by HJ Bellus
“Answer me,” he demands, flicking my clit with his thumb.
I can’t hold back the moan that escapes and the way my body writhes on the smooth surface on the countertop.
“I have to work,” I manage to get out as his thumb keeps a steady rhythm.
“You have it off. I talked to Jill.”
“You can’t keep doing that. I’ll be homeless.”
“No, you won’t. Move in with me.” His thumb presses hard into my clit this time, ramping up the sensation brewing low in my belly.
“No, you’re ridiculous.”
“Come to my fight tomorrow.” He sinks two fingers inside of me.
“Jag.” My legs grow weak and part further open. “I’m not Layla. I don’t think I’d enjoy watching you fight.”
He ignores my protest.
“Answer me,” he growls. Jag is in his demanding alpha mode where he won’t be denied. It didn’t take me long to recognize the determination in his eyes and his tone of voice that leaves no room for argument. Broody, demanding Jag is hotter than hell.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll be there.” I reach up and grab the back of his neck, tugging him back down.
“Move in with me.” He brings me right back to the edge of falling over before lightening the pressure.
“Jag.”
“Answer me.”
“This isn’t fair!” I fight to buck my hips.
He steps back.
“You’re a dirty, dirty boy.” I point a finger at him.
“Is that a yes?” He cocks his head to the side.
I grab the hem of his boxers and tug him to me. “Put your face in the place now.”
Jag sinks back down, his lips against my core. His laughter vibrates on my skin, sending chills racing up my spine.
“Don’t laugh.” I swat at his head.
“You trying to use a dirty line on me is the funniest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Get to work, slugger.” I wink at him then pluck the band from his hair. I run my hand through his dark locks until he has me melting back against the counter.
Chapter 10
Jag
The locker room door slams. Boss glances up at me as he strides in. “You ready, boy?”
I give him a jerk of the chin, the adrenaline already igniting in my veins. The need to get into the octagon consumes me and my every thought. My knuckles ache, thirsty for the high of knocking someone on their ass. It’s an addiction I’ll never be free of.
“Bast looks good,” Boss taunts me. “In the best shape I’ve ever seen him.”
“Heard he’s kicking everyone’s ass after finally leaving Titan’s Tribe. The guy is on fire,” Cruz adds.
They’re goading me. Poking and pestering me. It’s doing the trick. Anger flares up inside of me. This isn’t just any fight. It’s a fight of a lifetime. There’s no belt on the line. Oh no, something way more valuable. My pride.
Bast is the son of a bitch who knocked my ass out. It was the last fight for me in a long time. My pride suffered too much, and my head was a fucking mess. The fucker didn’t stop at just knocking my ass out. He took it to social media, taunting the fuck out of me and my fans. He had no boundaries, even chirping about Layla and Ash and how Ash shouldn’t have been a pussy and finished the job.
I’m shocked Boss has even allowed him in his gym tonight. It only leads me to think Boss is counting on me to knock the prick the hell out.
“Listen up, men.” Boss slams down a clipboard on a table. The sound reverberates around the room. “There’s been some chatter, and I’m going to lay that shit to rest. Monty and Ash Chandler have been out on probation for the last six months. Monty’s brother in law, Landon, has re-opened the Titan’s Tribe gym. He’s training fighters. We all know Monty and Ash are never allowed in our circuit again. That doesn’t mean they won’t be lurking in the shadows. Keep your heads on straight. We’ve got Layla and Bella covered. You take care of you and your own. Eyes on the prize, men, and nothing but heart, fire, and desire. Their toxicity will not touch us this time.”
There are a few seconds of murmuring before the men acknowledge Boss in a chorus of encouragement. My blood has gone from simmering to a full-out boiling. Memories flash back of a beaten and shattered Layla. Cruz going fucking insane after he learned Ash, Layla’s ex, attacked her in an alleyway, nearly beating her to death. He went off the rails and straight to Titan’s Tribe gym to beat the fuck out of Ash right after dropping me cold when I wouldn’t hand over my keys. I know for sure if the cops didn’t show up in time he would’ve killed Ash and his father and be serving a life sentence in the state prison.
