SEVEN
Kennedy
Okay, so I was excited.
I was Christmas Eve when you still believe in Santa excited.
Which was a testament to how boring my life had been for almost a full year now. My idea of a night out was pretty much hitting up the grocery store. The highlight of my week was when something that I loved that was usually too expensive for my budget was on sale suddenly.
Benny and I left work after our last client, him walking me toward my place before taking off to go get himself showered and changed.
I walked around the side of the house to my "private entrance" that was boasted in the ad I found on Craigslist. It really wasn't actually a private entrance at all. It was a door that led onto the back deck, but whatever, it meant I could come and go without grumpy old Carl getting his panties in a wad. I also had a "private bath" which was actually the room which used to be my closet completely jammed with a shower stall barely big enough to turn in, a toilet, and a sink. But, again, it was mine. And it was cheap. And I had no other options.
The fact that I had to seal the door to the rest of the house with duct tape from the inside because Carl was an indoor chainsmoker was just another thing I had to learn to live with. It meant I had no access to the kitchen or any of the kitchen features, namely the stove and fridge. So I had a teensy apartment fridge with a microwave on top and a hot plate on top of that.
Living large, I was.
I came from truly humble beginnings, but the life I was living now made my childhood seem almost rich by comparison.
"One more year," I reminded myself as I shrugged out of my work clothes and walked over to the window AC unit to switch it on. I didn't use it often since I was charged more for rent when I did. Never mind that Carl left four other ones running throughout the house day and night. But when I was getting ready for work or, in this case, to go out, I put it on so I didn't sweat through my bra, hairstyle, and makeup before I even left the house.
I moved over to the rack I had bought at a discount store. It was where I hung my clothes because of the aforementioned bathroom closet situation, and looked around for something that seemed appropriate for an underground fighting ring.
I owned a lot of dresses, but they were of the pretty, floral, sun variety which seemed too light and sweet for such a dark and dirty type of event. I considered the black dress that Ethan suggested, one I had always loved because it fit just right, but suddenly it made my lip curl at the idea of ever wearing it again.
And then I saw it.
I bought it two years ago because I got it on a song, and it had actually been designer. But it had always been just a tad too fancy to wear any of the places I generally went to.
It was a rich, cobalt blue color that would set off my eyes, hair, and pale skin, cut in skater fashion- tight and square-cut around the bust, them flowing outward at the hip and thigh. But the flare didn't make it little girlish, because it was pretty damn short. A lot of leg was going to be on display tonight.
I fished out some nice underthings, a pair of nude heels, and laid it out on my bed for after my shower and primping.
"Daaaaamn," Benny said as I walked up to his waiting car. "Look who sex-kittened it up toooo-night!"
My lips curved as I slid in, thankful for the AC so I didn't ruin my blowout. "Thanks." I needed that more than I realized. Not just to feel good, which I did for a change, but to know I looked good. Maybe that was a little superficial of me, but anyone who said they required exactly no validation was a bold-faced liar.
We pulled up to the school parking lot a short couple minutes later, parking between two luxury cars. And not some Mercedes sedan or other reasonably priced luxury car. I meant these ones cost the downpayment on a house. Or more. Honestly, they were so expensive they made my head hurt to consider what they cost. Me with my clearance shoes and cast-off designer dress.
"It's okay, Betsy," Benny said, patting his car's dashboard. "Don't you dare start feeling insecure. You might not be shiny and new, but you're the only one for me. You know," he added with a smirk, "since you're all I can afford. Alright, you ready?" he asked, practically bouncing with excitement, reinforcing my own feelings about the night.
So then we climbed out and followed the small crowd as the went around the back, in through the old playground doors, then down. And down. Until we were standing in front of doors that must have been to the basement. We waited in line to talk to the men with clipboards. Plenty people pushed past us, obviously important, because they were waved in without speaking.
"Hi," I said, feeling strange, never having had my name on a list before. "Ah... Kennedy and Benny," I offered as one of the men, a tall and lean, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in all black looked at me, lips twitching.
"Pagan's... special guest," he said without consulting his list.
"Guests," I rushed to say, stomach dropping at the idea that he maybe forgot to put Benny down too. Because there was no way I was going in without Benny.
"Sure, sweetheart. He said you plus whoever the fuck you wanted. His exact words," the man said, giving me a warm smile as he moved out of the way for us to pass. "Have a good time. And maybe don't watch Pagan's fight," he advised as we moved inside.
