anything more than a little peck. There’s always later.

  “Now what?” I ask.

  Lucas looks up from getting his hands unwrapped. “Now I shower because I’m sweaty and gross.”

  “I second that,” Mila agrees. “I’m not going near him until he smells much better.”

  “I’m with you,” I say.

  “Alright, alright,” Lucas jokes. “I’m going to shower, everyone relax. After that, we’ll head back to the hotel, get changed, and go out and celebrate. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like you just won your first fucking UFC fight, and I’m so proud of you!” I can’t help but feel emotional that my brother from another mother just kicked ass, and I can’t wait to go out and celebrate with an after party.

  “Thanks, brother.”

  Matt finally gets the last of the tape off of Lucas’ hands. “And now that your hands are free, let’s work on that shower.”

  29

  Damien

  Normally, when fighters talk about their after parties, they mean popping bottles at the coolest and most expensive clubs that you can find on the strip. In our case, we mean a nice dinner with some of our closest friends.

  The place is definitely a tourist trap—it’s packed with people who are here for vacation along with fight fans, who are a whole different breed of people. You can tell one from the other by the two or three people who recognize Lucas when we walk in and ask him for pics. After posing for a few selfies, we get seated.

  “Look at you, Mr. Celebrity,” I joke.

  “Shut up,” Lucas says. “Remind me to make fun of you when its your turn.”

  Lucas really is like a brother. The entire time he’s been on this journey—from winning the light heavyweight title that got him into the UFC, to training, to his first UFC victory—every step of the way he’s gone out of his way to tell me that one day I’ll be here also. He’s never doubted me, or tried to steal the spotlight. He’s amazing.

  “Let’s get there first, then you can make fun of me.”

  “Two weeks, brother, two weeks. Tonight is about me, and then when the sun rises tomorrow all of our energy is going into you and your camp. You hear me?”

  I do, brother. I do.

  It’s great to be here with everyone. We all sit at a big table and Lucas orders enough food for an army, which is what happens after you’re done cutting weight. All your body wants to do is eat. Mila looks at him sideways.

  “A fifteen-ounce Porterhouse? You’re never finishing that.”

  “Don’t doubt me, woman,” Lucas jokes. “I haven’t eaten real food in a long time.”

  “Okay,” she jokes back. “Maybe the steak if it was just the steak, but I know you. You’re going to get the baked potato, and the creamed spinach, and . . .”

  “Don’t stop there,” Lucas interrupts. “The creamed corn, the corn bread, I guess some kind of vegetable—you can have that.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  Harper is sitting next to me, holding my hand under the table, her leg pressed into mine. As I’m sitting watching Mila and Lucas, I think about me and Harper. It hasn’t been that long since we’ve known each other, but I feel like it’s been years. We get each other, we have great sex, she knows what it’s like to date a figh
ter, and I have stronger feelings for her than I’ve ever had for a girl—and that’s not an exaggeration. I look at Lucas and Mila and I see what Harper and I could be in the future. I picture me, sitting there being celebrated for my first victory, and her by my side, joking around playfully. The image lights a fire in my belly. Soon enough it’ll be me.

  Our food comes and we all pig out a little—I’m not a drinker but I have a few more than I normally do and I feel it right away. Everyone except Matt is a little lubricated, and between Lucas’ victory, the great company, and the best food I’ve tasted in a while, I feel great. Everyone’s having a good time.

  The waitress comes over and asks if we want dessert. “No,” Lucas says. We all look at him sideways.

  “Speak for yourself,” I tell him. I want a piece of that chocolate cake I see on that table over there.

  “I have something else in mind,” he tells me. The way he looks at me, I know that he has something planned. He stands up and I think that he’s going to toast to his victory—but that’s not what he does. Instead, in front of everyone, drops to his knees in front of Mila.

  “Holy shit,” Harper whispers excitedly in my ear while she nudges me quickly in my side. “Is he about to. . .”

  “I think so.”

  Just then Lucas reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box. He opens it up as Mila starts crying.

  “Mila. You’ve been there with me through some tough times, I love you more than anything in the world. Our journey is just beginning—will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  She’s crying hysterically. Matt has his phone out, but I just want to watch this beautiful moment unfold.

  “Yes!” she cries, pulling him up to his feet. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

  The whole place erupts in applause. Some of them know who Lucas is, some don’t, but everyone is happy for them, me most of all.

  “Congrats you two!” I yell. It’s a beautiful way to end the evening.

  * * *

  After we’re done eating, there are hugs and pics, and love all around. When we leave the restaurant, we all go our separate ways. Mila and Lucas want to be by themselves, of course. Matt isn’t used to doing this much activity that doesn’t involve hitting pads, so he’s probably spent.

  Harper and I decide to walk around a little and just be by ourselves. “Well that was an incredible night,” she says after a little while of us walking around, taking in the lights of the strip.

  “And it’s not over yet.”

  “And what were you thinking about doing later?”

  I love when she’s coy and sexy—she really knows how to turn it on when she wants to—which is another way of saying that she knows how to turn me on when she wants to.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. Right now, what I really feel is the need to pee. It’s pretty strong. I had a lot of drinks and didn’t bother to go at the restaurant. “I really need to pee.”

  “Huh. Unexpected. I wasn’t thinking we were are the golden shower stage of the relationship, but I’m not saying no.”

  “We definitely need to talk about that at some point, but can you hang out here while I run inside and go?”

  “Sure. You look like you’re about to do the pee-pee dance, so please go.”

  “I am. But first.” I grab her by the face and give her a deep kiss. “I need to do that more.”

