by Eva Ashwood
It’s a major win for me to be here, a chance I’d better take and make the most of. Maybe something good can still come out of tonight. After the embarrassing scene at Sapphire, the guys have brought me deeper into their world.
If I’m going to bring them all down, and I sure as fuck plan to, then I need to take advantage of it.
14
I’m not sure if it’s carelessness or just confidence born from being in their own space that makes the Black Roses gathered around us talk freely about their business, but no one seems to care that I’m sitting there, nursing my drink and listening intently to every word they say.
Jesse, the big guy from earlier, makes his way over and sits down in one of the other chairs, giving Sloan a look as he lays out an encounter he had with two Jackals a few days ago.
“Truce seems to be coming apart at the seams,” he says, shaking his head and swigging from his can of beer. “The fuckers aren’t respecting the boundaries, and if they’re gonna be in our space, they’re gonna have to pay for it.”
My ears perk up, but I keep my expression neutral, listening closely while trying to appear entirely disinterested. If they knew how curious I am about what they’re saying, I have a feeling they’d be less inclined to talk around me. But if they don’t think I give a shit, it’s probably pretty easy to dismiss me.
The conversation continues, and with other people chiming in as well.
Jesse’s assertion that the Jackals will have to pay if they keep encroaching on Black Rose territory seems to be the general consensus shared by the people around us. Apparently, the truce was already shaky at best, and there have been infractions coming from the Jackals’ side for a while now.
Some of them seem eager and excited for the coming shit show that will no doubt pop off if the Jackals keep pushing things.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had a good fight,” one of them says, cracking his knuckles with a savage grin. “They got off too easy the last time. It’s time to make them pay.”
“Won’t be a need for a truce if they’re all dead,” someone else echoes, and the two of them bump fists.
They’re definitely not alone when it comes to wanting to go after their rivals after so much time pretending at peace, but there are also some members of the gang who seem more wary about getting into another turf war.
I can hear some of them murmuring about how dangerous it will be if the truce dissolves completely, and how they don’t want to have to go back to being on their guard all the time.
A small shiver runs down my spine, and I work hard not to give away my thoughts. I remember a time when the two gangs were at war. It’s been relatively peaceful for years, but when shit was bad between the Jackals and the Black Roses, everyone in Fairview Heights felt it.
Is another war really on the horizon?
Fuck, that could be really bad.
Rory and Levi don’t really offer their opinions on the matter, but I assume they’d be ready to fight if they had to. Sloan just listens, leaning back in his chair with the usual intense look in his eyes. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and I don’t let my gaze linger on him for too long, not wanting to invite his attention back to me.
If I stay quiet and just listen, maybe they’ll keep talking without noticing I’m there. Every scrap of information could help me reach my goal of getting some kind of leverage over these guys, and there’s a part of me that hopes maybe one of them will say something that will tell me what’s going on with my dad.
I don’t really expect them to know, especially since most of these guys didn’t seem to have a clue who I was when we walked in, but it’s hard not to hope all the same.
At some point in the conversation, Levi gets up and comes back with more drinks. He passes a beer to Rory and hands me another cup. I glance at him and take it, drinking quickly to avoid thinking about him thinking about me.
I usually don’t drink this much, and the shot from the club was a while ago at this point, but so was my last meal. I can feel the first drink burning under my skin still, and the second one just adds to it, filling my head with a pleasant buzz.
The voices of the men around me start to blur together as they talk about their business, and I keep my ears open to make sure I don’t miss anything, but I’m definitely not as focused as I could be.
Luckily, the business talk doesn’t last for much longer.
They’re all drinking as well, talking shit to each other as the card and pool games resume, and then a few different guys step into the ring in the center, challenging each other to fights.
None of them are serious since they’re all various levels of drunk at this point, and most of them just fuck around, tripping each other or going for the pin.
It’s still entertaining as hell, especially considering I haven’t seen anything even this close to a real fight since the one that got my dad in trouble.
The guys around us cheer and call out taunts and encouragement to the ones in the ring, and it’s hard not to get swept up in the excitement in the room.
Everyone’s loud and rowdy, stomping their feet and yelling mostly good-natured insults at each other. I’m paying attention to the ring, but it’s hard to not be aware of Levi and Rory on either side of me at the same time.
They both smell really fucking good, like the cologne they put on and like themselves underneath it. I can’t shake the scents, even with so many other people around and the smell of beer and cigarette smoke in the air too.
I have no idea if it’s intentional or not, but I realize with a start that they’re both touching me. Rory’s the most blatant with a hand on my leg, barely above the knee as he leans forward to heckle the man in the ring who just got taken down by a man half his size. I can feel the heat from his fingers against my skin where the bottom of my dress has ridden up, and I have to swallow hard at the sensation.
Levi is more casual. He has his arm thrown across the back of the couch comfortably, but his hand is right at the side of my neck, fingers dangling so close that they’re brushing against the skin there. Again, I can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose, but he almost seems like he’s absently stroking the skin there while his eyes are trained on the ring.
