HerCreed-ARE-epub
Page 9
Instead of verbally responding to her, he latched onto the back of her neck and marched her out of the stadium.
“What about my things?”
“Meghan will get them and take them to the locker room for you.” It wasn’t actual words that came out of his clenched jaw. Every syllable rolled together, and she chastised herself for not being able to think of much other than how good his hand felt on the back of her neck.
He didn’t let her go until he’d shoved her through the doorway to his office. “Sit down,” he told her as he glared.
Instead, she planted her fists on her hips and glared. “I’m not a virgin. Happy?” She turned to walk away, and he grabbed her arm, wrenching her back around.
“Happy and I haven’t seen each other in years.”
“What do you want, Creed?”
“I want the words.”
She threw off his hand and stared him down again. Arousal still raced through her pelvis and arguing with him wasn’t helping. “I already told you—”
“You said you aren’t a virgin. Aren’t. That’s very different than weren’t. As in, you’d had sex for the first time ten minutes ago or…”
“I’d had sex before tonight. Better?” Technically, what she said wasn’t a lie. Technically, fucking herself with a dildo the night they’d met so long ago took her virginity. She considered that a “need to know” kind of item, and he most certainly didn’t need to know. As if she needed to hand him anymore ammunition to use against her.
She’d used a couple actual guys as living dildos before. It had been unimpressive at best, so she’d stuck with the dildos…and thinking about the man who hovered in front of her.
He honest to God bared his teeth at her. Looked like he was going to grab her up and kiss her or fuck her or spank her.
Fuck.
Not helping.
“You look just as pissed now after I told you what you wanted to hear.”
“I know,” he shouted and clenched his teeth together.
Why he was pissed, she didn’t know. Because she’d had sex before or he thought she was lying or what?
And honestly if she didn’t get out of his office, she was going to do what could possibly be the stupidest thing of her life.
Cry.
Tell him who she really was.
Discuss the fact she’d wanted him for half a decade and hadn’t really had sex with any other man because none of them were him.
Any of those things counted as horrible, so she choked on them all and shook her head.
“No what?”
“No, I’m not discussing anymore of this with you.” She turned to go, certain he would let her leave so she could lick her wounds on her own.
“Clean out your locker and get out.”
She froze at the door. “What?”
“Take your shit and get out. I told you when you started that if you lost you were out.”
“I lost one fight.”
“And you won’t have an opportunity to lose another.”
In his office again.
Him telling her to leave.
But this time she was all grown up.
She never thought it would hurt more the second time.
She was wrong.
He brushed past her, dismissing her with not so much as a passing glance.
She honestly thought he was just going to walk away and that would be it.
Hope bubbled in her system as he paused in the doorway. Certainly he couldn’t be so cruel. Certainly he wouldn’t be so heartless.
With his head tilted to the side, his backlit profile reminded her of an archangel. “I never should have let you fight here.”
And with that blow he walked away.
A breath that felt a hell of a lot like a last breath whooshed out of her, and she fell back a step.
The pain.
Nothing could keep it away.
It hit her from every side as she stared at the empty entry.
No amount of fighting or training or studying could have prepared her for the kind of damage he could do.
He didn’t even remember kicking her out before, but how could he be so cavalier with his dismissal?
“I’m stronger than this,” she said out loud as she tried to take a breath.
But she didn’t feel strong.
She felt defeated.
Weak.
Closing her eyes, tears slipped free and slid down her cheeks.
No clue how long she stood there. No clue how long it took her to leave his office, gather her things and walk out of the stadium.
Long enough that she did all of those things alone, the arena and ludus long since emptied.
But something happened with each foot she put in front of the other. Each step reminded her that she was a fighter. A survivor. And she’d done everything on her own to get there.
Yes, she’d lost.
Yes, the man she loved didn’t want her.
But she didn’t have to go down without a fight. She didn’t have to walk away until she was damn fucking ready to.
And if he could walk away without looking back, then she could sure as hell do the same.
Pulling her eyebrows low, she growled as she walked away from The Cage. Away from the girl she’d been and the past she had no control over.
Her future?
That she could control.
And before she moved on and put all of this and him in a box marked done, she had something to prove. She wasn’t going down like this. She’d show him exactly who she was.
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she’d gotten from Meghan several weeks earlier but never dialed. Raising it to her ear, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
The woman on the other end of the line picked up and said, “I don’t recognize this number so you have three seconds not to get hung up on.”
“I. Am. Spartacus.”
Chapter Eight
Seven days later, KC entered the arena one last time.
For one last fight.
But she didn’t walk in of her own accord.
Not for this fight.
The last fight of the season was always a production. Not just simple matches. There was always a whole storyline woven into the two fighters who were pitted against each other.
