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Hold on tight to Lazarus?
That was totally worth any helmet head I was getting right then.
I noticed too that Lazarus wasn't the only one not wearing a helmet. None of the men did. I generally liked my brains inside my head so I was okay with being the odd man out as I carefully tried to move to straddle the bike without flashing anyone, something not easily done.
My inner thighs pressed into his outer and my arms went around his stomach, holding on tight as he pulled off. He didn't ease me into it. He just tore off and followed his brothers as I let out a very indelicate squeal and buried my face into his back, fingers digging hard enough into his stomach that I may have actually bruised or scratched the flesh.
My stomach pitched and tightened and my heart flew into my throat. But none of it was in a bad way; it was exhilarating- like a ride at the fair, like the shocking enjoyment of a rollercoaster.
Before my system could get used to the sensation, we were pulling up in a lot to what was a school, but had been abandoned back when I was in middle school.
There was an underground fighting ring in an elementary school?
I didn't have much time to marvel at that strange situation as Lazarus cut the engine and moved to stand, making me rush to do so first so I didn't flash him. He reached to unclasp my helmet and stashed it on his bike, giving me a lopsided smile as he reached up again to fluff and then settle my hair.
"Is it okay?" I asked self-consciously.
"'Okay' is not a word I would ever use to describe you, sweetheart," he said, making my belly flip-flop as his hand slid down my neck, shoulder, arm, until his hand took mine and pulled me along where the crowd of his brothers were waiting for us.
We moved into, well, an old abandoned school with all the dust and leaves and general disrepair you would expect. But we went down several flights and even before the men standing at the doors in suits could open the doors to the basement for us, I could hear the commotion behind them- music and voices.
"Laz," one of the men said, inclining his chin. "Have a good fight," he added. "Henchmen," he went on, looking a little confused, but letting us all in regardless.
"Welcome to Hex," Lazarus said near my ear when I stopped a few feet in the door to take it all in. Everything had the decidedly upscale decor of an expensive club from the bar and tables and seating areas to the almost bluesy music on the speakers to the nicely dressed people scattered about. It was pretty packed and I wondered if that was the norm for a Monday night. Then there was, of course, the giant raised cage in the center of the room- a massive hexagon that I figured was where the whole place got its name from.
Hex.
"Well, if you'll excuse me," Cyrus said, pulling on the sides of his leather cut, "there seem to be at least a dozen ladies here who need some attention."
With that, he was off.
"I have bets to place," Renny declared, sizing up a couple of people in the room who, I assumed, were the fighters.
"Bar," Wolf growled and Reign, Cash, Duke, Repo, Edison, and Reeve moved to follow.
"Come on," Lazarus said, hand leaving mine and going to my lower back instead, the nonexistent back of my dress allowing his hand to press into my bare skin. It was unexpected and a tremble moved through my body at the contact, making Lazarus' eyes get a little heated. "Time for that later," he said quietly, promise in his voice. "And to find out all about this supposed tattoo of yours," he added, smile a little wicked and I felt my sex clench in anticipation. "But first, I need to check in with the boss."
Now, of course, you generally didn't think the owner of an underground fighting ring was some skinny little milksop, but whatever I had been expecting as we moved into a room off the side of the bar, it hadn't been anywhere near the reality.
"Laz fucking finally," a voice said, somewhat distractedly as he looked down at some pages in his hand.
He was tall and solid with wide shoulders and a strong midsection underneath his exquisite charcoal gray suit and matching shirt. He forewent the tie, but was no less professional and disarming without it. He was all dark from his clothes to his eyes to his hair and the stubble on his face and, well, the energy he wore around himself- dark.
"Ross, this is Bethany," he supplied, making the distracted Ross' head jerk up suddenly, brows drawn together like what Lazarus just said didn't make any sense. "Bethany, this is Ross Ward. He runs Hex."