I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but dirt floors covered in old blood, bare walls, and a crowd of sweaty and scary people had come to mind several times since the invitation.
I needed to stop getting my ideas about things from movies.
This was nothing like Fight Club.
In fact, it was more like some posh nightclub with its sleek, streamlined, dark, expensive decor. Really, you would totally think it was just a nice watering hole were it not for the giant hexagonal cage in the center of the room, raised from the floor by a few feet so spectators had to look up slightly to watch the fight.
"Hex," Benny said, making me turn to look at him.
"What?"
"The sign said Hex. As in hexagon. I want to live here," he said dramatically, turning in a circle.
"Sure, except the giant cage," I laughed.
"Miss Princess Buttercup would love that."
Miss Princess Buttercup, yes that was her full name, and you had to address her as such, was all of three pounds of fluff, some designer dog with those silly names: poo this, morki that. She actually wasn't even technically Benny's dog, having come with his latest boyfriend. But I was pretty sure that if Benny and he ever split up that there would be a bitter battle for custody of that pampered fluff ball.
"Come on, let's get a drink," Benny said, reaching for my hand and leading me to the side where a long, sleek bar was situated. "Cosmo and a whiskey neat." I might be gay, but I like my liquor straight was what he told me when we went out for drinks the first time. Really, it was because mixers gave him headaches. He loved a cocktail as much as the next person with tastebuds.
The bartender turned to make our drinks as we watched the people milling around. When she came back and put the drinks down and moved to push a pretty silver plate with a bill toward us, a suited figure came out of nowhere behind Benny. He was tall, dark everything, and so intimidating just standing there that I almost felt uncomfortable.
He reached for the bill tray thing, pushing it back toward the bartender while shaking his head. "Whatever they have is on Pagan's tab tonight." He spared me a very cool, very detached glance. "Or any night," he added.
"Right, Mr. Ward," the bartender said, giving him a drink, also neat, and he turned and walked away without another word.
"Girl, your boyfriend hooked us up."
"He's not my boyfriend," I insisted, but inside felt a weird swelling feeling that felt akin to hope. But that, seeing as I didn't even know the man, and what I did know meant he was absolutely not in any way boyfriend material, was insane.
"Just saying, him hooking us up maybe means a hookup would be appropriate."
"Way to make me sound like a whore," I said, but I was smiling.
"You need to live a little. Hoe it up. You won't die regretting that fling you had with the sexy biker fighter who hooked you up with a nice night out."
The crazy thing was, I was starting to maybe believe that myself.
After all was said and done and I spent a few weeks obsessing over how it was a waste of time (even though the time would have passed anyway and much more orgasm-free), I would eventually move on and chalk it up to a moment of insanity and let it be. I wouldn't be crying over having sex with Pagan a year from now, ten years from now, on my deathbed. In fact, a larger part of me was pretty sure a little, shriveled, wrinkly, dying version of me would be mentally kicking her own ass if I didn't decide to have a tryst with Pagan.
My father once told me that your life is a series of stories that you can pass on.
At this particular point, what the hell kind of stories did I have? It was all work, and obsessing over making work better, and wallowing in my misfortune.
No one wanted to sit on a porch and hear that kinda thing.
I needed at least that one crazy, ridiculous, out of character story.
And as I stood there and watched people mill around, most dressed in fancy clothes I knew I would never be able to afford, I realized this was that one for me.
Somehow, I even thought maybe that was something Pagan was totally fine with- being a girl's wild and crazy tale. Hell, I was sure he was that for many of women before me.
"Look who it is," a voice said, seeming to come up by my side. "The woman who broke my heart!"
Confused, I turned, finding the blond and bearded biker from the gates of The Henchmen compound, dressed the same way he was that night in jeans, a tee, and his cut, despite everyone else mostly in suits. Actually, he was flanked by three other men in almost identical outfits, including the growler with the dark, exotic look to him.
"Oh, mama," Benny said under his breath, barely loud enough for me to hear, and internally, I was agreeing.
Because all four of them were stupidly good looking.
The two I didn't know were both tall, giant walls of manly muscle, one white and one black, both with an unmistakably dangerous vibe.
"Probies, this is Pagan's, ah, friend... Kennedy. And her friend..."
"Benny," I supplied.
"A pleasure," Benny said, giving them a smile.
"You've met me and Edison, but these two are Sugar and Virgin. This is your first time at Hex, right?"
"Had no idea it even existed," I admitted.
