Page 62
KENJI
IT’S HARD TO FIGHT WITH A HARD DICK
She was so fucking hard to get a read on. She was obviously curious as to what we were doing here, but she was also relaxed. I was a pro at reading people; it was what made me so good at torture. Knowing how far to push, when to let off, and when a fucker wouldn’t say shit regardless of what I did. Those were the tough bastards.
Scar was in that category.
“Stay close. They have the creepiest fucking tunnel to get into the place,” I commented, lacing our fingers as we started down the cemented tunnel. The entrance felt like you were walking into your death. Which, I guess, some were. The tunnel resembled a bomb shelter with its rounded ceiling.
All she gave me was a grunt of agreement. I wanted to peek at her and see how she was taking it, but I couldn’t see shit. Red rope lights that ran along the pathway only illuminated the path enough to see the next step in front of you. Stale air permeated the space, and a low murmur came from somewhere farther down the path.
Honestly, it felt like a scene out of a horror film, but that was by design. Sent the random pedestrians who strayed too far off the straight and narrow packing as soon as they experienced the creep factor. Then, for the psychos like myself, the feeling crawling up my spine wasn’t fear but excitement. A thrill of danger lurking around the corner. But tonight my brain was nagging me that Scar might not feel the same way.
A single bulb hung in front of a door that matched the one we’d come through, but this one had a cutout about six feet off the floor. The hollow sound of metal being knocked on echoed through the tunnel as I rapped on the door. The cutout opened, and a pair of black eyes stared back, looking us over. The bouncer’s gaze narrowed on Scar for a brief moment before flicking back to me. Whatever the emotion that crossed his face was when he looked at her happened too quickly for me to analyze, but it put me on edge.
“Password?” he asked with a gruff Eastern European accent.
“We’re here to see your boss.” This time I did catch the irritation in his eyes when I barked out the demand.
“He doesn’t take visitors without appointment. Fuck off.”
I opened my mouth to speak before he closed the window, but Scar beat me to it.
“He does if you fight. No?” she asked, her voice sure. How the fuck did she know how this worked? Had Dominick or Enzo brought her here before?
The bouncer was silent for a beat. The two were locked in a stare-off, and it felt like they were silently communicating. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, because this woman managed to get more and more interesting by the second.
Without another word, the window shut.
“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, ready to bang on the door again, but it swung open, showing off the goliath who manned the door. Fucker was at least two-ninety and six foot three. A dark mop of curly hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and his throat was as tatted as mine.
I gave him a smile that made him shift uncomfortably. I might be slighter than him, but people always recognized the desire for violence that shone in my eyes.
“Which one of you is fighting?” he asked in earnest. It surprised me that he actually considered Scar a viable contender. There wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm or general assholery in his tone.
“We should do a WWE tag team version,” she answered back, a smile playing on her lips.
Fuck no.
The last thing I needed was to be worried about her in the ring next to me.
“I’m fighting, and we’re going to do it now,” I demanded, shifting my body so it covered Scar’s, because the bouncer was still looking at her, and I didn’t like it. The switch in position didn’t stop him from tilting his head to look past me.
What the actual fuck was happening?
His gaze didn’t seem sexual or hostile, but it still unsettled me. Bringing her might have been a bad idea.
“All right. Go to the cage. I’ll let them know,” he replied, stepping out of the way to let us pass. Scar’s body collided with me as I yanked her arm to pull her close. She shot me a glare but otherwise didn’t complain about the show of possessiveness.
The roar of a crowd went from a murmur to deafening levels. Shouts rang out from all around as bodies were packed together, enraptured by the bloodbath happening in the cage. Two dudes were going at it. The copper tang of blood mixed with perspiration and weed. Money was being exchanged left and right. Everyone was buying booze or drugs or betting on a fight.
Peppered throughout the crowd were more bouncers like the one at the door. All of them massive to keep patrons in check. The bulges on their hips let everyone know they were packing.
My grip around Scar’s shoulders tightened as I tucked her farther into the crook of my arm, snarling at men who dared get too close. The women were as fucking bad. One slapped her ass so hard I could hear it over all the chaos. It gained her a growl from me but a wink from Scar.
We finally pushed through to the corner of the ring right as the fighter in red got his opponent in a kimora. The fucker didn’t let go when he tapped, though, and the ref had to come pry him off.
Underground fights were a different level of brutality.
