CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
——
DOMINIC
THE CLUBHOUSE IS buzzing with life tonight. Every member and their ol’ lady came out for the cage fight. No other MC members are allowed on a night like this. It’s in-house and exclusive. Keeps the outcome private and the bruised egos of the losers contained. I plan on bruising more than their egos. I want them carried out on a fucking stretcher.
These men aren’t my brothers. They don’t know loyalty, honor, or respect the patch and the brotherhood it stands for. They’re weak men. Men who get off on torturing and raping a woman who couldn’t defend herself against them. I don’t see them as equals. I’ll never see them as equals.
Through the church room is another set of double doors. This is where we have our fight cage and private bar. Wooden benches line two walls, the cage taking up the other two. Between the benches and the fight cage are high top and low top tables with bar stools and chairs. Every seat is filled and the liquor is pouring heavily. A few bucks make their rounds on who’s going to win the fight. It’s fun play for my brothers, but for me, tonight is about so much more.
Lighting dim, it makes the blood stains on the cage mat harder to see, but it’s there as a lingering memory of previous fights. Fights I’ve been a part of. Blood I’ve contributed myself. You don’t last in the Serpents as long as I have without shedding some.
Across the cage, between the bars, I can see Drake and Levi getting themselves worked up for the fight. A slap to the face, some words for courage, a shot glass thrown back. Next to me are Mercy, John, Tex and RJ, some of my closest brothers. Mercy slaps my bare back and hands me a shot.
“Fuck ‘em up.”
With the shot thrown back, I bob my head. Shirt in my hands, I pull it over my head and toss it on a chair. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve the brass knuckles I brought. That’s an advantage with the cage fights—there are no rules.
Christian opens the cage door and dips his head, indicating Drake and Levi need to enter. Shirts off and in their jeans, they go into the cage, bouncing on the tips of their feet. They’re wired and ready, probably high on coke too. Another advantage for me. With intent steps, I flex my muscles and give Christian a hard stare as I enter the cage.
The door locks behind us and I measure my opponents. Levi is tall and gangly, has speed, but will easily be put off balance. Drake has muscles, a solid core, slightly shorter than I am, but he always steps before he punches. It’s been engrained in me to study the way every man I know fights, especially the ones closest to you.
Bloodshot eyes and their hyper energy are telltale signs they’re high. The corner of my mouth raises when the circling starts. They’ll come at me together at first, in hopes to overpower me, wear me down. Then once I’m tired, they’ll split up and go for individual attacks to give themselves breaks and ensure I remain exhausted. They’re dumb fucks if they think the fight will last that long.
They both charge and I slam into Levi. Hand to his throat, I ram him into the cage bars, knocking the wind out of him. Grip tight on his throat, I bring the brass knuckles down on his face. Blood spurts from his nose, then again from his busted lips.
“Fuuuck!” the word roars from my chest.
The cold steal slices across the lower left side of my back. Enraged, I turn on Drake and see him holding the bloody switchblade.
If blood is what they want, blood is what I’ll give them.
Fast hand to his wrist, I wrap my elbow around his arm and kick his leg out from under him. The blade drops and I flip him over slamming him to the ground. No hesitation, I snatch the blade and whip it across his cheek. Blood pours from the thin, neat cut. Flicking the blade into my other hand, I nail it into his thigh.
With the painkiller effects of the coke running through his system, he bellows from the wound, but still has a lot of fight. Seeing Levi come at me with a set of spiked knuckles, I get one brass-knuckled punch to Drake’s face before I duck and roll, dodging the swing of Levi’s arm.
Quick on my feet, I feel the warmth of my own blood running down my skin on the inside of my jeans. That’s gonna need stitches. I need to move fast before I lose too much blood. Drake pulls the blade from his thigh and limps to his feet, holding the bars of the cage.
Circling one another, the crowd is alive with energy, screaming and hollering inaudible words at us. They’re hungry for more.
Waving my fingers, I encourage their attack. Levi’s got good legs, so he comes at me first. With an uppercut of the brass knuckles, he lands on his back. One hard boot to his face and he’s lights out.
