by Leah Holt
He really didn't care about his daughter. He could have shown some compassion, asked me what was said, talked about reprimanding his employee.
But did he?
No.
“That's not my problem.” Cocking my jaw out to the side, my hands squeezed around the wooden arms tighter, ready to yank them clear off the chair.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I'm not going to fix anything for him.
He doesn't even care that the fuck face was screaming at his daughter, making a scene in his bar. He didn't want to thank me, he thinks I caused this. He thinks that I was the issue in the whole thing.
Lifting his finger, he pointed towards me. “That's where you're wrong. I'm not going to lose a shitload of money, Quinn, because you wanted to be a hero, hoping to get in my daughter's pants.” He pushed back from his seat, stepping around to the front of his desk. “You were able to take out my top fighter, that's not an easy task.” He brought his finger up to his mouth, digging deep into his teeth, flicking the debris to the floor.
“Fighter? Fighter for what?” Confused, my brows angled up. That word sent chills down my spine. I hated to hear anyone say 'fighter.'
“I saw what you did to him, I know what you're capable of. Nico, he's never lost one fight, and you rendered him helpless. I want you to work for me, take his place.”
“No, I can't do that. You're going to need to find someone else.” The veins in my neck bulged, shaking as my head swayed.
“You didn't let me finish.” His index finger wagged side to side. “I pay well. You'll never have to worry about keeping your head above water.”
My lip snarled up. “No. We're done here.” Pressing up, my legs were heavy. I wanted to kick him, kick his offer clear down his throat.
Louis held a hand up. “I don't need an answer now. Think about it.” Turning towards his desk, he scribbled on a small note pad. “There's a match tomorrow night. Come and watch, feel it out. I could make it worth your while.” Slipping the paper into my hand, he tipped his head. “You can see yourself out.”
I stood silently, crumpling the paper and shoving it into my back pocket. A sickening feeling flooded my gut. This had been a trap, a gimmick to keep his pockets full.
I'm not going to fight for this prick. I can't.
I gave that up a long time ago.
Fighting flowed through my veins as hot as the blood that kept me alive, but stepping back into the ring...
I promised I never would again.
Did Cadence know what he was going to ask? Is that why she was so nervous?
Her words from the diner spilled into my head, she's 'fucked' if I don't go with her. They replayed over and over, clawing at my brain.
Had he threatened her?
His emotionless response to how Cadence was treated, told me he didn't give a flying fuck about his daughter. All he cared about was how I was going to fix it, and what I could do for him.
The idea coated my eyes in red, my fists balled by my sides. Opening the door, I stepped back into the bar, glancing around, expecting to see Cadence.
Shifting my eyes, I looked behind the bar, towards the back wall, but the room was vacant.
Taking a deep breath, her scent had been masked by the smell of old alcohol. Shadows filled the empty spaces as violins continued to play.
Cadence was gone.
And I was left alone with this decision.
Alone with my past.
Chapter Five
Cadence
Slamming the door behind me, I threw myself down hard onto the cheap mattress. The creaking of springs echoed off the walls as my body bounced against the thin metal pushing through the surface.
My father had sent me away, demanded I leave and just go home. He wanted to take care of business on his own terms, the light flicker of malevolent intentions skewing his eyes.
Burying my face in the pillow, I let a gut hurdling scream explode into the cool satin. Twisting my face to the side, I brushed the hair from my eyes with Quinn's innocent face looming in my mind.
He had no idea the true nature of his meeting with my father, but I did, and it stung.
How could I lead him there? What the hell is wrong with me?
Whatever my dad was going to say or offer, I wasn't sure of. Either way, I knew it would only benefit him.
Flipping to my back, I stared up at the yellow tinted ceiling. My eyes zeroed in on the small stains of orange spotted against the cracking plaster where water had collected and seeped in.
I wanted to run from this place, take off and start over. But I knew I couldn't leave my father. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed me too.
I know he needs me, that's why I'm here.
Or this whole mess of my life has been worth nothing.
My mother had died when I was born. From what my dad had told me, she was a great woman. She was caring and compassionate, but a fireball nonetheless. She didn't put up with any shit, and if she didn't like something, you were going to know it.
When I was five, my father started to share some of the memories he had stowed away. And I loved it, I loved the feeling it gave me. I felt like I knew her, despite not having her.
But those stories came with a price, he always ended them on a sour note, shooting me a sideways glance, and cursing me under his breath.
He blamed me, over and over he held that above my head like a noose. Like I purposely took her from him, and he was going to punish me forever for taking the love of his life away.
Those strings he dangled, made me a marionette to his life, to our life. Because I had to prove to him that I loved him enough to still be here, to be worthy of the life I stole to feed my own.
The truth was pretty simple, he was a monster, and deep down, I knew nothing was my fault. Unfortunately, he was all I had, the only family I ever knew.
And despite his flaws, he was my father. There was a piece of me that always hoped he would change, that he would see me not as his enemy, but as a second life of the woman he had lost.