"Pretty snazzy place considering it will be half-covered in blood once Pagan gets in the cage. He has been benched for a while, so he's due."
I chose not to say that he had just been in a fight a little over a week ago. I figured maybe that wasn't the same thing or something. Who knew. Bikers seemed like a different breed of people.
"Oh, that means the first fight is starting," Cyrus declared when the lights dimmed. "Have fun, Kennedy, angel. I hope to see more of you." There was a strange inflection in his voice that I didn't quite understand, like he was amused, but trying to hide it? I dunno. Something like that.
"I'm assuming you don't want to get a closer look," Benny said, trying not to sound disappointed. And failing epically.
"I don't," I agreed with a smile, but nudged his shoulder. "But you go ahead. I'll be right over... there," I said, gesturing toward a private little couch in a corner as far away from the ring as possible. Really, the people would just be moving blurs from that far away. Just how I wanted it.
"If you insist," he said, practically bouncing off toward the ring.
I grabbed my drink as the fighters were announced, and moved toward the couch that was obviously of high quality because I literally sank down into it.
There was a bell, and I could, even from a distance, even with music pumping out of the speakers, still hear the sound of bones hitting flesh, of pain being inflicted, making me cringe and drain the rest of my drink, pointedly keeping my gaze downcast.
"Nice fucking dress," a deep voice said as the seat beside me depressed.
I didn't have to look up. I might have only spoken to him a handful of times, but I would know that voice anywhere. It was the same one that whispered and growled dirty, sexy, raunchy as all hell things at me in the incredibly vivid sex dreams he had been starring in as of late.
I didn't have to look up, but I did anyway.
He didn't look like he was going to fight. He was in a tee, jeans, boots, and his leather cut, still scruffy, still hauntingly good looking.
The second my eyes found his, my drink was taken and met the surface of the coffee table.
Then, in a move so slick it almost seemed practiced, his hand planted at my hip then slowly whispered downward until it slid under my knee, then the other, snagging them, and dragging them over both his legs. His arm snaked around my shoulders, pulling me the rest of the way until my whole side was against his chest, his arm an oddly reassuring weight, anchoring me to him.
His heat radiated through his clothes, warming my very exposed body in the short dress, the AC cranking in the room. And, well, there may have been a slight (okay, intense) shiver at the warmth.
The corresponding rumbling noise in Pagan's chest warmed me all the more, but in a much more sexual way. That was literally all it took. Just a noise from him and I was already getting way too turned on by a practical stranger. That being said, with the sex dreams being so realistic for over a week, it didn't exactly feel like he was such a stranger anymore.
"You can stomach Taxi Driver, but Hex is too much for you?"
I smiled at that, acknowledging the hypocrisy. "It's different when it's cinematic I guess. I love action movies, but if I get a paper cut, I'm feeling woozy. Don't worry," I went on when he stayed silent, lips twitching a bit. "Cyrus already warned me to stay away from the ring when you're in it."
"Probably good advice," he agreed, his free hand leaving my thigh where I swear I felt suddenly branded, and moving upward to stroke my hair behind my ear, making me glad I chose to wear it down despite the heat outside.
Feeling uncomfortable with his dark, penetrating gaze, I swallowed hard, waving a hand toward the table. "Thanks for the drink."
He completely ignored that. "What are you doing after this?"
"Um, it's a Monday night," I said, smiling a little. Wasn't it obvious that I would be going to bed so I could get up for work the next day? Then again, he didn't live that normal kind of lifestyle. "You know for normal people, meaning not cage-fighting arms-dealing bikers, we need to get to sleep at what is called a 'reasonable hour' so we can get up in the morning to go to this place called 'work'."
"You own the place. Make an executive decision."
"It's not that easy."
"No?" he asked, lips tipped up ever so slightly at one side, his eyes mischievous.
But before I could realize his intention, his hand slid from my face, down my neck, arm, the side of my breast which seemed to get immediately heavier, then settling at my hip. Almost the second that that hand stopped, the other hand moved toward the center of my back, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked back hard until my mouth opened on a silent gasp.
And, well, he took that opportunity.
I had never been one for PDA, and it was something I didn't think I would ever be comfortable with. But the second his lips claimed mine, the entire world fell away. There were no people, no sounds, no nothing but the two of us, his lips searing into mine, his hands digging in perhaps too hard into my hip, yanking at my hair, my heartbeat slamming in my chest, his stubble scraping over my skin, the overpowering pulsating need between my thighs.
Maybe I wouldn't be going home and sleeping.