The sickest part of all was Layla’s mother was in on the plan to shake Layla up. It took a turn for the worse when dick for brains Ash couldn’t control his temper. The woman stood by and watched her flesh and blood be beat into an unconscious state. In some eyes, she redeemed herself when she came forward telling the truth. She ended up getting off scot-free and bailed out Cruz so he could be with Layla in the hospital. Then she did what she does best and disappeared. It was for the best. When I love, I fucking love big. It wouldn’t have mattered that she was a woman and the love of Boss’ life. I would’ve finished her.
I study Boss and his calm and collected poise. It reassures me he has everything under control. There’s a permanent restraining order on Ash and Monty to stay away from Cruz, Layla, and Bella. It doesn’t settle right with me that they’ve recruited family members to start back up the gym. Anything associated with the Chandlers is a seed sent and nurtured straight from Satan himself.
Layla pops her head in the door. Her smile lights up her face. It wasn’t too long ago she loathed this sport with everything inside of her. It wasn’t easy growing up with a single parent and seeing him come home beat to shit. Her abuela was her rock. That woman was a rock for all of us, even her son, Boss. He was the boss back in the day. The man has more titles than most fighters. He still holds records. In an ironic turn of events, Layla fell in love with the sport because of the man she fell in love with when she returned home a few years back to discover her abuela on her deathbed.
“It’s go time.” She wipes her hair out of her face. “Trick, this is your ten-minute warning.”
Trick in his quiet manner stands, and his trainers follow him into another room. Cruz and Boss linger behind. I damn well know they’re waiting for me to crack. I hate I’ve let them down so much they have to worry about me. Words are meaningless at this point. It’s going to take action to cement the fact I’m back stronger and better than I’ve ever been.
Layla pokes her head in again. “She’s here.”
Her smile is contagious even though I’m in fight mode.
“Send her back.” I rap on the table in front of me.
Cruz and Boss take this as their cue to exit the room. Every fighter has their rituals before and after fights. Some are more superstitious than others, doing the same routine from the moment they wake up. Not me. I fucking do as I will and then party hard after a win. Until now. I have to see Sunni before the fight. Mostly to make sure she’s here.
Goddamn, she was too fucking adorable the other morning sprawled out on the counter fighting me every step of the way only to have her greed for pleasure win out. She will be moving in with me. She practically lives there anyway, and she needs out of the shitty neighborhood if only for my peace of mind.
“It’s insane out there.”
I glance up, rattled from my thoughts, to see Sunni. Her long, caramel straight hair cascades over her shoulders. It shines under the lights. Her makeup is a bit heavier, and Jesus have mercy, those shorts.
“You listened.” I stand and go to her.
She nods. There’s something different about her tonight. There’s a lightness about her presence and a hint of confidence that turns me the fuck on.
“Good girl.” I grab her hip with one hand and run the other over her hair. “Love this. Didn’t think there was anything better than your wavy curls.�
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She remains silent.
“And those fucking shorts, baby girl.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m supposed to knock out my opponent with fists, not my rock-hard cock.”
This earns me a chuckle.
“You look hot, Jag.” She places her palms on my chest, digging her fingertips in. She’s never said so, but I know it’s a form of a security blanket for her. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Yeah?” I dip my head to trail my nose up the length of her neck. “Means everything to me you’re here.”
“I’m nervous, not going to lie. I’ve never been to anything like this.”
“Another first.” I wink.
“Yeah, another,” she whispers.
“And after I kick this douche bag’s ass, I’m going to fuck you, Sunni.”
She inhales sharply but doesn’t say a word.
“There will be plenty of time for making love in our future, don’t you worry about that. After several nights of devouring your fine ass body, I’m going to make it mine. Fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days and never want another.”
“Another first,” she whispers in confidence. “Hurry up and win already, baby.”