Reaching under the edge of my bed, I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Holding it to my chest, I carefully unfolded the sides. A single tear ran down my cheek, looking at the image of my mother. It was the only picture I had to remember the one person who truly loved me.
Her hair was curled tight, pulled back by a simple clip, small earrings shaped like calla lilies adorned her lobes. The sun-kissed skin was now faded from years of molding the picture to form in my hand, and hide from his punishments. Her eyes were the same bright blue of mine, twinkling at me from behind the flat surface.
Even though I didn't know her, or remember her scent, her touch; I could still feel her with me, the love she had fused into my soul, keeping us bound together.
That was my strength and power, giving me the ability to rise every day and hold my head up high.
But that love I felt deep in my bones for her was strained by the man who should have loved me the same way. I wasn't even sure my father knew how to love anymore.
When I hit my teens, we were in a rough spot financially, and my dad became desperate. He took things to a whole other level. He started dealing drugs and getting involved with some really shady characters.
One night, he had received an offer; a price for me, for my 'services.' And to my horror, he debated it, thought about it long and hard. That was the only time I saw a glimpse of him as an actual father, a living, breathing man who truly had blood running through his veins.
He hadn't just acted on impulse, he thought about it.
That gave me hope, hope that his former self, the man who had swooned my mother, was still alive inside.
I wasn't having that though, I wasn't going to be his whore for hire, and I didn't hold that back. It had been the first and only time I really lashed out. Most of the time I would bite my tongue, keep my thoughts to myself, but not with that.
No fucking way. That's where I drew the line.
&
nbsp; Luckily, it didn't end up happening. A fight ensued between two guys over me, it spilled into the streets and a crowd emerged.
He jumped at the opportunity, started charging the group standing by watching.
And there it was, his new endeavor was born.
Recently, my feelings had started to take over, eating me up from the inside. I hated what my father was, and how he treated me. I hated how money drove his needs, how power fed his veins and kept him hostage.
It didn't matter how much I did to please him, it was never good enough.
Meeting Quinn, the way he looked at me, his reaction at the bar and the diner, gave me a sense of being more, deserving more.
I had a horrible feeling, the bitter taste of bile coated my tongue. Bringing Quinn to my dad, placing him in the hands of a monster, it made me want to vomit.
He had helped me, and that single action drew me to him. The desire to let him slide his throbbing cock deep inside my pussy had almost come to fruition.
I was seconds away from letting him fuck me right there in that bathroom. Had it not been for the power my father possessed over me, the fear he had burrowed into my veins since birth, Quinn would've stuffed me up to his balls.
And I wanted that... I really wanted that.
Slipping the picture back under the mattress, my hands fell to my breasts. My nipples erect beneath my shirt, stiffening as I gently ran my fingertips across them.
The thought of him, his touch, it made my pussy drip. Even now, the idea of how close I had been to letting him shove his cock deep inside, made my thighs slippery.
Sliding out of my jeans, I laid in bed, tracing the wetness up my bare flesh. Had he pressed me any more, I would've cracked. I thought about the firm, rock solid feel of his dick beneath his pants, the shape it took on as it lifted to press against me.
My fingers edged around the trim of my panties, pulling them to the side, a single finger danced across my swelling clit. My body shuddered with each stroke. Closing my eyes, my finger transformed into his.
Biting my lip to muffle the gasps, my hips pressed into my palm. Rocking forcefully, I buried myself deeper. Picturing his eyes, his intense stare when I opened the door to find him there.
I could feel his muscles as I reached over his chest, and a moan escaped through my lips as I relived the way he felt. My swollen clit spilled around my fingers, mouth biting down harder to restrain the bursts of air trying to find their way out.
Pressing my eyes tighter, I squeezed the lids shut, letting his shadowed kisses run over my neck. Inserting two fingers, my pussy gripped around them, envisioning his girth, and what it would feel like as he sank in deeper, teasing my sex.
My body panted heavily, tingles shooting from my belly to my toes. I couldn't hold back anymore, his ferocity slammed hard. Exploding over my hand, my body jolted with electricity. Turning my face into the pillow, the orgasm filtered through my bones.
He had turned me wicked, spilled me from the inside.
And I only wanted more.
Forcing my mind clear, the weight of the day shifted to a heaviness of my eyes. Quinn hovered over my thoughts as slumber took over.
The ghostly feel of his arms wrapped around me, cradling me in comfort.
And in the mess of my world, he eased my mind.
Chapter Six
Cadence
My hand came up and banged on the heavy metal door. It was rusted and rotting around the edges, small bits flaked off onto the ground around me.
I hate this fucking place.
A small stream of light poked out from a hole near the center. The glow darkened and the door creaked open.
The sound of glass scraping against metal punctured my eardrum. Cringing to the sound, a large man opened the door. Sticking his head out briefly, he flagged me in.
“Hey, Dizz,” I said, smiling up at him.
His scratchy, deep voice spilled out, hitting my ears in the same spot as the door. “Cadence, nice to see you. Wasn't sure if this was an 'on' night for you.” He sat back on his stool, lifting his Playboy magazine. “Head on down,” he said, his eyes falling back to the pages, and bulging from their sockets.