That was the last fully conscious thought I had before his tongue moved inside and claimed mine.
His hand released my hair, using his arm to pull me even closer, making me almost on his lap, my top half twisted toward him so my breasts were crushed to his chest, my nipples straining and, seeing as all I had was a shelf bra that hid very little, I knew he was very aware of. His fingers drifted to my knee again, grabbing, and yanking it toward him.
I couldn't tell you how long it went on.
It could have been minutes or days or half a lifetime.
Even so, it could still somehow never be enough.
But before I could let him do something truly obscene to me, there was a clearing of a male voice that seemed to have the same impact to my system as a bucket of ice water as I sprang away from Pagan. Before my eyes could even clear from the sudden motion, I was yanking at the bottom of my dress to make sure it was covering enough of me, and self-consciously flattening my hair.
"You're up," the man in the suit who said our drinks were on Pagan said, standing there a few feet away. "And if you fuck her after your fight, it better the fuck not be on my desk again. Or I will show your ass why the fuck my ass doesn't go in that ring."
Those were his parting words as I sat there, heart racing, mind following, need still a clawing thing low in my belly.
"Was that a threat?" I asked, brows drawn together.
"Let's just say I'm a fucking animal both in the ring and in the sack. Ross Ward is another beast entirely."
Then with that, Pagan was gone as well, leaving me there to try to slow my breathing and look around, wondering who might have overseen our little makeout session.
"I love me some kissing," Benny said, walking up from behind me with a new round of drinks. "But I don't think I have ever kissed for an hour straight."
An hour.
An hour?
Jesus.
No wonder I was so squirrelly.
"I should expect you late tomorrow, yes?" he asked, eyes dancing, lips teasing, as he handed me my drink in hands that were actually a little shaky. Which was incredibly embarrassing since I knew Benny saw if his chuckle was anything to go by. "You have beard burn something fierce right now," he informed me as I drained my drink and raised my hands to touch my cheeks that did feel hot, but I figured it was a flush. But when my fingers touched, it was unmistakably sensitive.
"Great," I grumbled, nodding when one of the passing waitresses took my newest glass and asked if I wanted another round. Which, in turn, made me realize that another (or the same) waitress must have popped by during our makeoutathon to get rid of my other glass.
What was wrong with me?
"Kenny, just go home with him," Benny said, shrugging. "I haven't seen you so into someone in, well, ever. If you don't get him out of your system, you're not going to be any good at work tomorrow all sexually frustrated either."
He wasn't exactly wrong.
But as I sat there, hearing the fight going on across the room, the reaction from the crowd, and my own heartbeat whooshing in my ears, I had a strange, niggling little feeling that there was no getting him out of my system.
Then, seeing as that was crazy talk, even for internal monolog, I had another two rounds until that inner voice shut the hell up about asinine ideas of a more than physical connection with Pagan.
I didn't see him again right after his fight.
In fact, my buzz was pretty much wearing off when he finally emerged from some back room with the man Benny informed me he had been in a fight with, both of them looking freshly showered and changed and patched-up. Patched-up because each of them looked like they got into fights with a gorilla and lost. Pagan had a four-inch gash from the edge of his eye to the middle of his cheek which he had pushed together with butterfly stitches, a busted lip, ripped open knuckles, and a nasty bruise on the left side of his jaw. The other guy, Slate, had an eye almost swollen shut, a similarly busted lip, and was walking half to the side, seeming to favor his ribs.
Why did people sign up happily to get their asses kicked? I was pretty sure that no matter how many explanations about adrenaline or whatever they could give me would never actually help me understand.
"Slate, Kennedy," Pagan said, dropping down on the very small couch, dragging me up on his lap so Benny wasn't crushed. "And Benny," he added. "This is Slate, the guy whose ass I just kicked."
"He sounds all big and bad right now," Slate said, smiling down at me. "But two fights ago, his ass had to go get his fingers splinted, ribs wrapped, and a cut near his eye glued."
"Well, I have a man and fluffy baby at home waiting for me," Benny declared, dropping money on the table for the waitress who had been taking care of us. "I will see you... when you get in."
"Wait, no," I objected, trying to jolt up, but Pagan's hands were around me. "You're my ride."
"Honey," Benny said, giving me a lopsided smile. "I think your ride is the man you are currently sitting on right now. Be nice to my girl," Benny warned before moving away.
And leaving me at Pagan's mercy.
Right where I wanted, but was terrified, to be.