by Cara Dee
Conceited motherfucker. He and I wouldn’t place in the same starting groups. He was significantly taller and heavier than me, so he’d have to defeat everyone in his category before he got to fight against the scrappiest fighter of my group. And even then… Hell, I’d lost count of the men who’d entered a cage with all the confidence of winning, only to be carried out with their breath knocked out of them.
It was finally my turn to be amused. “When was the last time you lost your breath?”
He didn’t take the bait. Shame. “I get it. You have a chip on your shoulder and think—”
“I’ve taken down men twice your size, buddy.”
Both Reese and River found that funny, and it was fucking infuriating.
Reese chuckled and scratched his jaw. “Everyone’s looking for a payout, yeah? Rigging a fight to have a scrawny little punk defeat a behemoth must’ve made someone rich.”
He did not fucking imply that the bigger men I’d faced were throwing the fights.
I scowled. “How stupid do you have to be to underestimate someone who’s trained in martial arts since he was seven?”
He squinted at me. “And you’re what, twelve, now?”
“Don’t ever show the enemy your arsenal.” Whoa, it was the first time River spoke. “Speaking of what’s fucking stupid.”
I clenched my jaw and did my best to swallow the anger that flared up. But it wasn’t easy when they were setting out to humiliate me.
“Why avoid each other tomorrow, then?” I just had to go there, didn’t I? “Face me in the cage.”
Reese laughed.
I sure as fuck didn’t. “I’m serious.”
He grinned and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
He was the one who didn’t have a clue.
River leaned in and spoke for only his brother to hear, and Reese raised his brows and eyed me contemplatively.
Now what?
I folded my arms over my chest and waited.
Reese followed the movement, his gaze dipping before locking with mine once more.
“All right, Shay,” he said eventually, as River inched away again. “I’ll fight you—with a couple conditions.”
Oh Jesus Christ. Had there ever been a Sadist without conditions?
“I’ll brace myself to laugh in your face and walk away,” I drawled.
Shit. I instantly knew I’d crossed a line when I watched Reese’s expression turn cold.
He leaned back in his seat and jerked his chin at the floor. “Then get the fuck outta here.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I couldn’t explain the anxiousness that suddenly formed a fist around my chest; hell, I couldn’t explain why I even cared in the slightest, but here I was, scrambling for something to say to make it better. An apology? Something to negotiate with? I didn’t want to go.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I said quickly, averting my stare to the table. It was uncomfortable as shit. I didn’t deal with the Dominant and submissive part of BDSM. I was just a bottom and a masochist. “Look, I don’t care about the fighting.” I managed a fleeting glance at River, but I still couldn’t make eye contact with Reese. “All I need is a heavy impact session and degradation and I’ll be on my way.”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat and wished I could light up a damn smoke.
As Reese leaned forward again and casually threaded his fingers together on the table, I lifted my gaze and had no idea how to react to the…what was it? I couldn’t be sure, but his eyes had filled with something warmer, and I didn’t like it.
“River and I happen to want more,” he told me. “That’s where the fight comes in—because we have a feeling you won’t come willingly.” He smiled a little when I narrowed my eyes. “Come home with us tonight. We’ll find a playroom at the house and fight it out. If you win, pick whatever you want. But if I win…”
I waited. It felt like he was stalling to let me process what he’d said, but there was nothing there. Did he fear I’d be uncomfortable going home with them? Bitch, please. They lived half an hour west of DC, in a kink palace I’d only seen pictures of so far. It was the weekend too, so I knew there would be plenty of people around.
The corners of his mouth twisted up. “If I win, we’ll cancel the fights tomorrow, and you’ll spend the next week with us as our personal punching bag.”
I opened my mouth to respond, only to snap it shut. Hm. Did it matter? He couldn’t defeat me. There wasn’t a chance in hell. But just in case pigs learned how to fly, it couldn’t hurt to go through the conditions. Cancel the fight tomorrow? Sure, I guess. There would be other fights. Be their personal punching bag? Yes, fucking please.
There was something to read between the lines, though.
“Spend the next week…as in, not leave?” I asked for clarification.
Reese inclined his head. “One week, for starters.”
I shook my head. “Thursday evening, I have plans I won’t change for anyone. Friday is out too.”
I spent my days fighting at the gym near Weasel’s place out in Rosslyn, and like I said, I could even cancel the cage fights, but I wouldn’t postpone seeing my brothers. No way.
Reese leaned back and scratched his bicep. “So make it two weeks, and you can go home and do whatever it is you have planned on Thursday and Friday.”
“And you’d just…what, beat me every day?” I pressed. Because that part of the bet wasn’t exactly a motivator to win.
“We’d make you suffer every day,” he corrected. “Interpret that however you want.”
It could be interpreted in various ways, and I saw the catch now. The Tenley twins were well-known and sought after for their skills in mindfucks and emotional torture. They were, essentially, a minefield. And while I wanted to step on certain mines, there were several I had to stay away from.
But, fuck it. “And if I win, I can demand weekly beatings and extreme degradation without questions asked and no aftercare.”
