He presses his lips to mine again and releases my neck. Brawley is very possessive when it comes to other men fucking me, not that any have since we’ve been together. Everyone has seen him fight, and no one is game to take him on—apparently besides Clay. Though if Clay wants a match, something is going on with him and he needs to feel physical pain. There’s no shortage of victims for Brawley; men come from all corners of the earth to have a chance against him. Sure, their chance of winning is less than one percent, but ten points to them for trying.
Brawley leaves, and Ares pushes off the wall where he has been taking everything in and follows me up the stairs.
“Are you doing a chase tonight?” I ask.
Ares rarely takes part, as he prefers working at the bar. That’s great, but the man is a weapon and should be scaring the pants off people.
“Nah, I’m getting too old for that shit.”
I snort. “You’re thirty-five, not eighty.”
“Maybe I’m looking for the one,” he says as we stop at my bedroom door.
“The one what?”
He shakes his head at me. “My one person to settle down with.”
That makes me laugh. “Just one sounds boring. You’ve seen the group activities around here.”
He shrugs. “One seems more attainable. Most run for the hills after one night with me, so I don’t have high hopes of finding more.”
“Broaden your horizons. Men are a little more adventurous... you know, like Clay.” I see the way Ares looks at Clay, but our housemate is very closed off to anyone who isn’t one of his siblings.
“When he steps out of the closet, let me know.”
“Yeah, that won’t happen. I bet I could force him out, though. Once someone has a finger or two in their ass, it seems to get them on board really fast.”
Ares laughs. “How is that working out for you with Brawley?”
“I got one all the way in before he wanted to murder me, so baby steps.”
Ares smiles and tilts his head toward his room. “I better shower before I start tonight.”
With a nod, I step back into my room, not bothering to close the door. I get my costume for the night out of the walk-in closet, opting for the orange jumpsuit with the waist belt that connects the handcuffs, paired with my Hannibal mask.
I plan to get ready, talk to Nixie, then watch my man beat the living shit out of Clay.
Brawley
The cage is my domain. It was built for me. I may be surrounded by cement walls covered in graffiti, but in the middle is a metal cage where the fights are held. Tonight, I was just supposed to spar with Vesper, but Clay decided he wanted his blood on my hands. Whatever is messing with his head is his own fucking problem. I don’t care about his feelings—not when they put Vero’s on the line. I’m out for blood, and currently there is a lot covering the concrete floor.
Clay pushes himself up from where he lies as everyone outside the cage cheers. All except Vero; instead, the crazy bastard has climbed the cage and is screaming at me to annihilate him.
Don’t get me wrong, if anyone else came for Clay, I would kill them in an instant. It is hard to understand our dynamic, and from the outside it might even seem like we hate each other. Yet if it had not been for him, I would probably be locked up. Violence and blood call to me. I need them like I need air, and without them I would die.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Clay taunts with a smile, blood coating his white teeth.
“I haven’t even broken a sweat yet,” I say, bouncing on my feet.
Clay spits blood onto the floor and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He lunges first, fast but sloppy, fueled by whatever anger has built inside him.
I step to the side, and his fist glides off my shoulder instead of my jaw. The impact burns just the way I like.
He swings again, but I duck and drive my shoulder into his ribs, slamming him back against the cage. The metal rattles behind him, and everyone goes nuts. I’m not sure if they are screaming for him or me, and I don’t care. All I care about is that his cock will never be near Vero’s ass. That ass is only mine.
Vero’s voice cuts through the screams. I can always hear him. “Break him!”
Clay laughs and brings his knee up hard into my thigh. I grin and drive my fist into his stomach—once, twice—before I grab him and slam his head into the cage. The sound is music to my ears. Skull against metal. He staggers but doesn’t drop.