Dizz had been working for my dad for years. He used to be one of his top guys, it used to take a fucking freight train to get him down.
And that's basically what happened. One night after a fight, he went out, got wasted, then fell asleep in his car parked right on the train tracks.
The train came in hard, hit him full force, and sent the car tumbling. Long story short, he had massive head injuries and can barley see straight now.
Hence the nick name; Dizzy, or as we call him, Dizz.
My father won't put him in to fight anymore, he said he's a liability now. Instead, he uses him for the main entrance and crowd control. Dizz might not be able to get in the ring, but he can still take one hell of a hit.
Heading down the stairs, the roaring of voices echoed through the walls. It sounded busy tonight, a lot noisier than usual for a Sunday.
Wow, there isn't any special matches tonight, no high rollers. Why the hell does it sound so packed?
Hitting the bottom step, I pushed my way inside. The room was loaded, filled to the brim with guys hooting and shouting. The smell of piss and vinegar hung in the air, smacking me in the face as the door swung open.
Glancing around, my father was standing in the center of the ring, microphone in hand. His arms held up, egging on the observers. “Welcome to the Ground Game! For those of you who have been here before, you all know who I am.”
The crowd began to chant, “Macro! Macro!” Grunts and yelps, fists raising and pumping in the air.
My father grinned wildly, feeding off the energy. His face glowed with the power these people infused inside him. “We're going to get this blood bath started! You all know the rules. Fists and pure brute force only! No weapons! Fighters will go till they tap out or unconsciousness sets in!” The sea of people yelled louder, barking like rabid animals for the fights to start.
Making my way over to the bar, I ignored the whistles and barks cast in my direction. Once a week I had to work here during the fights. And I hated it, every fucking second of being here caused my skin to crawl.
But my dad insisted- or for lack of a better term- forced me to be here. Our legal business was closed on Sundays, and he thought it would make him look bad if I didn't participate in some way.
Every muscle in my body tensed with disgust for this place. It was awful, the things people would pay to see. To get a quick thrill out of watching two guys beat the living shit out of each other, spilling blood from one another for no purpose other than money.
It made me cringe. I despised the assholes who used these guys for gain.
And my father was one of them.
He loved to walk out of here after a long night of fights, pockets filled with green and ready to do it all again.
Gliding behind the bar, I eyed the crowd. I was hoping to see Nico, see how his face was looking after the other day. Wonder plagued me as to how swollen or bruised he was.
Seeing that would definitely put a little more spring in my step.
What did Quinn decide to do?
After getting him back to the bar, my father had sent me home. He told me that I had done all I was needed for. The rest was between Quinn and himself.
I tried to press him for answers this morning, but was met with angry stares and muted answers. He wouldn't tell me shit, told me it was none of my business and if I pressed anymore, I wouldn't be talking for a long time.
I knew what that meant; he would send one of his goons to break my jaw. Make me pay for sticking my nose in where it didn't belong.
I wanted to see Quinn again. I couldn't get him out of my mind. His muscular chest, jaw cut hard as marble, the massive cock I had felt pressed into my hip.
Fucking tease, that's what that was.
Even the idea of him made my panties wet, made my heart slam around my chest like
a caged bird. Prickles broke over my neck in a cold sweat. Running my hands down my cheeks, I pressed a palm to my forehead.
I should have just let him have his way with me. Why didn't I?
Fear.
The grip my father had around me, my life...
I'm not weak, I'm not frail.
But, he was my father. I was raised to listen to him, to show him the utmost respect at all times. No matter what.
It was burned into my brain, into my soul, into every move and choice I made.
I fucking hated it.
'Ding, Ding!'
The loud bell rang, shaking me out of my daze. The fights had begun, first up tonight was a tall, lanky guy named Gavel against a man named Titus. Both had been good fighters here, and had faced each other once before.
Gavel had his ass handed to him last time. You could see it in his eyes he wanted revenge. A blood thirsty snarl lifted on one side, sweat pouring down his temples as his hands came up ready to strike.
The two men danced around each other in the circle, the crowed thundering together in one jostling, loud growl.
Every bone in my body shook, rattled from the intensity of screams and clapping. Shifting my eyes around the space, my father approached from the side.
“Cadence, pour me a drink, my dear.” He rested his elbow against the edge, twisting to watch the carnage inside the ring. “We have a good turnout tonight.”
“Yeah, seems that way.” My voice lacked interest in his hobby.
He shot his stare in my direction. “Not enjoying yourself?” A sneer peeked from the corner of his mouth.
I slammed the glass down hard, pouring his drink, and not saying one word.
He knows how I feel about this shit. Why would he even ask me that?
Lifting the glass, the liquid flowed effortlessly down his throat. “Well, don't worry.” His finger bounced in the air, tapping towards my face. “I have a surprise for you tonight.” Resting the empty cup on the bar, his hand raised to touch my shoulder.
Stepping back from his fingers, I said, “I'm sure you do.” Not meeting his eyes, I stared down at the bar, wiping away tiny droplets of liquor.