Reese responded by extending his hand.
Holy fuck. Was this possible? All I had to do was defeat him in a fight, and then he and his brother would kick my ass and degrade me once a week?
So this was what it felt like to win the lottery.
I shook his hand and agreed to the terms.
I guess I was kicking a Sadist’s ass tonight.
Three
Reese Tenley
So far, so good.
As we left the club, both River and Shay lit up smokes.
The kid didn’t lack confidence; he was casual and seemingly had no issues whatsoever leaving DC to go with two strange men to their place. Did he automatically believe everyone in BDSM was a good guy? Or did he just not care?
Good change in direction by River, though, to move the fight from an illegal underground club to our house. I should’ve come up with that sooner. I probably would have, if I had feared such a location.
“Our truck’s this way.” I nodded up the street. “Now’s the time for you to ask questions.”
He took a drag from his smoke and walked alongside me while River fell behind and checked his phone.
“Am I supposed to have questions?” Shay wondered. “I don’t wanna be stuck out there with y’all for two weeks, but you’re not gonna win, so it doesn’t matter.”
I shook my head. “You forget that we’ve seen you fight.”
“Huh? No. Not one bit. But I barely use half of what I know at those things,” he said. “There comes a time when it’s no longer about not underestimating your opponent. I just haven’t met a single stranger in five years who could beat me.” At my frown, he quickly tacked on, “I haven’t fought in cages for that long—just a few months.”
So he was basing that on men he’d trained against? Or competed against?
“What makes you so sure?” He turned the question on me.
“Life,” I replied distractedly. Something wasn’t adding up. Who the hell had he been fighting i
n order to get so cocky? It didn’t make a lick of sense, given that River had called him sharp.
“Life,” Shay stated flatly.
“Mm. After we got outta the Army, I spent eighteen years as River’s personal security detail in some of the most hostile environments on the planet. Life.”
Shay could ponder that for a moment.
“You…you were in the Army?” he asked.
“Not very long,” I replied. “We went through basic training. Top of the class too. But when all was said and done, we only did the bare minimum because there was already talk of separating us.” I’d fucking hated the Army, though it had nothing to do with the military branch and everything to do with the anxiety we’d felt at the prospect of being stationed at different bases. We’d wised up quickly and gotten out, thankfully. “First thing we did when we got out was to go to this bar for old grunts and get wasted. There, we met a British guy who took us under his wing. He introduced us to the private sector and put us through the roughest training imaginable.”
Showing Shay a glimpse of what was in my arsenal, to use my brother’s words, made an impact on him. He quieted down and stared at the ground as we walked up another street.
“Have you heard of the SAS?” I asked him.
He squinted and exhaled some smoke. “Isn’t that some special forces type of branch?”
I nodded. “One of the most elite forces out there. The British guy was SAS. He used everything he’d been put through at their selection and wouldn’t work with Riv and me until we’d gone through it too.”
“I get it,” Shay bit out with some annoyance. “You can fight. Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Oh, it meant everything—to anyone who reasoned logically. But something was telling me that Shay’s argument came from somewhere else entirely.
I decided to shelve that for later. We were almost at River’s truck, and we had other things to discuss before we reached Mclean.
“Let’s talk limits.” I gave the back of his neck a squeeze and lingered, wanting him to get used to my hands on him. Because when this ridiculous fight tonight was over, he’d feel them a lot. “Do you have your own safeword, or do you use the color system?”
He rolled his eyes. “I prefer not to use one at all.”
“Good thing masochists are used to being denied.”
I wasn’t convinced he actually was a masochist yet, but it wouldn’t be difficult to find out.
But the text on his T-shirt was a cute touch.
“Color system, I guess,” he said with a shrug. Then he glanced back at my arm. “Are you afraid I’m gonna run away from you?”
“No.” With my hold on his neck, I slowed him down and gestured toward River’s F-350 off the sidewalk before I released him. “In my experience, some casual touches make it less of a shock later when I try to fuck them.”
Shay blanched, an adorable sight, and blinked. “Y-you’re gonna fuck me?”
I grinned and exchanged a glance with an amused River as he rounded the truck to get in behind the wheel. Then I slid my gaze back to Shay and opened the door in the back for him. “That’s up to you. I don’t know your limits yet.”
I jumped in to sit next to him in the back seat, refusing to miss any of his reactions to what I said. Considering he was hiding a lot and, most importantly, seeking sadism for reasons he wouldn’t discuss, it was imperative that Riv and I observed him every chance we got.
“Starting right now, you can use your safeword whenever you want,” I mentioned.
“Okay…” He cleared his throat. “By the way, I’m not a sub,” he told us, as if he felt the need to warn.
I wasn’t convinced about that either. The way he’d reacted when I’d told him fuck off had pulled at something in me. He’d withdrawn with his tail between his legs and looked away in a combination of unease and worry. River had felt something too, I was certain. He’d squeezed my leg under the table.
