by Leah Holt
My father was a tough man. Even with me, his daughter, his own flesh and blood, I was spared nothing. A quick lash of his tongue or strike of his fist, that was how he ran things. I was trained to never talk back, to never question his authority.
He was my father, and with just that he deserved every ounce of respect I could give.
And he always knew exactly what to say to hit me below the belt. I hated that.
I wish Quinn was still here.
It was easy for my inner thoughts to reach for him, call for him from the depths of my body. The way he took control, standing in front of me as my savior. Every nerve stood on end, a prickling wave of goosebumps flooded my skin.
My lip pulled up to reveal the hint of a smile. Instantly, fire filled my fathers glare. His eyes gaped open, the charcoal centers reflecting my image. “You better wipe that fucking smile off your face,” he said, a deep lunge of his foot brought him directly in front of me. “How did Nico end up this way? You know one man couldn't have done that. What happened?” His teeth ground together as he spoke, sending a piercing screech through my eardrums.
“It was a guy named Quinn. Nico got in my face—like he always does.” I couldn't stop my tone that time from twisting; the normal obedience and respect I was trained to have was shadowed by my hatred for that man. “You know how he treats me!”
My father's fist slammed down on the counter, fingers burying beneath his palm. “Don't lie to me, Cadence!”
My body jolted back from his fervor. Trembling inside, I struggled to speak. “I-I'm not. Really, it was just Quinn.” Taking a step back, my spine brushed the register; hand catching the edge, and tipping the cash drawer.
His hands came up quick, drawing long strokes down his chest, pulling on the collar of his black button-up shirt to straighten it. “You say that one man, a single man, did that much damage to my best fighter?” A new life emerged from the cold eyes set deep inside the sockets. “Then I have to have him. He needs to work for me.” From within his grizzly face, a smile burned. “And you, you my dear, are going to bring him to me.”
“Wait... What? How do you expect me to do that?” My mouth hung open, brows furrowing deep into my nose.
I couldn't understand what he was trying to ask. Where would I find him? I didn't know his last name, where he worked, nothing.
He was a stranger to me.
A stranger I would love to thank for what he did. He deserved that much.
“He was dragged out of here by the cops wasn't he?” my father said, the empty hollows of his eyes widening. My head shook a soundless 'yes.' His lips transformed into a devious arch as he leaned in over the bar. “Then you know where to find him.”
I tried desperately to push myself further away from him, wishing I could melt into the wall of liquor behind me, and disappear.
Shifting my face to the side, I asked, “Why me? You know where he is, go get him yourself.” The blood drained from my fingers as I gripped the trim of wood against my back, numbness setting in, holding me hostage.
A deep, ominous chuckle purged through his lips. “Cadence, Sweetheart, you see...” His arm reached for a bottle of vodka, grabbing it down from the shelf. Pouring it into a glass, he brought it to his lips. “He knows your face, he doesn't know mine. So you will go, and you will bring him to me.” The drink went down, chasing his last word.
The sound his lips made smacking together as he indulged himself with the harsh liquid made me sick to my stomach.
No, I won't do this. I can't do this.
It felt wrong; I knew my father and what he stood for. Quinn had helped me, I couldn't throw him into the belly of the beast.
Yes, he had fought Nico; ruined him even, but this had the feeling of leading someone to their grave.
There were no guarantees, no assurance he would even agree to do what was about to be laid out for him.
But my father—he would force him; and I couldn't stomach that.
“No, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a part of this one,” I finally said, the proponent tone of my failure to obey his request pushed fury into his body.
The evil smile he held faded, and his face turned to stone. “You will do this for me, you're the reason I'm in this shit to begin with. You don't have a choice.” His massive hand fell down, slapping the bar with demand. “Do I need to remind you of why you will do as I say?”
I knew he was right; I had no option.
He was family, he was my father. The need to keep my allegiance to him weighed higher than any crush I may have felt for my knight in shining armor.
Quinn had helped me, but my dad held the strings that bound me here, that kept me alive.
I have to do as he asks. If I don't... Who knows what will happen to me.
There were expectations set on him that he needed to stand by. Without his top fighter, my father could lose his high bidders. That would mean a loss of money for him; and even worse for me.
“Alright,” I said, exhaling a large heap of air. “ What am I supposed to do then? Walk into the station and ask nicely if I can see him?” A softness fell over my voice, while my heart ached over what I was about to bring Quinn into.
“Good girl.” His smile reappeared, sending chills down my back. “You're going to go wait outside for them to release him. Tell him I want to thank him for protecting my daughter.” He brought his leathery hand to my shoulder, speaking soft and low. “And don't come back without him.”
My father's hands fell into the depths of his pockets, spinning on one heel he turned, and vanished through the back door behind the bar.
I heard the crackle of the speakers above, tumbling out the sound of old classical music.
Mozart... he's in thinking mode.
Shit.
My father listened to certain music based on his mood or the happenings of the day. Beethoven was for times he made a lot of money, Bach was on days he was pissed.