I feel like I can hear my heartbeat over the chaos in the room, and it pounds through me as my arousal rises. I can’t help it. My clit is throbbing gently, a needy ache building low in my belly, and I’m grateful I opted to wear a bra under my dress so my hard nipples aren’t poking out for everyone to see. This close, with their hands on me, I’m flooded with memories of hooking up with Levi and rolling around on the gym floor with Rory.
All the remembered images and sensations blend together, making my face hot, and I’m so tempted to get up and get some air—but I know one or both of them would just follow me, which would defeat the purpose. So instead, I clench my thighs together tighter, which has the unfortunate side effect of shifting Rory’s hand a bit higher, his pinky slipping under the hem of my dress just the slightest bit.
I stare at it for a second and then whip my gaze back up to the ring, trying to focus on something else. Drinking around these men was probably not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but I finish my drink anyway and then lean forward to put the empty cup down on the low table in front of me.
When I lean back, it’s like settling into the curve of Levi’s arm, and this time his fingers are definitely stroking my skin lightly.
I stare hard at the fighters, sizing them up to force myself to think about something, anything other than the two of them and how close they are. I’m not even going to dare to look at Sloan at this point.
The two guys currently in the ring are about the same size, both big and built, around the same size as Rory. One of them is bald, and the other has close-cropped blond hair, so I nickname them Baldy and Blondie in my head and settle in to watch.
They square off, shit-talking each other about being too drunk to throw a punch, and then Blondie lashes out fir
st, catching the other with a playful slap to the face.
I laugh along with everyone else, clapping my hands in encouragement. “Don’t take that shit!” I shout. “Hit him back!”
“You heard the lady!” someone else agrees.
Baldy lunges forward to aim a punch, but Blondie ducks under his arm and elbows him in the stomach as he comes up on the other side of him.
It knocks Baldy for a loop for a second as he wheezes for breath, and I laugh out loud. “Oh, come on! This is pathetic!”
The people around us seem to be enjoying my commentary, laughing along and calling out that I’m right and they’ve seen better fights in pre-schools, but Baldy doesn’t look like he’s having a good time listening to me heckle him. His eyes narrow, not at me but at his opponent, and he goes in for another hit only to have it be blocked pretty easily.
The noise of frustration he makes is almost lost in the booing from the others gathered around, and I boo louder than the rest, getting swept up in the atmosphere of it all.
“I could do better than that, and I’m half his size,” I say, talking to anyone around who’s listening, which is basically everyone.
Rory is laughing his ass off, and even Levi has a little smile on his face, and it feels kind of nice to be a part of this whole thing. Almost normal, since it’s the way I was raised by my dad. He always had me watching fights with him on TV, and when I got old enough that I could hold my own, he would bring me down to the ring to let me watch him train and then let me get in to train with him. It’s always been a part of my life, and just watching has my blood humming with adrenaline, which makes it hard to shut up.
Besides, none of the others are holding back, so I don’t see why I should either. When Blondie snaps his fist out and lands another hit, I whistle in appreciation and call out to him. “Go for the kill. This idiot is wide open!”
Baldy whips his head around to glare at me. “Can you shut the fuck up?” he snaps, and I can see he’s red-faced, either from anger or alcohol or probably both.
“Hey—” Someone interjects, but he silences them with a hard look.
“You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for someone sitting on the sidelines,” Baldy says, and he seems pretty confident that he can say whatever he wants to me.
I’m not even angry, but I can feel the fire of the challenge burning hotter, the adrenaline taking over everything else. I smile sweetly at him, but it doesn’t even come close to reaching my eyes.
“I’d be glad to climb in the ring and show you how it’s done,” I tell him. “You want to go?”
He looks pissed as shit, but his gaze slides to Sloan, obviously looking for permission or confirmation.
Fuck that. I’m on my feet in a second, blood buzzing from the alcohol and everything else I’m feeling.
“Don’t look at him,” I say. “If you have a problem with me, then you settle it with me. Sloan’s not the fucking boss of me. I get to decide what I do, and I want to fight you.”
Baldy still looks like he wants to say no, and I narrow my eyes, staring him down.
“What?” I taunt, voice sweeter than it’s been all night. “Are you scared to fight a girl?”
The group around us inhales collectively, and Baldy glares right back at me. I can see that typical macho pride flare in his eyes, and I know I’ve got him. It always works, especially with these types. Every single fucking time.
“Fuck it,” he growls angrily. “Let’s go.”
I grin and toe off my heels, leaving them by the couch. I’m still dressed up from our brief time at the club, and my tight dress is definitely not the kind of thing I’d choose to fight in, but it will have to do. Judging from what I saw when Baldy was fighting Blondie, this won’t take long anyway.
I walk forward and hop into the ring, feeling the rough material under my bare feet. There’s a thrill that comes with fighting, and it’s similar enough to fucking that I’m hoping I can work off some of the energy that buzzes under my skin and stop thinking about Rory and Levi. Being out from between them definitely helps, and I take a deep breath and square off with my opponent, dropping into a fighting stance naturally.
