“Yeah.”
“Lucky, do you know where Brian is?” I asked outright, skipping all pleasantries. “My mom is starting to get really worried and, frankly, so am I.”
“No, but I may very well beat his ass when he turns up again,” he said. “He has… an obligation to the club, so if he doesn’t show up tonight, we might have to vote to strip him of his patch.”
“Shit, he’s been that much of a flake lately?” I furrowed my brow. Sure, Brian was prone to going his own way, doing things at his own pace, but I had never heard of him letting the club down before.
“It’s more than just being a flake, Harper,” Lucas said, his tone low and stoic.
“What is it, then?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
There was a long stretch of silence where I could hear him trying to determine whether or not to fill me in on the sordid details. “I’m giving him to the end of the day. He doesn’t show, I think you should file a missing persons report. And the club will also begin a legit search.”
“Should I be worried, Lucky? Honestly, should I?”
He paused. I could hear the click-scratch of his Zippo lighting, could hear him take in a deep drag from a cigarette. “Not yet,” he said.
***
I spent the afternoon with Jamie and my mother, entertaining a string of my mother’s friends who came over with trays of covered casserole dishes, lingered for a few moments of awkward small talk, made their excuses, and departed again. It wasn’t all bad, because during the quiet moments in between visitors, we watched Jamie move about the formal living room with quiet curiosity, wanting to touch everything. As he got bigger and bigger, he more and more resembled Lucas: he’d be a real heartbreaker when he was full grown.
I was proud of my mother for how she managed to get through the day, indulging in moments of joy with her grandson while still remaining true to her feelings of grief over the loss of her husband and long-time companion. It was a remarkable balancing act, and I aspired to be like her as I grew nearer her age.
By nine o’clock, the house was quiet, with both mother and son tucked snug in their beds. I was glad to see that neither of them were tossing or turning, but when I tried to join them in slumber, I found it impossible, despite the late hour I’d kept the evening previous. So, I dressed, tugging on a purple-and-white sundress and a jean jacket and slipping my feet into comfortable grey knit boots. Not exactly club wear, but the dress was clean and unwrinkled and showed off my curves.
I drove my trusty old pickup truck to the gym and was surprised to see how full the parking lot around it was when I got there. I parked a considerable distance away and filed into the cold concrete building with several dozen other people. The interior had undergone an all-but-complete transformation from when I’d seen it earlier in the day. The machines had been cleared away to make room for benches and folding chairs. Tables around the periphery boasted coolers full of beer. The motivational posters had been obscured by light fixtures or removed altogether, though the eye was drawn immediately to the center ring, an octagon caged in with chain link, brightly lit by an array of multicolored lights. This was quite an operation the Banshees had going; I was impressed.
I spied Lucas across the swarming room but turned away before he could notice me; I didn’t necessarily want him to know I was here, though that meant also staying out of sight of the other members of the Iron Banshees. Fortunately, they seemed to be largely huddled together around one of the coolers, talking conspiratorially amongst themselves and passing a bottle of Jameson’s between them. I stayed out of sight, sidling along one of the far walls and slipping through a door that led to both the men’s and women’s locker rooms. It was considerably quieter in that hallway, away from the din of the raucous crowd who was there to see a fight. I steeled myself and pushed my way into the men’s locker room: I wanted to wish Oliver luck.
Thankfully, he was alone, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. He looked up when he heard the door and proffered a crooked little grin when his eyes fixed on me.
“Hey, Doc,” he said good-naturedly, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You told me you thought I should see you fight,” I said. “And anyway, I couldn’t sleep, so….”
“I have to admit, I’m glad you’re here.” He moved toward me, and I watched his muscles ripple beneath his skin. He was wearing form-fitting trunks that hugged the thick muscles of his thighs and the curve of an ass that had a little bit of meat on it, I was pleased to see. He also wore a pair of black-and-red fingerless gloves that offered a bit of padding to the knuckles.
“Oh?” I fell into a lean in the doorway, aware of the fact that I was a girl in the boys’ room.