This choice had been to figure out his plan.
Glancing at the clock, I realized it was three in the morning.
I need to go, who knows how long they'll hold Quinn for. Hopefully they didn't let him go already.
Reaching under the bar, I grabbed my small orange purse and headed for the door. Pulling my keys out to lock it, I stepped into the still bustling street. The sidewalk was full of people, the road still stacked with yellow taxis and buses, a multitude of sounds rained down from every direction.
The city that never sleeps, always true to its name.
The police station was on Fifth street, twelve blocks from the bar. Swiftly, my feet pounded against the pavement towards the subway.
I can't believe I'm doing this, tracking down Quinn for my father, for the 'Macro.'
Around the business, everyone called him the Macro. He was the man in charge, the one who gave the orders.
In the grand scheme of things, he stood above us all. All the fighters looked up to him, he had money, control, power. Everything they wanted, everything they all yearned to have a piece of.
But I despised him.
He schemed people, took them for all they were worth to better himself and those who protected his business. I didn't want to get Quinn involved in that.
He should have just let me deal with Nico.
I knew how to handle my own shit, I wasn't raised to be weak. The Macro would never allow any piece of his own flesh to be easily damaged or short of strength. That would have only brought shame to his name.
And shame was not something my father would ever allow.
At least I'll get to see him again.
The thought sent a rush of butterflies cascading down to my stomach, spinning like a whirlwind of a thousand wings fluttering inside.
What will go through his head when he sees me standing outside?
What if he doesn't come back with me?
He has to. I need him to.
If he decided to not take my father's offer, to turn and walk away; I needed my father t
o hear it from him. I couldn't go back empty handed, telling him Quinn said 'no,' that wasn't an option. He would think I failed him, who knows what he'd do then.
I didn't want to think about it, the idea was awful. I'd seen him do horrible things, terrible things to get his way.
The cool metal of the turnstile grazed my hip as I passed through into the terminal. The doors slid open and I stepped inside the train. Looking around, I made my way to the nearest empty seat.
Staring out the large window, I rested my head against the glass. Quinn's face settled in my mind; his rugged jaw line, the small dimple that rested beside his lip when he smiled... He did things to me, things that I couldn't explain.
I want to feel his skin against my thighs, watch his face bury in my warmth. My hand softly ran over my shoulder as I pictured his chiseled jaw disappearing into my sex.
His arms with the colorful ink that coated each massive forearm, it's so fucking hot.
Tattoos were one of my weaknesses. They showed a fearlessness for pain; a mark of individualism. For some it's a memory, for others it's power.
Anyone who has a permanent tag on their bodies knows the pain it took to put it there, for most it's worn proudly and displayed.
Quinn's arms would look good draped over my body, wrapped around my stomach as his lips laid delicate kisses over my skin. I caught my reflection in the glass, pushing me back into reality.
What the hell am I thinking?
How could he have had this much of an impact on me?
Yes, he helped me out, but I could have done that myself. Shaking my head, I needed to get him out.
I don't even know him! Stop this Cadence! You swore off men like him a long time ago, and for good reason.
He was cocky, he wore his assertive nature on his sleeves. And if he did agree to what my father was going to offer him...
I wouldn't be allowed to have this crush anyway. I'm forbidden to have any type of relationship with the fighters. It's one of the few rules my dad set in place. He doesn't want his guys to have any distractions.
And for me... Well, let's just say he had a whole different set of rules.
The screeching of heavy breaks signaled my stop. Standing fast, I just wanted to get there and be done with this whole thing.
A gust of wind flew through my hair as I stepped from the world below back onto the street. It hit my face with such force, my breathing paused, lungs seizing for a mere instant.
Adjusting myself, my heels pressed with need into the cracked, eroding sidewalk. The police station was still a ten minute walk, time was essential.
How the hell am I even going to know if he's still there?
There was no way I was just going to stroll in and ask for him, how the hell would that look?
What the hell am I supposed to do?
Just stand outside and wait god knows how long, hoping he walks out the doors?
Running my hand through my hair, I checked the time on my phone, it was almost four thirty in the morning. Fingers crossed he's not gone yet.
The large brick building came into focus, shining brightly against the dull, mop water gray of the skyline. Several cruisers lined the front of the building, the blue and red lights flickered off the windows as headlights reflected off of them.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed the shelter of a bus stop.
Perfect.
Darting across the crowded roadway, a horn blared into my ear, and my heart leaped into my throat. My mind had been so distracted, I hadn't seen the bright yellow car.
A few cuss words were ejected at me through the driver's side window of the taxi, followed by a middle finger. Waving my hand in the vehicle's direction, I continued across the street. Looking over at the police station, a few faces had turned to see what was going on.
Oh, shit. Please don't come over and ask if I'm alright.
The idea was to stay hidden, not draw attention to myself as I stalked the one place on earth no one ever should.
Luckily, the officer's eyes lingered only for a moment, then went about their business continuing into the building.