“Fuck,” I growl into her forehead. Her grip on my t-shirt tightens. “You are persistent about me knocking this fuckface on his ass with my boner, aren’t you?”
She laughs then snorts. Sunni buries her face in my chest, the action adorable. I’d love more than anything to give her hell about the snort. But I have to get my head back in the fight. Grabbing her cheeks, I tilt her head up and press my lips to hers. Sunni takes control of the kiss, nearly making me nut in my gym shorts. She kisses me like she craves to be fucked. She nips at my bottom lip then swirls her tongue in my mouth again.
A knock on the door has us parting. Boss enters not long after with tape in his hand.
I whisper in Sunni’s ear. “Gotta go, baby girl. I do not doubt if I put my hand down those sinful shorts I’d find your pussy hot and wet for me, soaking your pretty panties. Keep it that way.”
Sunni’s lips part then she snaps them shut. With one final kiss, I swat her ass and guide her to the door. She pats my chest one final time before whispering in my ear.
“They’d only be wet if I was wearing panties.”
With a wink, she begins down the hall. Her juicy ass sways with each step, her long, lean legs driving me nuts.
“Sunni.”
She peers over her shoulder, waiting for me.
“Tonight, I’m making history. A TKO with my cock.”
Her laughter fills the hallway before she disappears into the mouth of the crowd. I shut the door, muting the outside noise. I turn to see Boss cutting strips of tape and shaking his head.
“That girl undoes me. I’m so fucking rock-hard I could knock out Bast with my…”
“Jag.” Boss fights to stifle a smile. “Don’t need details. Shit, I fear for your sanity, kid.”
“It’s a damn serious health issue at this point. Can’t waltz into the octagon with Woody Woodpecker jabbing through my fighting shorts.”
“I walked in on Layla and Cruz last night, his ugly hairy ass staring right back at me.”
“Enough.” I raise my hands in surrender. “Woody has officially deflated after sister banging talk.”
Boss growls then laughs. He pats my shoulder when I take a seat next to him. “Good to have you back, son. You keep me young at heart and drive me batshit crazy.”
Chapter 11
Sunni
Layla spots me and begins frantically waving me down. I do my best, winding between all the bodies still milling around. I had planned to take a seat in the back row, keeping my identity less visible. It seems Layla has other plans including the front row.
“Saved you a seat.” She points to the chair next to her. “Even though we’re in the front, I tend to stand most of the fight.”
“Thank you.” I glance at the metal folding chair and then back to her.
“He’s going to be just fine, honey. No need to worry.” She pats my shoulder. “You look like you’re going to puke.”
“I feel like I’m going to puke.” I fidget from one foot to the other. The only thing keeping me grounded is the lingering scent of Jag.
“You’ll get used to all of this.” She gestures with her hand. “It took me a bit even though I grew up in this scene.”
“I don’t know about that.” I ease down on the folding chair with my knees growing weak.
“After Jag takes the first uppercut and has blood flowing down his face, your adrenaline will kick in, and you’ll be screaming at the top of your lungs.”
My eyes grow wide, and my stomach takes a dip, sending a wave of anxiety through my core. Layla rattles on about her nerves and the different bouts. The detail she goes into and the glow on her face as she talks about each fighter encourages me. I try to keep up and fail miserably. The one thing I grasp is something about a tap. If a fighter taps on the mat, they lose. It’s the worst way to lose, as if giving up or something. Hell, I think I’d be flat on the mat tapping like a bitch the second my opponent walked into the cage.
Layla is pulled away by someone wearing Diablo’s Throne gear, something about the ticket system not booting up. I take a sharp inhale of air and slowly let it all out while I relax back in the cold, harsh chair. Jag’s words put an instant smile on my face. When that boy talks dirty, I’m a goner. And what he told me still has my skin sizzling. I have no doubt he’ll make good on his promise. I knew it was coming, and if I’m honest, I had hoped it would’ve happened before now. Jag has taken his time devouring and exploring every inch of me and me doing the same to him.