Rory, Levi, and Sloan have seen me fight before, and Rory knows firsthand that I can hold my own. But the rest of these Black Roses? They don’t know what to expect from me, and I can feel their energy and anticipation growing as they watch.
It’s like I’m feeding on it, letting it hype me up, and it blends in with the adrenaline of staring down a man several inches taller than me and probably a hundred pounds heavier.
He’s big. And he’s pissed.
But I’m not worried. I’m a good fucking fighter. My dad taught me well, and I’ve proven that time and time again. It won’t be any big thing to prove it again here tonight.
Baldy’s standing there, clearly waiting for me to make the first move. So I do, dancing in close enough to throw a right hook his way, which he barely dodges back from. I grin and swipe out again with my left hand, catching him on the chin and earning myself surprised laughter from the crowd. I wait just a second to see if he’s going to retaliate, and when he doesn’t, I throw a couple more punches, catching him with each one.
The rage builds behind his eyes, and I stay on my toes, ready when he finally snaps his fist out, throwing a punch back at me. Remembering Rory’s tip from before, I duck under it easily and move out of his reach.
Rory’s moved up closer to get a good view of the fight, and I glance down at him, seeing something like pride flash in his eyes. Apparently he likes that.
Excitement surges through me, adding to the adrenaline already burning hot in my veins. For some reason, that look of pleased pride in Rory’s green eyes does something to me. It makes me want to show off more, to prove to him what I can do.
So I keep fighting. Baldy’s putting up more of a fight than I would’ve expected based on the performance he gave with Blondie. He learns as we go on, ducking and dodging back from my hits and trying to take me out with sweeps of his legs. He’s not going to be an easy tap out the way I was expecting, so I adjust to match him, fighting more aggressively.
When he lands a hit to my stomach, I aim my knee for his balls, barely missing as he twists to avoid it. His movement makes it easy for me to get him in the back with my elbow, and he grunts in pain, making me smile viciously.
The gathered members of the gang are eating it all up, yelling and stomping, calling out to us. Some of them are on Baldy’s side, telling him he can’t let a little girl kick his ass, but a surprising number are for me, cheering and telling me to keep going.
I can hear a deafening whistle split through the noise, and Rory’s voice calls out, “Kick his ass, Hurricane!”
I grin because I plan to do just that.
My blood is pounding under my skin, hot with the thrill of a good fight; it really is up there with sex for things that I love to do. Nothing takes me out of my head better than a rough and dirty tumble in the ring.
It’s clear that most of the Black Roses aren’t made for fighting like this. They know enough to grapple someone if they need to, and I bet they could all shoot a gun better than I can, but they haven’t been trained for this. Not like me. Most of them who have been in the ring tonight have been keeping it to boxing, with some non-regulation moves, but I have different styles under my belt, and I plan to use them.
Baldy’s built like a brick house, but I aim a kick for his knee, making him crumple a bit. I use that opening to launch myself at him, using a few MMA moves to get him down on the mat.
I grapple him, trying to stay on top. My dress is short enough that it just rides up as we fight on the mat, giving me enough range of motion to keep my edge.
Baldy bucks under me, trying to get up or turn the tables, but I don’t let him, using all my weight to keep him pinned. I want to get this fucker into an arm bar and make him tap out.
As we tussle, hands and knees and limbs go everywhere. At some point in his struggle, Baldy manages t
o flip us, pinning me down, and his hand ends up on my ass. I can feel the heat of it through my underwear, and I move to try to get him off of me.
Before I can make much progress there, he’s suddenly hauled up and off of me, and I have to blink up and blow hair out of my face to see what’s going on.
Sloan is standing above me, eyes murderous with rage. He punches Baldy squarely in the face and drops him in one hit. The guy goes down like a sack of bricks, and Sloan makes it look effortless.
Fucking show-off.
I scramble to my feet. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears, the blood still rushing through me, demanding I keep the fight going. I go to brush myself off, and I realize my skirt has completely ridden up, showing my ass to the entire gathered audience.
Shit. No wonder it was so easy for Baldy to get a hand on me. Good thing I put on nice panties before going out earlier, I guess.
Once I’m up, Sloan turns those furious eyes onto me, looking like he wants to rip me apart right here in front of everyone.
He’s not the only one who’s angry though, and I’m not about to be cowed by him.
Everything I try to do ends up like this—with him standing there looking at me like I’ve done something wrong, his jaw clenched tight and his shoulders tense.
But I’m not the asshole here. He is.
And I’m fed up with his shit.
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of saying anything or chewing me out in front of the entire crowd of men, I just flip him off and climb out of the ring, stalking away.
15
Fuck this shit.
I want nothing more than to leave and go home. I don’t mean the guys’ house, either. I want to go back to my own home and sleep in my own bed and scream into my own pillow about what a fucking asshole Sloan can be when he wants to.
And it seems like he always wants to.
Hell, I’d even settle for going back to their house and barricading myself in my room at this point. A shower to wash this night off sounds good, and I can call Scarlett and bitch about what a fucking dick I’m stuck with.