“Yeah, you snuck out so fast this morning, I didn’t have time to tell you…”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
He approached cautiously, like I might dart off if he came at me too fast. It was a pleasure to watch him move.
“I liked — I mean… I had a nice time. With you.” I think the man might have actually been blushing. I smiled, big and bright.
“I had a good time, too,” I said. “I’m sorry, though, about… how I left things. How I just sort of ran off.” I paused, canting my head gently to one side, peering up at him from behind my eyelashes. “I didn’t really know what I was doing when I went to your house. I was just… very drunk and very sad, and I’m afraid I took advantage of you.”
He laughed, and closed the distance between us, tugging at the hem of my denim jacket to pull me toward him. “You can take advantage of me any time.”
I wanted him. He was the thing that lifted the cloud that had descended on me ever since my mom had called me to come here in the first place. He was new, and beautiful, and he made me forget everything that frightened me or upset me. Whatever the psychology was, the fact remained: I wanted him. And by the way he was snaking an arm around my waist, I could tell the feeling was mutual.
He kissed me slowly, luxuriously, pressing my body to his. But I leapt into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed him back in a frenzy. He supported me with one arm under my butt and the other hand on my back and I clung to him with my arms around my neck as we kissed. He carried me deeper into the locker room and pressed me up against a row of lockers. I broke away from his lips and gasped through my teeth: my tailbone had hit a lock. He chuckled slightly — “Sorry, Doc!” — and kissed me again.
He set me down on a wide bench between two rows of lockers, and I lay down and lifted my skirt, sliding a hand into my panties so that I could rub the swollen kernel of my clitoris. He watched me, a hungry look in his eyes, before tugging his performance shorts down just enough to wrest his cock free of the jock strap that contained it.
I watched him stroke himself for a few moments before he dropped to his knees in front of me, tugging me toward him and burying his face between my thighs. He licked me with aplomb and relish, tonguing between the lips of my entrance and moving upward. I shivered, gyrating my hips as he flicked his tongue over me. Then he moved away, leaving me panting where I lay for the length of a few heartbeats before he hovered over me and plunged his hardness deep into me with one easy thrust. I was wet and ready for him, so he began to move effortlessly back and forth inside of me.
I clung to him as he drove himself into me, one strong arm curling around me to hug me close while the other braced him on the bench. My pleasure was a crescendo that was building to a fever pitch, and I climaxed faster than I had ever expected to, the feeling of my pulsating sex eliciting a deep groan from Oliver. He slowed his pace as all the tension relaxed from my body as my vaginal walls continued to pulse and contract around his prick. I was just a pool of satiation, in calm repose.
“That was…” My eyes were closed and I allowed my arms to drop down beside me on the bench. He pulled out of me slowly, his member still turgid with his own unfulfilled desires. “Wait, don’t you want to finish?” He smiled down at me and stood up,
tucking his glistening cock back into his shorts.
“Not before a fight, Doc,” he said, and moved to one of the sinks, splashing cold water on his face. “But thanks to you,” he continued, toweling himself dry, “I know I’ll really destroy my opponent.”
He returned to my side and held out a hand, which I took, so he could help me to my feet. I shifted and adjusted my panties, and I was about to brush past him when he tangled his fingers with mine and pulled me close.
“Don’t disappear, all right?” he said, his fingertips brushing over the slope of my cheek. “After the fight, I mean. I want to see you after the fight.”
I smiled and stood on tiptoe to catch his mouth in a kiss. “I won’t go anywhere,” I promised.
***
I rejoined the crowd then, flushed but largely in order, and snagged a beer from the nearest cooler. I popped open the can and took a seat on one of the benches toward the back, even as everyone else started to gravitate towards their chairs. I allowed my gaze to rove over the expanse of the room, trying to spot familiar faces. I saw Fitz, and next to him, Lucas, who had his eyes locked on me. But I couldn’t read his expression. I thought perhaps he knew what I’d been up to and was angry with me, but no, that wasn’t it. There was something else playing behind his eyes, something almost like remorse, something almost like regret. I nearly rose to my feet, but just then the lights in the gym dimmed, save for the spots that lit up the cage.