Ten women, who all looked similar in body type and coloring to her, were carted in by big ass dudes from another ludus. The Ludus Magnus, they were called. Another group of fighters who normally went up against the Gladi-Rapers. Hauled in as the slaves they were meant to portray, the women were dumped in the ring. They scrambled to their feet with metal cuffs still on their wrists and ankles.
Their ragged clothing was dirty so no one would know their identities.
They looked scared.
For KC, it was more than a simple affectation.
The lead trainer from Ludus Magnus stepped into the ring with them. “You will call me Doctore.”
The women retreated to the edge of the ring, cowering from the large black man standing before them. He was dressed in full fighting gear, and KC bit her lip. She was ready for this. She fought for this. Needed it to move on.
Willing the nerves to settle, she played her part.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
They all remained silent until one of the women spoke up. “For s-s-some kind of selection?”
“Some kind of fight,” another woman added, and then hurriedly looked around before averting her eyes again.
KC kept her eyes firmly on the mat in front of her.
The element of surprise she needed to work in her favor.
She’d worked with her co-conspirator to make this happen. It was staged. The outcome of the selection was already predetermined so that she could fight. One more time.
“Yes. A selection. But only one of you will fight.”
“Which one of us?”
“Who will decide?”
“What if we don’t want to fight?”
“We didn’t ask to be here.”
The other women bombarded him with questions until he yelled, “Silence.” He approached and walked in front of them. “You’ve been chosen for different reasons. Some for your beauty to distract your opponent.” He passed by KC and stopped, raising her chin. “Some for your strength.” He moved on. “Or skill or intellect. But also, because you all look similar to someone we are looking for. Someone rumored to be among you.”
“How will you choose whom to fight?” The tallest of them asked when he stood before her. “And who are you looking for?”
“A fight. To the death.” The crowd rumbled in the seats all around The Cage.
“W-w-who would we fight?”
He snorted. “Each other, of course. Unless someone volunteers.”
“Volunteers? For what?”
“A battle against the fiercest Gladi-Raper. He is scheduled to fight someone of our ludus tonight.”
“Why would someone volunteer for that?”
“Redemption. Fate.”
“But why one of us? Why would you want one of us to fight him?”
“Rumors around the ludus say we have a Thracian in our midst. A homeless Thracian.”
“A Thracian?”
He nodded. “Removed from another house. Cast aside. Wanting to fight one last time.”
One of the others laughed. A high-pitched, shrill laugh. “And you think one of us is who? Spartacus?” At the name, the murmurs in the crowd rose another notch. “I wouldn’t say a word. Bet you don’t even have the right woman here.” She looked up and down the line with a shrug.
“It is why you ladies were all brought in. You all resemble the description we were given of the woman called Spartacus. And don’t worry. We’ll find the right one among you.” The knowing glint of his eye almost made her laugh out loud.
It was Layla who she’d called. They’d talked after KC’s first fight. The girl had never squirted and had no idea of her bondage fetish before that night. She was more than a bit thrown for a loop after KC had taken her orgasm from her.
They’d formed some kind of bond in the dressing room that night. She’d told KC if she ever needed her to repay the favor, then all she needed to do was ask.
KC never thought she’d need to make that phone call.
But she’d needed her help.
And Layla just happened to be the owner of Ludus Magnus. Plus a hopeless romantic, apparently. Fate.
Giving KC the keys to the biggest fight of the season didn’t happen without an explanation. So KC’d told her of her past. The first person ever that she’d told of her past, and why it drove her so hard. Of how she’d actually found The Cage so many years ago. Sneaking in, meeting Creed. Being kicked out.
She’d told her everything.
Well she hadn’t actually said the words. That she loved him. But the other woman had taken her hand and squeezed it. Kissed her mouth. And with a nod of her head, they’d set to work to plan this night. This fight.
A fight of redemption.
Of love.
Even if it was only one-sided.
KC didn’t want to leave as a failure. She wanted one last fight to prove she could do anything. Blinking, she focused on the man called Doctore, again. He was supposed to announce the fighter she was to face. Crixus. And then she would volunteer.
“Who are we supposed to fight? If one of us volunteers so we don’t all die, then who are we supposed to face?”
“He is called—The Shadow of Death.”
KC crumpled to the mat, landing on her knees. “The Shadow…” This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She was supposed to fight Jackal who fought under the name of Crixus. That’s who she was supposed to face.
Feet clad in sandals appeared in front of her. Doctore’s voice crept inside her. “Hello. Spartacus.”
The crowd exploded into action. Yelling, getting to their feet to see her better.
She wanted the mat to open up and swallow her.
She’d been prepared to see Creed, again. Thought she could handle it. But being on the mat with him?
Fighting him?
Winning?
Losing?
No.
She shook her head and started to crawl away.
Doctore hauled her to her feet, and she fought for more than just her freedom. And not for show. She truly fought to get away. She’d made a mistake. Why had Layla done this to her?
