Brawl (7 page)

“Make sure you do.” I give his neck one last squeeze before springing to my feet. Smoothing my skirt down and adjusting my top so it covers my boobs, I realize that I’ve flashed my bits to everyone who watched our little drama go down. Drawing in a deep breath, I hold it for a second before facing Nate’s friends.

They’re staring at us with their mouths open. I expected some lewd comments or for them to step in when I was manhandling their friend, but nothing is forthcoming.

“You coming to the fight?” Jep speaks up, directing his question at me.

My eyebrows fly toward my hairline. I didn’t expect to still have an invite after the way I’ve acted during the past ten minutes. To be honest, I’m expecting to have issues with Nate at work as well after this.

“Nah, I’m heading home. I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” I answer. He nods, appearing a little disappointed, before making his way toward the door Pharrell has pulled open. The other guy follows and I wait for Nate to leave me to it as well. I feel kinda bad about what I did to him in front of his friends, yet at the same time, I’m hopeful that he might leave me alone from now on.

It hasn’t even been one day and I’m sick of fending off his advances already.

Patting my right breast to make sure my phone hasn’t fallen out, I squeeze the left one to make sure my cash and my ID is still safely tucked in there.

“Fucking hell, ninja girl,” Nate speaks up, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I’m not gonna be able to keep my promise if you start feeling yourself up in front of me.”

And with that comment, I know that we’re going to be okay. I try to shrug his arm off so I can put some space between us but he refuses to let it budge.

“
Stay
. Watch the fights. I’ll leave you alone,” he tells me in a tone that only the pair of us can hear. “I know you think I’m a douchebag but I’m not really that bad. Let’s call a truce?”

I run my gaze over his face, trying to gauge his sincerity. He looks like he means it and, even though, my gut is telling me I shouldn’t—that I should let him go to the fights alone so I can concentrate on finding someone else to scratch my itch tonight—I nod my acceptance of his offer for a cease-fire and let him lead me to the basement entrance.

Gabbi

T
he roar of the crowd is exhilarating. I can feel it in my bones; the pulsing beat of the music mixing with the rumble of the crowd and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh as the two men in the octagon beat each other into a bloody pulp.

This is the third fight of the night and the last one before the main event featuring Nate’s uncle begins. The fights have been eye-opening, and have proven what Jep said to be one-hundred percent correct. This is nothing like the martial arts tournaments I’ve attended and it makes the fights I’ve been in look like child’s play.

Eyebrows have been split, blood has gone flying, and ribs have been broken right before my very eyes. I imagine that this is what the ancient Roman’s felt when they watched the gladiators fight to the death for their entertainment. The atmosphere is potent; feral and brimming with hostility and an animal-like wildness that I’ve never witnessed before. It speaks to me. I can picture myself in the cage channeling the rage that simmers underneath my surface into a
need
to annihilate my opponent. The desire to hurt has long resided within me, occasionally being let out and allowed to inflict pain, yet it’s never been given the free rein of the men fighting in front of me.

Due to Nate’s uncle, we have ringside seats so my view has been uninterrupted. Jep has passed me two or three beers, and I’ve drunk them without thought, intent on the action in the ring. Nate’s nudged me a few times when a particularly violent moment has occurred to make sure that I’m handling it. In my seat between Nate and Jep, I’m isolated from the rowdy crowd—as safe as I can be as one of the few women present tonight.

“Here,” Jep yells in my ear as he passes me another beer. I grab it, even though the previous ones have gone to my head and I’m feeling a little woozy. I’m not much of a drinker, usually popping an E if I want to party all night. My fake ID is good enough to get me into Nitro’s but I’ve never been game to try it to purchase alcohol. Not to mention the fact, that watching my mother drink herself into a coma every night doesn’t make it appealing. Ecstasy makes me feel in control and vibrant, high enough to have a good time, yet in control enough to stay safe and lucid.

“She’s only seventeen, dickhead.” Nate grabs my beer out of my hand and skulls it in one go. “She’s had enough.”

“Fuck off,” Jep leans across me to smack Nate light-heartedly. “There’s no need to tell lies to put me off. We both know she likes me better.”