Drake circles me, blade in hand. With a fast swing, he grazes my arm, slicing it enough to make me bleed, but not enough to make me give a fuck. The fresh scent of copper fills my nostrils. Crimson red covers Drake’s face and stains his jeans. Watching his feet, he lunges again, and I grab his hand, lock onto it, turn inside his arm and elbow his face, breaking his nose. Pulling his hand backward, the blade drops. With one swift turn, I put brass to bone, knocking him on his ass.
I only stop when I see his eyelids. He’s out cold, and I heave a breath, controlling my fury before I murder him here in front of everyone. Rising to my feet, I pull the brass knuckles from my bloodied hand. The cage door opens for me, and I step out to hoots, hollers, pats on the back, and shots shoved into my hands. I down two for the pain.
All the faces are an adrenaline pumping blur until I see her—my Sparrow. Running to me, I enfold her in my arms, kissing her hard and fierce.
“I need to be inside you, baby.”
“Take me now. I don’t care.”
“Fuck, I love you.”
When her hand pulls back, she sees the blood and her eyes go wide.
“Dom, you’re bleeding bad.”
Raising my arm, she examines the cut. Mercy is beside us. He takes a look.
“C’mon, Dom, we need to get this stitched up.”
With Erika under my arm, we follow Mercy out into the bar and restaurant area.
“Meet me in the bathroom. I’ll get the kit and a bottle of Jack from under the bar.”
With worried eyes, Erika looks up at me, and I wink at her.
“I’m fine, baby. Mercy knows how to do a quick stitch. How long you been here?”
Pushing open the bathroom door, I take a look at the damage in the mirror. The cut is easily four maybe five inches and it’s bled too much already. Erika touches the outside of it, biting her lip in worry.
“Since you stabbed Drake in the thigh. He cut you deep. Should we go to the hospital?”
“Nah, baby, some hard liquor and your pussy will do the trick.”
Her eyes light up and a glimpse of a smile tilts her lips.
Mercy walks in with the stitch kit and nods for me to assume the position. Tossing me the bottle, I twist the cap off and chug several swigs. Handing the bottle to Erika, she takes a couple herself, and my lips curve.
“You gonna watch?”
“Yes, I’m not leaving your side.”
Mercy chuckles. “You ain’t queasy about blood, are ya?”
“She’s not,” I answer for her when I see the shadow of Alee’s memory cross her face.
“Good.”
I grimace at the sting of the alcohol being poured over the wound and brace my hands on the porcelain sink. Wound cleaned, he pats it dry and takes a moment to prep the tools. By the time the first suture breaks through my skin, the alcohol has created a numbing effect.
Twenty minutes later, I stand and stretch from the uncomfortable position I’ve been in. Erika examines the stitched cut.
“Obviously you’ve done this a few times before. It looks good.”
Taking Erika in my arms, my hands snake up her shirt.
“Don’t fuck up my handy work,” Mercy laughs.
“I’m not promising anything,” I quip.
Shaking his head and chuckling, he heads out. “See ya out there, brother. You done damn good teaching those shits what it is to be a Serpent.”
With a nod, I appreciate his comment.
Thumbing over the nick on my arm, Erika looks at me with concern.
“I don’t like seeing you cut up like this.”
Putting my head to hers, I thumb her pouty lip.
“Did you see the other two?”
“I did. They deserved everything they got. I don’t feel sorry for them.”
Handing her the bottle of Jack, I encourage her to drink more.
“Have some more. You need it.”
Snatching the bottle, she takes a couple swallows and grimaces at the bite.
“Dori’s having her cremated. She’s not even doing a service. I fought with her about it. How can she care so little?”
Another swallow of Jack and a single tear runs down her cheek.
“Your mother loves her, but her way of dealing is by not dealing.”
“I want to go back out there. I want to drink, fuck, and forget.”
Taking her face in my hand, I caress her cheek. “Only tonight,” I tell her, wiping the tear away.
“Thank you,” she replies, putting her head to mine. “But I’m not fucking in here,” she adds playfully. “This bathroom reeks.”
Squeezing her ass, I nudge her toward the door. “Get your ass out there then. I need to get you good and liquored up, so we can move onto the fucking.”
“I’m thinking both holes tonight,” she teases.
An aroused growl slips from my lips. “It’s a done deal, baby. There’s no taking that back.”
My mouth crashes to hers as we exit the bathroom.