Trick, Jag’s quiet teammate and friend, is the first name announced that I recognize. My ears ache once the song he walks out to booms throughout the gym accompanied by the cheers of fans. I don’t recognize the music but find myself up on my feet with my hands clasped together.
Layla rushes in front of me, taking her spot next to me. She hip bumps me and then winks before jumping up and down while screaming. Layla has to be the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She’s never made feel like an outsider or sent one judgmental glance my way. I know she and Jag are like brother and sister. He’s told me as much so it means the world she’s accepted me in her life. A twinge of ache attacks my beating heart, but I push it aside, studying what’s happening in the cage.
Trick is in his corner. Boss and other trainers surround him, wiping stuff on his face then slapping his cheeks. The official examines Trick from head to toe then the announcer says something. Everything is a blur to me. The two men take their spots at center stage in the cage. The official once again gets in their faces yelling something. A bell sounds, and all hell breaks loose.
The noise level in the gym escalates. The men dance around each other until the first punch is thrown. It lands square on Trick’s jaw. His head whips back, but his feet don’t stop moving. I swear I see the man smile and taunt the other fighter. Trick throws a few punches, none of them sticking.
The other man dives low, taking Trick down in the blink of an eye. His arms fly, connecting with each side of Trick’s head.
“Oh, you’re fucked now, buddy! You are going to be Trick’s bitch!” Layla screams next to me. “Lights out, bastard!”
My eyes bulge to a near painful point. I’m completely lost. Trick is getting the shit beat out of him. Yet here is Layla next to me excited as hell. From what I can see, Trick is going to be the other guy’s bitch. I’m desperate to question Layla and stare at her profile. The noise level in the gym makes it impossible.
The squeals and screeches around me draw my attention back to the ring. I catch the action just in time. Somehow in a beastly move, Trick flips his opponent on his back. He doesn’t rain down punches like the other guy but wraps him up in some damn spider monkey move. The man’s face burns a bright red. His eyes flicker for a few moments then his head droops to the side.
The official bursts
into the action, pulling Trick off the man. He thuds to the mat. My heart leaps out of my chest. Memories of the past invade—my head bouncing off hard tile, similar to the fighters. I shudder then wrap my arms around myself, battling the memories away.
It takes me several beats to even be able to clap my hands together. Three more fights go by. I recognize the fighters but don’t know them as well as Trick. Layla shows the same enthusiasm and respect for each Diablo’s fighter. I follow her lead in deciding when to cheer or wince.
“Your man is up.” She elbows me.
“I can’t do this, Layla.” I face her, shaking my head to the side.
“Yes, you can.” She grabs my hand, squeezing it tight. “He’s at the top of his game right now. You don’t want to miss this.”
Layla doesn’t drop my hand as Jag’s opponent walks to the cage. His song blares and there is complete ruckus. It’s not lost on me the crowd’s cheer for this man is staggeringly loud. It turns my stomach. With my novice knowledge, it seems he’s the favorite, which means the more skilled fighter.
“Stop. It’s the hype surrounding the fight. Jag is about to take this motherfucker down,” Layla whisper-yells in my ear, giving my hand an extra squeeze.
The announcer booms over the speaker. “Your hometown boy. The one your momma warns you about and the same one who can charm you out of your panties and knock your lights out. Jaaaaaaaaag the Punisher.”
Before the announcer’s deep booming voice ends, the crowd goes fucking wild. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and my stomach dips and dive bombs at the sound of his name.
“The fuck?” I whisper to myself, looking all around the gym.
Did they really just fuck up his music? The tune to SpongeBob SquarePants begins playing. I turn to Layla, who is bobbing her head to the music with a smile plastered on her face.
The crowd chants each word to the SpongeBob theme, not missing a beat. Layla screams each word right with them. I’m confused as hell. A sudden screeching sound serenades the gym. The song mixes up, cutting right into the middle of “Straight Out of Compton,” and I find myself shouting each word without second thought. I recognize the song from Jag’s playlist when he’s done cardio in his apartment. The only thing missing is the thumping of his sneakers on his treadmill.