Grabbing both of their wrists when they reach over my lap to slap at each other like a pair of girls, I dig my thumb into the joint at the bottom of their palms until they yelp. Throwing their hands back into their own personal space, I smirk at Jep who looks at me with worry in his glazed eyes. His face is red from the beer he’s thrown back and his hair is everywhere. He really is cute—not as cute as Nate, though.

“Pfft, who says I like either of you?” I quip. My attention is dragged away from his reaction to the cage when one of the fighters is knocked to the ground and the other fighter mounts him. I bound to my feet with the rest of the crowd when the fighter on top chokes the fallen fighter out.

“Woo, what a fucking move,” I scream, jumping in the spot and punching the air. I’m caught up in the moment and loving every second of it. Nate meets my eyes and grins; a real grin that goes all the way to his eyes, not the one I’ve come to think of as his come-hither smirk. In that moment, I feel a connection grow between us. Maybe there’s hope that we can salvage a friendship out of this after all?

“Nate—” I begin to tell him how thankful I am that he talked me into staying tonight. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. My words are cut off by an iron grip around my torso that squeezes most of the air out of my lungs. Jep picks me up in a bear hug, jumping up and down with me in his arms.

Before I know what’s happening, he has lowered his lips to mine and is kissing me. My arms are caught at my sides; trapped and useless. Twisting my head away from his, I lean as far away from him as I can in an effort to put some distance between us. He doesn’t get the hint, his head following mine in order to maintain the connection.

“Jep!” I yell against his mouth. “Stop.”

To his credit he stops straightaway. Returning me to my feet, he smiles down at me, a rueful expression covering his cute face. Flicking his gaze between me and Nate, he takes a giant step back and lifts his hands in the air, as if surrendering.

“Don’t spaz out,” he laughs, leaving his gaze on Nate. “She said nothing was gonna happen between you two. Can’t blame a fella for trying...”

I’m in too good of a mood to tell him off. Glancing behind me, I find that Nate has his hands curled into fists and looks ready to have a go at his friend. Rolling my eyes when it dawns that, despite his words to the contrary, Nate still has hopes that he’s going to get in my panties, I decide it’s time to put an end to his delusions forever.

Sidling up to Jep, I slide my arm around his waist and curl into his side.

“It’ll take more than one kiss,” I wink and his eyes bug out at my abrupt change in behavior. “But keep up the good work.”

The MC climbs into the cage and begins his spiel into his microphone. His words boom and echo around the basement, denying Jep and Nate an opportunity to speak. A pleased smile grows on my face when I see that Nate’s finally gotten the message. Even though, he’s not meeting my eyes, I can gauge his change in mood. His fingers have returned to a more natural state and his shoulders have relaxed.

Leaving Jep’s side, I take my seat again. Nate’s uncle is being introduced and the excitement in the room has increased noticeably. Everyone seems to be talking at once, and my inability to stand the increased noise is testament to my slightly tipsy condition.

Jep sits down, closer than previously, his leg pressed against mine. Nate is still standing with his back slightly angled toward us, apparently waiting for his uncle to arrive and intent on ignoring me. I know that he can still see us out of the corner of his eye because his posture stiffens when Jep leans into me and lays a hand on my closest leg.

“I know what you were doing just then,” he murmurs in my ear. The breeze caused by his hot breath as it blows over my ear and neck makes me shiver and reminds me of my original plan for tonight. He runs his finger over my exposed thigh tattoo and I decide that he’ll do quite fine. He’s sufficiently sexy, and obviously interested in a no-strings-attached hook-up.

“What was I doing?” I ask, tilting my head closer to his.

“You’re trying to make it clear to Nate that he’s not getting what he wants.
For once
.” He pauses and runs his fingers up the inside of my closest thigh in soft, rhythmical strokes. “I’m more-than-happy to help you drive the message home.”

Taking hold of his arm, I halt his movements as they grow bolder with each circuit he makes, angling closer and closer to my pussy. Cocking my head to the side, I stare into his eyes and wait. I’m waiting for the throb of desire to begin between my legs. Something.
Anything.
I need a sign that my pussy is on board with my decision.

