Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10)
Page 16
Rounding the corner, I saw the warehouse ahead, and it was a hive of activity. Music filtered out onto the street where people milled, moving to and from the entrance. On first glance at the exterior, it was nothing like I’d expected. I was ready for cloak and dagger espionage and secret code words to get inside, not this. I wondered why the cops never shut it down because it wasn’t exactly a covert operation. Bribes—had to be.
There didn’t seem to be an entry fee, but a huge man with a shiny bald head eyed me as I slipped inside with the group of people I’d followed. I swore he rolled his eyes as I passed, but there was no way I was looking twice at the guy.
Standing just inside, I shifted nervously, my hands shoved into my pockets. I fiddled with my car keys, my gaze darting around, but no one paid me any attention. Just a normal day in paradise, then. I took a deep breath and did what I did best. Became invisible.
On the surface, The Underground looked like any sports club slash warehouse nightclub I’d seen on TV. There was a large wire cage surrounded by bleachers and a generous standing area—this was where the fights took place. To the side was a full bar that was pumping with customers and staff, and next to that, there was a lineup of bookies taking bets. A large digital board above them listed the fights for the night with odds being shouted out above the din. Toilets seemed to be further to the back, a set of doors guarded by a pair of security guards led someplace else, and there was plenty of other seating scattered around.
Passing by the bookies, I stared up at the board. All the fighters had names like Goblin, Viper, Storm, Sabre, and Roar. If the setup here weren’t so high tech, I would’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all. Calling yourself Goblin. Seriously?
“Hey, lady,” a man called out, causing me to pause. “You want to place a bet?”
I hesitated, glancing up at the board again.
“We’ve got Blade against Sabre starting in ten minutes,” he went on, trying to reel me in. “Blade is two to one. Good odds, low risk.”
I grasped the coin purse in my jacket pocket. Why not? What did I have to lose? Maybe twenty bucks. I would just have to eat a few packets of instant noodles instead of chicken drumsticks this week. In the spirit of winning back my life, I decided to give it a shot.
“Put me down for twenty, then,” I said.
“Twenty on Blade for the win?” he asked, and I nodded.
Handing over the cash, he gave me a ticket stub and immediately turned to call out the odds to another person behind me. Moving away, I stared at the bet and shivered. Who knew such a little thing could make me feel so…alive.
Deciding to find a spot on the bleachers to watch the fight, I sidled through the press of people, loving the anonymity. I didn’t know a single person, and they didn’t know me. I wasn’t the butt of anyone’s jokes, no one gave me bitchy side-eye, and no one definitely looked at me as if I was beneath them.
Finding a spot halfway up the bleachers, I sat, watching as a man walked into the cage with a microphone in his hand. The people around me craned their necks, their attention turning forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the ringmaster—was that even what he was?—roared into the microphone. “The next fight of the evening sees two of your favorites go head-to-head. Fighting for Championship points, this bout is going to be brutal.”
I squirmed in my seat, my body picking up on the energy in the air. This whole thing seemed like a big deal. People were invested, calling out the names of their favorite fighters…it was a whole underground movement happening right under the city’s nose. It was incredible.
“Our first fighter cuts like a samurai sword and moves like a ninja…it’s Sabre!”
The crowd roared, the bleachers shaking as everyone stamped their feet. Watching the cage, I saw the door open, and a man strode into the spotlight. Gasping as I saw how ripped he was, all my womanly bits zinged in appreciation. The fighter known as Sabre wore nothing but a pair of silk shorts with a wide waistband, a patch of some sort sewn on the front. His muscles rippled as he flexed, moving to the far side of the cage.
Wow. Just…wow.
“And challenging for the points is your favorite pair of fists, the man who’s right hook is sharper than diamond-cut steel, the man who’s remained undefeated in his last ten bouts…the one, the only, Blade!”
The second fighter prowled into the cage, and there were enthusiastic screams from the female portion of the crowd.
“Do me, Blade!”
“Fuck me!”
“Let me suck your cock!”
I narrowed my eyes at the blatant sexual advances and studied the fighter known as Blade.
Immediately, I could see the difference between him and the other guy. He was just as built, his muscles well defined and enhanced with two full sleeves of black and gray tattoos, but there was something in the way he moved. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.
I studied his face, his short messy hair, his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw and decided he was completely my type of man. As if I would ever have a chance with all the glamazons throwing themselves at him.
As the two fighters faced off, I saw the stains on the ground—it was concrete, no mats or padding in sight—and realized the brown splatters were old bloodstains. Fiona’s boyfriend’s mate Tony wasn’t kidding, then. This place was serious business.
I began to feel uneasy about the fight, but I was here now, and it would look weird if I got up and left while everyone was glued to the cage. If I wanted to live, then I had to watch.
