Chapter 22
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RAYDEN (24YRS)
Rage turned my vision into a red haze. Violence flamed in my veins, pounded in my temples, eager to be set free. But I kept it in check. That was one thing I’d learned to do well over time—six years to be exact. Those that knew me, didn’t know what lurked beneath my handsome façade. I smirked. Yeah, I was cocky as shit, with good reason. I swore I’d never let another man catch me unaware. No one would control me, ever.
Grinning, I was ready to let the fucker, who’d just planted a left hook to my jaw, get a peek at my unbridled side. Swinging wide, my fist connected with his right cheekbone, knocking his head to the side, dreadlocks dancing a haphazard groove, spittle and blood flying from his mouth as I heard bone crunching against my wrapped knuckles. When his face stopped shuddering with the impact, he turned and for just a second, he stared at me. His dazed look a telltale sign I’d damaged something.
“C’mon, fuckface.” I waited for him to come at me, exhilaration nipping at my shoulders to show him who was boss. “Hey.” I tapped his chest and like a well-played statue, he fell backward, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
An immediate roar followed as the usual crowd circling us went wild. Chants and hoots of cheers resonated around the concrete basement, vibrating over my skin and bouncing off my bones. I fucking love it. My fury cooling to a calm, I grinned when Austin and Desmond, my best buds, lifted me up onto their shoulders and paraded me like a fucking prized bull. The chanting grew louder every time Austin screamed my name. Glory hound that he was, I allowed him his moment of triumph before tapping his shoulder.
When I jumped off my perch, they followed me to my Porsche. I glanced over to where Wesley was being carried out by his friends. Crimson patches mixed with sweat, glistening against his chocolate skin. He’d been a tough fucker, the best among his gang of thieves but my skill had improved over the years, and he was no match for me.
I leaned my butt against the hood and waited while Desmond unwrapped the bloodied bandages off my hands. “You fucking nailed it today,” he chuckled.
“Please tell me you’re giving this shit up now.” Austin examined the bruises on my face. “Or you might fuck up this pretty-boy face.”
“You want me to?” I surveyed the basement, the concrete arena I’d discovered by accident on a drunken spree with the guys. The stench of exhaust fumes, beer and marijuana smoke, clogged the air and might tighten the chest of some, but it was a source of entertainment for a select few. Not the likely place I’d be caught dead in given I was Rayden fucking Princeton. Billionaire heir of an affluent family and currently the king of this underground fight club. For me it wasn’t about the money, more the fucking thrill of danger it unleashed in me. Winning just fed the addiction.
“Jesus, Ray, I almost thought he had you when he landed that last hit.” Austin parked his butt next to me.
“Well, he didn’t,” I scoffed.
“The next one might.” Desmond handed me a bottled water. I cocked a brow and all three of us sniggered like we were back in high school.
“Not that I’m complaining but what the fuck, Rayden?” Greg, the organizer, approached and handed Austin and Desmond their share of my winnings. “You drive the best fucking car among all these shit stirrers. Dress like you belong on the fucking cover of a Forbes magazine, and look like fucking Prince Charming who should ride in on a white horse. Why the fuck do you do this?”
“Because I can?” I shrugged, taking a swig of the water.
“Jesus, you’re a cocky little shit,” he snorted.
I grinned. “The last man who called me that, is the reason I’m standing here today. Only difference, I’m not little anymore. I’ll fuck up anyone you send my way and these two will walk away with enough cash to set up their little bike shop.” The memory of Lorenzo Rossi’s face when he first called me the name, flashed through my mind and I shut it down. I wasn’t weak then and sure as fuck wasn’t weak now, repercussions be damned—my motto in life and another learning from Lorenzo.
“Yeah, thanks for mine too.” Greg patted his shirt pocket that housed his winnings. “Well, whoever that man is, I’m glad you met him because you’ve got the perfect fucking attitude for this shit.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m out of here. Always nice having you around. I’ll call you.” Mock saluting me, he walked away.
I stared after him. Greg was a couple years older than my father and the first time I wanted to fight, he’d called me a pretty boy and said if I wanted to play with the big boys, I’d have to show him I wouldn’t faint at the first sight of blood. If only he knew. I hadn’t bothered with telling him details of my kidnapping escapade. All through my training, it was thoughts of Lorenzo Rossi that had pushed me, even when I lost my first fight. There were times I wondered if he’d come looking for me after Zena and I escaped. We agreed to never tell anyone what happened, and I assumed Lorenzo was waiting to see if we would.
“Let’s get out of here.” I straightened then notice Desmond was missing. “Where’s Des?”
Austin didn’t bother looking up from his phone and shrugged. “I’m sure the horny bastard is around here somewhere, blowing his load down some slut’s throat. Just whistle, he’ll probably come running like a bitch in heat.”