Shit. Nothing’s happening. Apparently, my vagina has gone on strike. It’s a new development because she’s made her interest in Nate known numerous times tonight. My mind runs in circles, trying to work out what her problem is.

Using his superior strength, Jep shakes off my grip and starts stroking my thigh again. The touch snaps me out of my confusion and I grab his arm to force him to stop again.

“I wanna watch this fight. We’ll discuss
this
after.”

I put him off, for now—all the while hoping that whatever the hell is going on between my legs rectifies itself before it comes time to put my money where my mouth is.

The whooping and hollering in the basement kicks up a notch as Nate’s uncle’s opponent enters before it becomes a thunderous roar as he’s introduced. It drowns out Jep’s response. I remove his hand from my leg and stand, making my way next to Nate. He looks down at me, the hurt in his eyes making it apparent that he’s witnessed what was going on between me and Jep. I widen my eyes with feigned innocence before directing my attention to the octagon.

“And, entering through the red door, we have our undisputed, undefeated, reigning champion. Give it up for Hooligan Harvie.”

The crowd goes wilder. Ear-splitting whistles erupt and I cover my ears with my palms. This is crazy. I thought the gathering was enthusiastic before, but that was nothing on the electrifying feeling that’s filling the basement with Hooligan’s entrance.

I lift onto my tiptoes, eager to get a glimpse of the man capable of causing this type of reaction. I can hardly see a thing since everyone groups around the entrance and then mobs him as he makes his way inside. All I glimpse is the top of a head covered in short dark-brown hair sticking out from the crowd as he makes his way to the ring without the entourage that his opponent entered with. He seems to be alone; one man in a sea of bodies, and I wonder why he doesn’t have anyone in his corner like a fighter should. Before I can ask Nate why, I’m jostled by the crowd as it surges to the side of the cage. Annoyed at my lack of view, I hop from one foot to the other, waiting for him to enter the cage so I can catch a glimpse of the man who’s responsible for the hysteria growing in the room.

“It’s fucking insane,” Nate looks down at me. The hurt I caught sight of before is gone from his eyes and he appears amped. His flushed face and bright eyes telecast his excitement. “He’s on a four year winning streak. Everyone reckons he’s gonna lose tonight. This new guy is a hotshot, some mixed martial arts whiz kid, but they’re underestimating Hooligan.”

Some of his words are lost in the noise echoing around the basement but I catch enough to understand most of what he’s saying. Nodding as if I agree, I look back to the cage to find that the two fighters are now locked in with the referee.

“Fuck them all,” Nate continues while I assess the challenger and his ripped physique. “Hooligan might be thirty-two but he’ll still smash this asshole without breaking a sweat.

The challenger looks nasty, bashing his gloved hands together and snarling at Nate’s uncle who has his broad, rippling back to us. Just from my current view of the man, I’m disinclined to buy into Nate’s assessment of the situation. The man his uncle’s facing looks like the epitome of a fighter to me.

Nate sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a high-pitched whistle.

“Hey, Hooligan,” he yells. Even with the booming noise of the basement, he manages to catch his uncle’s attention, who turns toward the sound.

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel my eyes widen of their own volition when piercing emerald green eyes meet mine. The bleakness in their depths matches the barrenness of my own soul; equaling my constant loneliness and despair at the state of my life. The exact emotions that I try my hardest to hide behind my in-your-face appearance and take-no-shit persona. A strangled gasp leaves me, my hand lifting to my chest, right over my heart without thought or reason. My pulse quickens, racing in my chest and my heart—that almost dead organ that beats only for Cooper and Zali—flips in my chest and makes me conscious of its existence for the first time in a very long time.

Surprise followed by an intense flare of electricity that makes me feel as if I’m the only person in the room briefly makes an appearance in Hooligan’s expression before it shuts down—almost before I’ve registered its presence. He runs his gaze over my frame, taking in what I have to offer and dismissing it with a flick of his eyes in the next second. My stomach drops, disappointment taking hold of me, and I feel tears prick behind my eyelids.

What the fuck?

I’ve never had a reaction like that to a man. And, I’ve certainly never had a man dismiss me so crudely before. I hold back the tears that are threatening for no real reason and concentrate on finding some anger to direct toward him. It takes a moment, but I manage it.