A bell rang, signaling the start of the fight, and the two men launched themselves at each other, punching, kicking, and dancing around one another like lethal weapons. The crowd cheered as Blade sank his fist into Sabre’s stomach. They called for blood as he slammed his opponent onto the concrete and chanted his name as he dominated the fight within minutes.
To me, the scared little mouse that I was, it was a bloodbath. Raw male aggression filled the air, whipping the entire place into a frenzy. I felt like a little fish in a pool of sharks.
Blood dripped from Blade’s face, but it poured from Sabre. He was on the ground, his hand slamming against the concrete as he spat to the side. Red smeared across his lips, and I felt sick. As the fight was called in Blade’s favor, I rose to my feet, horrified.
Pushing through the crowd, I turned, searching for the way out. That…it was confronting. The brutality of it all. People came here for fun? What was I thinking coming here?
In my haste to find the exit, I found myself in a secluded area of the warehouse. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking around in circles, but I was glad for a little breathing space. That was until I realized where I was. A few people lingered, but they all looked hard as hell. Bad guys and their women. It felt like I would be flogged with a chain at any second.
Turning, I smacked into a hard chest and squeaked as two big hands grasped my shoulders. Staring up into the scarred face of an extremely tall, built, and mean-looking man, I began to tremble.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawled, his gaze lowering to my breasts. “Lookin’ for someone?”
“N-no,” I stammered. He looked like Vin Diesel served with a side of ugly.
“Are you lost?” he asked, licking his lips. “I can help you find nirvana, baby. It’s right here on my cock.”
I froze, fear starting to overcome reason.
“No need to be frightened,” the man said. “I’m a fighter here. I’ll look after you. We’ll have a good time. I’ll even let you be on top for a while.”
“Hey, Mountain.” A loud voice from behind the man drew his attention, and he let me go as a hand slapped on his shoulder. “I see you found my girl.”
“She’s yours?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.
I raised my head and hesitated when I saw the man who’d approached us. It was Blade. The guy from the cage with the right hook from hell.
His eyebrow was split from the fight, and a few drops of blood wer
e smeared across his forehead. Up close, he was better looking than from my vantage point on the bleachers. He’d put on a T-shirt and jeans since, and his hair was damp.
“Thanks for keeping her warm for me, but I reckon you should fuck off,” he said to Mountain. “You’re going to scare her off, mate.”
“Pussy,” he growled. “Prove it.”
Blade sighed and then glanced at me. Before I knew what was happening, he reached out and wrapped his hand around my braid, pulling me against his chest. His mouth covered mine, his lips hard and commanding. When his tongue swept into my mouth, I melted, letting him kiss me like I was nothing more than a thing. And fuck me if it wasn’t hot as hell…and completely bloody stupid.
When he pulled away, he stared at me almost apologetically.
“Blade, mate, c’mon. Share your pussy around for once in your sorry life.”
“Fuck off, Mountain,” he said with a snarl, not breaking eye contact with me. “I’m not into group situations, and I definitely don’t want to see your cock.”
Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, Blade guided me away from the danger zone and back out into the warehouse. It felt safer out here, but now I knew it was an illusion.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I got lost…”
Turning, he looked me over and raised an eyebrow. “You here alone?”
I nodded, starting to feel exceptionally stupid.
He grinned like he already knew my answer. “What’s your name?” I opened my mouth to reply, but he placed a finger over my lips, and I shivered at the contact. “You can be whoever you want here.”
I was plain Alison Anders, the butt of all the office jokes, demure, straitlaced, alone, a shell of her former self. There wasn’t a wild bone in my body, but suddenly, I felt like I could be anyone.
“Ali,” I said through a heavy breath. The name rolled from my lips without hesitation, and I knew it was fate. Life had just been blown into my dead body, and it’d been delivered by the kiss of a stranger. A hot, dangerous, bloodstained stranger.
“Ali,” he murmured. “I think you’d better go home. This isn’t a nice place for a woman on her own.”
I froze, my mind pulverized into mush. Go home?
He smirked, his gaze lowering. Just when I thought he was staring at my boobs, he plucked the ticket stub out of my breast pocket and peered at the bet I’d placed. His lips curved into a grin, and he pressed the bit of paper into my hand.
“You’d better collect your winnings on the way out, darlin’.” He winked before turning away, and my gaze fell to his ass. “You’re welcome.”
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
1. Callie
2. Storm
3. Callie
4. Storm
5. Callie
6. Storm
7. Callie
8. Storm
9. Callie
10. Storm
11. Callie
12. Storm
13. Callie
14. Storm
15. Callie
16. Storm
17. Callie
18. Storm
19. Callie
20. Storm
21. Callie
22. Callie
Other Books in The Beat and The Pulse series…
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About the Author
Ignite (#11 The Beat and The Pulse)
Other Books by Amity Cross