As if conjured from her thoughts, Layla stepped into the ring just as Doctore grabbed a fistful of KC’s hair to force her head back.
Dressed in a Roman woman’s gown, Layla approached her. As she neared, she glanced to the men who’d brought in the women. “Take the others away.” Her gaze found KC’s again and her voice was filled with sympathy. “We’ve found the one we want.”
KC tried to shake her head, but the man holding her hair wouldn’t allow it.
“Yes. She’s the one we want.” He turned his attention back to KC. “And she’s the lady of this house and you’ll do as she says.”
“I won’t fight him,” KC told Layla when she knew she was close enough to hear her.
“Oh yes, you will.” Her smile was genuine as she held her cheeks.
“I was supposed to fight Crixus.”
Men picked up and hauled the rest of the slaves away.
Layla looked up at the man holding, KC. “Leave us.”
“As you wish.” Slowly, he released her and to her own surprise she stayed on her feet.
Layla took a key from her pocket and unlocked the cuffs at her wrist and ankles, handing them to Doctore before he exited the ring. “We were substituting a fighter, which gave them the opportunity to do the same.” Layla circled her and stood behind her, removing the rags of clothing she had on to hide her sports bra and boy shorts.
The doors across the stadium opened. The doors she used to enter through. The doors of the Gladi-Rapers.
A lone man stood on the other side draped in a dark, hooded cloak.
The crowd yelled and cheered as the man made his way to the ring.
Not any man.
The Shadow of Death.
No.
Her Shadow of Death. The killer of the girl she used to be. Of who she wanted to be but the woman he would never want.
Layla tossed KC’s rags out of the ring to waiting fans. Pulling a roll of tape from a dress pocket, she wrapped KC’s knuckles to prepare her for the fight of her life.
When Layla finished, she fisted her hands, just as the man she loved stepped into the ring. The Cage began to lower.
“Fight,” Layla whispered in her ear and drew her attention to her one last time. “And win. For all of us.” Legions of hurt and sadness lingered in Layla’s eyes, then she turned and nodded to Creed as she passed.
At last, they were alone in the ring.
A ref entered behind Creed as they were locked inside The Cage, but the referee had enough good sense to go to a corner and stay out of the WWIII confrontation about to occur.
The need to reach for him was an ache eating her alive as she stepped into the center of the ring. He threw off his cloak, and tossed it into his corner. Fighting shorts were all that covered him. His knuckles were already wrapped.
The upward tilt of her chin as he stepped closer was only to meet his gaze as he towered over her. And her own pride, something in the back of her mind coughed up.
“Why?” she asked. “Why after all these years are you fighting tonight? Of all the nights in all the years, why tonight?”
“Because of you.” Anger resonated through his clipped words.
Anger washed over her, making her body tense. “You kicked me out. I lost one fight and you—”
“I didn’t kick you out because you lost.”
Uh… “What?”
“I kicked you out because watching you fight is the best and worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I want you to succeed. Because you can do anyth
ing. Losing is just that. It happens to everyone.
“I lost because of you.”
“What the hell? If you can’t take responsibility for your own fights then we have a lot more issues to work out before we can—”
“You were talking to some chick. Some blonde chick. I was about to win, and I wanted to make sure you saw, because I fight for you. And you weren’t even watching.” Hurt bled into her words, slicing her from the inside out.
He stared at her, somehow moving closer without taking a step forward. “You fight for me?”
“The blonde. We’re talking about the blonde.”
“No. You’re talking about the blonde, and I’m talking about you fighting for me. When did that start?”
“The first time I stepped onto a mat when I was eighteen I’ve fought for—”
He grabbed her, hauling her against his body just as his lips crashed down on hers.
In shock, her mouth fell open, and he used it to his advantage. The breath in her lungs huffed out as her entire body relaxed into him.
After some time of him tasting her mouth, he backed away but with his arms still around her. “I’ve dreamed of you.”
“I’m no one.” She leaned into him, holding on as tight as she could with her eyes closed, breathing him in. If it was a dream, she didn’t want to wake. She’d waited a lifetime to be able to touch him. It couldn’t be over yet. Not ever.
“You’re the only one that matters. Have been for more than five years since I kicked you out the first time.”
Coldness spread through her limbs as she tried to back away, but he wouldn’t let her. “You know who I am?”
“From the moment you walked into the arena.”
“Let me go.”
“Why? So you can run? Not bloody likely.”
“But you never said a word, and I look completely different now. I’m all grown up.”
He gazed at her, some emotion clear on his face she couldn’t concentrate enough to comprehend. “Your eyes are the same. And your smile.” His fingers brushed hair off her cheek. “I’d know your smile anywhere.”
She couldn’t process…anything. She shoved away from him, paced a few feet away, and then came back. “The blonde. Who was the blonde?”