A referee stepped into the ring: he was a large man with a shaved head, clad in all black. The crowd cheered him jubilantly and he held up his hands to quiet them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests,” he began, his voice raised over the continuous din of the crowd. “Welcome to Fight Night with the Banshees!”
Three concise Ooh, Ooh, Oohs echoed throughout the room, a chant of respect to the proprietors of the gym and the coordinators of the event, led by my ex-husband, the new President of the Iron Banshees.
“Tonight, the fight is held in the honor of our dear, departed brother, Old Pete Harrington, President of the Iron Banshees. In his name we cheer on his son and heir — please give a warm welcome to Brian ‘The Breaker’ Harrington!”
My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw Brian appear in the ring, bouncing along its periphery, running his fingers over the chain link and generally riling up the already-rowdy gathering. Everyone loved him, everyone was cheering him on, but I wondered how many people here had bet against their golden boy.
But there he was, my brother, who had been gratingly absent over the last few days, sporting a pair of red boxing trunks and dancing around the ring like he was happy to be there. And perhaps he was. But I couldn’t imagine that happiness would last when he saw his opponent.
Oliver.
Oliver stepped into the ring without the same applause that Brian had received; he was clearly this fight’s underdog, regardless of having done so well in his previous matches. But I glanced from Brian to Oliver and back again and I had to wonder: who did they honestly think was going to win this match? Oliver was several inches taller and a solid twenty pounds heavier, with more muscle definition. Hopefully what Brian lacked in muscle mass, he made up for in speed. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could exhaust Oliver.
But did I want him to? Glancing between them with what I could only imagine to be a stricken look on my face, I realized two things: first, that my brother’s participation in the evening’s fight had been the source of Lucas’s previously indecipherable look; and second, that I had no idea who I wanted to win.
They knocked knuckles at center ring, then backed away from one another, circling each other on the balls of their feet. Brian was the first to advance, with a quick jab that landed and knocked Oliver’s head back. But it snapped to, and he shrugged it off like it was nothing, like it hadn’t hurt at all. A few more jabs, and a left hook from Brian, but Oliver dodged them all; he was quicker than he looked, which led me to believe that Brian was in a bit of trouble.
Brian took his eyes off Oliver for a split second, long enough for Oliver to make contact with Brian’s torso via a side kick. The top of Oliver’s foot caught Brian’s ribs, and Brian stumbled, hitting the mat. This was Oliver’s opening, and he took it, throwing the full weight of himself behind a double hammer punch, both of his fists making contact with Brian’s skull. They were on the mat then, and Brian threw up his guard so that he had both legs wrapped around Oliver’s waist. He gripped the back of Oliver’s neck and held him pretty firmly in place for a few seconds. But Oliver’s brute strength lifted both of them up off the mat until Brian was sitting upright, with Oliver clinging to him. Eventually, Oliver’s hand slipped and Brian hit his back on the mat, his legs still wrapped around Oliver, who then deftly landed two quick knocks to the side of his head. Brian released him and rolled quickly out of the way, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He was circling Oliver again before Oliver had even gotten back up on his feet.
They were sweating profusely now, their mouth guards pushing their upper lips out in a way that made them look like savage apes. They glistened under the heavy lights, intent in their unfaltering focus, both out for blood.
And I didn’t even see it when it happened. I looked away for a moment, scanning the crowd for Lucas, wanting some sort of explanation from him. And when I looked back I saw Brian’s head jolt to the side as Oliver’s fist made perfect contact. He spun halfway around and dropped like a stone to the mat. He was out cold.