The stop was positioned diagonal across the street, sitting on the bench, I had a clear view of the front doors.
I'll give it an hour. If he doesn't show, I'm going to need a plan B.
Barely blinking, I sat staring at the station. My stomach twisted and turned, my leg rapidly twitching up and down as the nerves started to float to the surface.
What the fuck am I going to do if he says no?
My father won't like that, but why the hell would Quinn care about what he thinks?
He didn't owe my father shit.
But the Macro always takes what he wants.
Chapter Three
Quinn
The firmness of steel pressed into my back, and it was beyond uncomfortable. It had been years since my last tryst in a holding cell, and my memories must have faded.
Because I had forgotten about how fucking awful it was to be there.
My arms fell over my face, blocking the searing glow of the florescent lighting. Voices of men flickered around me, chatting and laughing like we were at some damn retreat.
I was in the holding cell, a median spot for the drunks and criminals. The room was large, fifteen by twenty. Thick metal bars surrounded three sides, the forth was doused in cement.
This fucking blows! Place smells like a pile of dirty gym clothes soaked in piss.
Was it worth it?
Tightly, I squeezed my lids closed, trying to prevent even the slightest trace of light from entering.
It would've been nicer if that fight involved my cock trying to slide into her tight pussy.
But just seeing her reaction will have to do for now.
The smile that gleamed across her angelic face when Nico hit the floor had sent a rush through my body. I wanted her more now than any other piece of ass I could remember.
There was something about her, something that had gripped my insides, locking its hold and squeezing the air from my lungs to the point I had to force myself to breathe.
Cadence... She's beautiful. I bet her cunt is just the same, a perfect bloom.
Yeah, it was worth the fight to end up here. I'll get a taste of that soon.
I always do.
I thought about her tits, the way she taunted me with their plumped design peeking from beneath the fabric. I had been tempted to push my finger down inside the crease, and feel the heat she expelled with my touch.
She probably would've slapped me.
And that would've only made my cock harder.
I knew she wanted me too, I could feel it, see it in her lips as they split softly. The subtle dew that dampened her skin were shaped like small teardrops, and beading beautifully across her chest.
Would she taste as sweet as she looks against my tongue?
I can't wait to find out.
She had no idea how deep I was going to fill her, how loud I'd make her scream. I wanted to tease her with my swollen tip, run it over her dripping pussy as her body shivered with desire.
“Hey!” The sudden squall fell down on me hard, blanketing my tired body. A kick followed, sending a jolt through my foot that hung over the edge.
Lifting an arm, my eyes misted from the light. The figure peered down on me, masked by a shadow covering his face. “What?” I scowled, annoyed he had interrupted my thoughts.
“You're taking up the whole fucking bench, make some room.” Holding his arm out towards the side, his words blended together in one drunken sentence.
“So? Go sit somewhere else.” Replacing my arm, his foot shot out and kicked me harder in the shin. Shooting up straight, my muscles constricted in one burst. I brought my nose barely an inch from his face as I barked, “What the fuck man! Go find another seat.”
The guy stood motionless, but remained a faceless blur in my vision. Forcefully squinting my eyes, I pushed him into view.
He was older than I had thought, roughly in
his sixties, eyes set deep into their sockets, gray hair ruffled the top of his head.
At one time in his life, you could tell he was intimidating. He stood only a few inches below me, the hunch of his spine shrinking his stature. The weathered hands by his side mimicked a working man, full of deep scars and dark stained skin.
A dense breath fell off my lips. “Sorry, it's been a long night,” I said. My initial reaction was unwarranted, he wasn't a threat to me.
His eyes studied mine as he spoke, “Ha! Yeah, I bet half the guys in here could say that, Son.” The massive hands fell to his knees, aiding his body as he slowly lowered to sit. Pulling a red handkerchief from his coat pocket, a wet cough exploded into it. His brows crawled like caterpillars across his eyes, fixing on my face as he said, “You look familiar.”
My forehead arched upwards, shoulders lifting to my ears. “I don't know why, I've never seen you before.” Plopping down beside him, my head fell back against the cement wall.
Exhaustion had filtered its way in. Tiny weights seemed to hang from my lids, pulling them down. Clasping my fingers together, I rested my palms on my head.
All I want to do is go home, crawl into my bed, and sleep for days.
I could feel his gaze, the intense anchor of his face studying mine. I didn't have to see him to know they ran over me, looking me up and down. He shifted from face to arms and down to my waist, then back again.
Cracking one eye open, I shifted it in his direction. “What? Why do you keep staring at me?” My head turned to meet his. “Weren't you ever taught it was rude to stare?” I didn't like the way he glared at me, it was fucking weird.
The stranger crinkled his forehead, dirty nails scratching at his ragged beard. “Watch the flies, kid. You seen it, I seen it. Don't screw it now, hit'em hard.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Agitation riddled my muscles. I didn't want to get frustrated, but I was tired as fuck.