  “If you’ve wet yourself, it’s going to totally ruin the moment.”

  “Hold, please.”

  We’re a few feet from a dive looking bar, so I duck inside really quick and head straight to the men’s room in the back. I thought I heard someone calling me as I sprinted from the front to the back, but I ignore it. There’s no one here who knows me, so I’m probably still a little buzzed.

  The bathroom is empty, so I grab the closest urinal and get after it. I really had more to drink than I’m used to. I hear the door behind me open but don’t turn around. I zip up and, before I can make it to the sink to wash my hands, I hear my name.

  “Damien.”

  I turn my head and I feel the blow. It hits me in the face so hard that I can’t perceive what’s happening. My vision goes blurry. I know I’ve been hit, and I can hear a few different voices, but my instinct is to cover up. I get hit again from a few directions. I’m getting jumped—this isn’t an MMA fight—so I just cover up and protect my head. I fall to the ground from all the blows, trying to ride out whatever’s happening, and that’s when I feel the stomp. A foot lands right on my leg and I scream out in pain, taking my hands away from my face, and that’s when everything goes black. . .

  30

  Damien

  I open my eyes and I’m surrounded by everyone—Harper, Matt, and Lucas. I’m disoriented.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “You got attacked, baby.” It’s Harper’s voice. She sounds really emotional. I can feel my entire face. It feels the same as after a hard fight. Worse, even. But what I really notice is the throbbing in my leg.

  “The bar?” I ask, a little confused.

  “Yeah. You got jumped. They have one guy in custody, but he’s not talking, and the cops say there’s no way that you were attacked by just one guy. The rest must have gotten away.”

  What the fuck? “Why? I went into that random bar for like a minute. Why would. . .”

  “We don’t know,” Matt interrupts. “We’re working with the cops to find out now.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Lucas steps forward. “It makes a little bit of sense when you hear who the one guy they caught was.”

  “Who?”

  “Jimmy Huerta.”

  That’s when it all clicks. Jimmy Huerta is a washed-up ex fighter turned trainer at Brooklyn Fight Academy. Now’s it’s starting to make sense.

  “You’re telling some Brooklyn Academy guys attacked me?”

  “We can’t tell just yet, but it’s looking that way.”

  I start to feel a swell of rage energize my body. I only have one question. “Was he involved?”

  “Who?” Matt asks.

  “What do you mean who? Johnny, that’s who. There’s no way he wasn’t part of this.”

  “You really think he’d do this?” Lucas asks.

  “You didn’t see him at the gym that day—he’s out of control. And we know that a bunch of Brooklyn guys were here for your fight.”

  “But that bar?” Matt says. “How did they even know you were there? You didn’t know that you’d run in there to take a leak, so how could they have it planned?”

  My head hurts—literally and figuratively. “I don’t know. That’s a question for the cops. I’m in a lot of pain right now, I can’t think about it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Lucas says. “You just need to get better. Mila can’t stay in Vegas, she has to get back to her classes, but I’ll stay.”

  “You don’t have to do that, man.”

  “I know I don’t. I’m going to. Especially after you got attacked. I’m not leaving.”

  Lucas says goodbye so he can spend the next few hours with Mila before she heads back. Matt and Harper stay for a little while longer. He sits right next to my bedside and looks at me. I don’t like the expression he’s making. “Look kid, it’s time for a really hard conversation. I hate that this happened to you, and I hate having to say this, but I spoke to the doctors here, and then I put in a call to the UFC doctors just to make sure what I was thinking is correct.”

  “And?”

  “There’s no way you’re going to be able to fight in two weeks. Even if you could tough it out—and that’s not a good idea—you wouldn’t get medial clearance anyhow. There’s no way.” My heart sinks. And then he says the words that I know are coming but I’m still not ready for. “We need to cancel the fight. There’s no way you can make it.”

  I don’t believe what he’s saying, even if I knew deep down that’s what he was going to say. All of a sudden, the pain my body is matched
by the pain I have inside of me. I was two weeks away from my journey to the title—and now that’s all been taken from me. Fuck!

  “Can we reschedule?”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to call the promoter. But I wouldn’t count on it. Don’t worry about your career right now, kid. You need to get better.”

  That’s not all I need, I think. I need to get that motherfucker who did this to me.

  31

  Harper

  One Week Later

  Damien is in a bad place.

  I know what depression looks like. I’ve seen it on my brother’s face for a few years now. His brain injuries make him depressed and anxious, and that look is exactly how Damien’s looked all week at the hospital. He has some injuries, some muscle pulls, a strained ankle, and a really bruised ego. Thankfully he was well enough to travel after a few days in the hospital in Vegas and we were back in Queens.

  This attack changed everything. His plans of beating Donald, fighting Johnny for the title, then getting called up to the UFC is all out the window now. I keep telling him that this doesn’t ruin all that—it’s just a delay, but he’s not in a headspace to hear me. All he feels is anger, resentment, and a need for revenge that I have to keep talking him out of.

  The cops arrested Jimmy Huerta and charged him with assault, but he refused to name who he was with. He’s looking at prison time for what he did, but that’s not enough. I’ve met Jimmy before, many times, and I know that he’s just a lemming—just a follower. This assault has Johnny’s signature all over it.

  Maybe that’s why I find myself in Brooklyn, of all places, parked outside of Brooklyn Fight Academy, waiting to go in and talk to Johnny. I know his training schedule, which is basically every day at this point. I know when he comes and goes because he used to spend practically all his time at this place.