The ref came to the center of the ring, bending down beside Brian before Oliver could jump on him to pummel him some more. He made a gesture with his hand, slicing the air with it, and Oliver pumped his fists in the air to a comparably lackluster response. All that went down in a matter of minutes, and the crowd was obviously disappointed. Had they actually put money down on Brian? I glanced over at the pack of Iron Banshees, who were clapping their hands and cheering, and I realized that they had likely convinced all these people to bet on Brian, Old Pete’s son in Old Pete’s name, while the Banshees systematically bet against him. I gave a slow shake of my head and rose to my feet, darting over to the ring to make sure my unconscious brother would be all right.
Lucas was lingering by the steps up to the cage, and caught my arm.
“Harper—”
“Don’t, Lucas,” I said, jerking away. It was my turn to be angry. He’d known where Brian was and he hadn’t called me. Instead, he put Brian in the ring with someone he knew he couldn’t beat, and he’d bet against him.
I climbed up into the ring and knelt beside Brian, who was groggy but coming to. “Bri?” I asked, brushing his sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. “Brian, can you hear me?”
“Hey hey, Harper Grace,” he said, and spat out his mouth guard. “Did you see the fight?”
“Yeah, Bri,” I said, smiling. “I saw it.”
“How’d I do?”
“Oh, real good.” Satisfied that there was no permanent damage done, I rose to my feet, catching sight of Oliver, who was staring at me with a furrowed brow. “That’s my brother,” I said, pointing down to the roiling heap of flesh at my feet. Oliver said nothing, but his expression was clear enough: Oh, shit.
“Come on, Bri,” I said, bending down to hook my hands under his arms and help get him onto his feet. “I’m gonna take you home.”
“I can walk, Harper Grace,” he said, trying to shake me off, but he was unsteady, so I clung fiercely to him.
“Here, let me—” Oliver said, stepping forward, trying to help, wanting to help.
“Thanks, but I think you’ve done enough,” I shot back, perhaps unfairly. I’d like to think I would’ve behaved the same way on Oliver’s behalf if he’d been the loser I had to scrape off the mat, but I am honestly not sure.
Lucas darted up the stairs to help me, and Brian slung one arm over his shoulders and one arm over mine. Together, the three of us descended the stairs and managed to drag him into the locker room. Where had Brian been earlier, I wondered,
when I’d been in this very room with Oliver? Was it possible that I could have stopped the entire match from happening if I had gone to find Lucas before the fight instead of wrapping my legs around Oliver instead?
We deposited Brian down onto the bench and I handed him a water bottle, instructing him to drink the entire thing. Then I whirled around on Lucas.
“What in God’s name are you doing, pinning him against someone Oliver’s size?” I demanded, furious.
“Calm your shit, Harper,” he said, patting down the pockets of his vest and jeans in search of a cigarette. “No permanent damage done. And anyway, we made serious bank tonight on our boy here.”
“You mean betting against our boy,” I said.
“It’s okay, Harper Grace,” Brian insisted, spitting blood out onto the floor. “I knew what had to go down. I knew I wasn’t gonna win.”
“You did?”
“Sure — did you see that guy?”
“Oh, she’s seen him all right,” Lucas hissed, and I rolled my eyes.
“You two are really something, you know that?”
“Gee, thank you, Harper Grace,” Brian said cheerfully, though I hadn’t any idea what any of us had to be cheerful about.
“I’m going home,” I said, and turned at the door to point a finger at Brian. “And you better come straight home, too. Mom is freaking the fuck out. You do know that our father is dead, right?”
Brian’s expression changed, and he gave a slow nod of his head. “Yeah, Harper Grace. I know. I swear, I’ll come right home.”
I pushed out into the hallway without a second glance back at either of them, my body trembling with the spent fear and anxiety. I didn’t want to risk seeing Oliver, or any of the other Banshees, so I darted out a back entrance, grateful for the shield of the night.
Club Business
(MC Fight Club: Iron Banshees: Book 3)
Juniper Leigh
Copyright 2014 Juniper Leigh
MC Fight Club: Iron Banshees: (Complete Series: Parts 1-5) An MC Fighter Menage Romance Page 5