“I’m not asking you to call me Sir.” I patted the middle seat between us. “Sit here instead. Have you eaten dinner?”
“Um, yeah. I had noodles at home.” He slid closer and buckled the seat belt.
“That makes you one of two people who qualify that as a sufficient meal—you and River.” If I didn’t cook for my brother, he’d live on ramen.
“Nothing wrong with noodles,” Riv muttered as he stopped at a light.
Shay was evidently in agreement. “I love the cups where you just add water.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I shook my head. We had a cupboard full of noodle cups.
“I’ve had two of those today.” River smirked in the rearview.
Shay chuckled under his breath and clasped his hands on his lap.
All right, so they’d found something to bond over.
“If you win our little fisticuffs tonight, you can have all of River’s ramen cups.” I put a hand on Shay’s leg. “When was the last time you had an STI screening?”
He did a double take at me. “Is that really something you discuss like it’s the weather?”
“No. I hate discussing the weather.” I wanted to discuss him. Fuck, I wanted to crack him open and let all his secrets fall out. Touching his leg wasn’t enough. Instead, I draped an arm along the back of the seat and gripped his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye. Much better. His eyes were out of this world. Not blue, not green, something in the middle, dark and clear, such a vivid color. “Answer my question, boy.”
River cleared his throat demonstratively. I didn’t have to face him. I knew he was reminding me to slow my roll. I could get…too eager. Sometimes. Or, in my brother’s words, “more impatient than the IRS when they audit someone.”
Shay swallowed, and he immediately struggled to maintain eye contact. But it wasn’t the topic at hand; it was the close proximity.
“I’ve never had a damn STI in my life, and I get tested regularly, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I’m asking.” I slid my hand up his stubbly jaw and brushed my thumb over his lips. “We fuck with protection but prefer to go without for oral.”
He shifted in his seat without going anywhere, and he found my shoulder interesting to look at. “Okay. I—I don’t generally place sex and impact sessions in the same category.”
That was interesting. “Why’s that?”
“Because I can get sex anywhere,” he replied. “Pain is different. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who can administer a lot of it without causing any permanent damage. But minor permanent scarring where I don’t have tattoos is okay.”
It’d been impossible not to notice the artwork he wore like a fitted shirt. Two full sleeves, ending in a neat line around his wrists, mostly Japanese style. A couple pieces traveled up his neck too. Someone had put a lot of work and thought into the designs.
According to River, the ink covered his front and back as well.
“No permanent damage beyond minor scarring. Got it.” I was glad for it, because it indicated that he wasn’t in such a state that he wanted to be put in the hospital or worse. It made playing with him much safer.
What I really wanted was to find a way to avoid the fighting altogether and get started on working through his problems. I wanted to send him straight into subspace and see if I could dig some honesty from him, but for that to happen—if he even was a talker during subspace—he had to lower his guard a little.
Shay frowned at me. “I don’t know if you’re gonna do something stupid like kiss me, or if you’re just a fan of invading my personal space.”
I chuckled under my breath. “Lying little masos don’t deserve personal space.”
That made him scowl. “Lying? I’m not fucking lying.”
“Lying by omission,” I elaborated, leaning in closer. Just a few inches separated us, and whether he wanted it or not, his body reacted to me. His breathing quickened. “We’re gonna let it slide, luckily for you. Because it means my brother and I can use foul play
too.”
He tried to jerk away, but I didn’t let him. I cupped the side of his neck, with my thumb planted over his jaw, and kept him in place.
“When was the last time you were intimate with someone?”
He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Why? I don’t know. I had a one-night stand a few months ago.”
“That’s not intimacy,” I murmured. “When was the last time you spent twenty minutes kissing someone? Or sleeping in someone’s arms?”
“All right, that’s—Christ.” He tried to wrench away again, to no avail. “All I wanted was a fucking beating. Not this shit.”
Man, I made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want anyone to come too close, physically or otherwise. If I told him we could stop the car now and let him out, he’d go for it. He’d already swallowed his pride once, in the club; he wouldn’t do it again. Not for this, not now.
So I didn’t offer.
Instead, I rested my forehead to his and shifted my hand to his cheek. In response, he screwed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists in his lap.
“Shay, if River and I turn you into a crying, beaten mess on the floor, do you want us to leave you there?”
He clenched his jaw. “I can pick myself up off the floor.”
That was answer enough.
One more question. “What’s suffering to a masochist who’s terrified of affection?”
I didn’t allow him time to reply, instead covering his mouth with my own. I kissed him slowly and felt my own goals change. River had always given me shit for my impulsiveness and random ideas. He liked to say that a plan never survived a meeting with me, even the plans I’d created myself. I changed my mind on the go and thrived when I had to think fast.
As I wove my fingers through Shay’s hair, I felt him relax slightly. He trembled with a shiver, and it happened again when I scratched his scalp. At this point, I was ready to use every damn weapon. I was going to get through to him, one way or another.
Violence wasn’t the only way to disarm someone.
I waited him out with unhurried kisses until he finally caved and started kissing me back timidly. Reluctantly.