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Instead, burned onto my impressionable brain forever, is the glorious sight of Dax in a tight white T-shirt, his ripped, sinewy bulk flexing as he strums his guitar. His jeans are frayed, the waist barely holding up on his narrow hips. I can’t tell if he’s any good at playing because the only sound I hear is blood rushing behind my ears as my poor heart works overtime to keep me on my feet.
“Kate. Kate!”
My unfocused eyes find Ellie, standing in front of me, blocking my view of Dax and his perfection.
“What?”
“I don’t feel well. Do you mind if we take off? My stomach…”
I glance back up at Dax and my mouth goes dry at his magnificence. Then my eyes find a group of scantily dressed females congregating around the stage exit, Willa included. My stomach does a back flip, accompanied by a horrid feeling of despair.
What’s the point of sticking around? So I can watch Dax snog someone else? Put those huge, talented hands on another girl’s body? I can’t compete with them. They’re all posh and gorgeous. Why would he want me when he could have one of them?
My gaze drops back to Ellie. Christ, she really doesn’t look well at all. “Yeah. Let’s go, El.”
What was supposed to be a fun night out has made me depressed as hell. Instead of having a laugh, I tortured myself for nearly two hours watching my walking dream get eye-fucked by every girl in the audience. I need to get it through my thick skull—Dax Davies doesn’t love me and never will.
It’s better that way, I’m sure. But coming to grips with it? Well, that just plain sucks.
44
Dax
“Dad! I’ll be ready for the fight. I’m always ready. Stop bleedin’ jumping on me!”
I stuff my head under my pillow, not wanting to hear my brother argue with my dad.
“Yer not ready. Ya look like ya were whoring about last night. Forget the rules, Liam?”
Fuck me. I let out a groan. The thin pillow can’t block out the shouting. Liam has a match tonight and I swear the old bastard is more obsessed with his rules than ever. Right now, he’s pushing his favorite rule on Liam, the one we hate the most.
Rule 3—No fucking, shagging, wanking, sucking, or getting off for seven days leading up to a fight.
Naturally, with four randy sons sporting constant hard-ons in need of relief, dad has had a difficult time drilling that particular rule into our heads. Hell, Ethan told me that dad had expected him to be completely celibate once he was old enough to fight at the club. When that plan failed miserably, with Ethan running around behind the old man’s back shagging anything that moved, dad conceded to no sex for one full week before a fight. He insists it keeps the primal drive to win heightened. There’s something to it, especially his rewards. I just happen to think it’s cocked up when your dad is plotting your next suck and shag.
Sighing, I glance over and notice Ethan’s small single bed is empty in our cramped room. My eyes find the digital clock on our shared nightstand. Crap. It’s already noon. After last night’s gig, I let some tart suck me off in the loo. That meant I didn’t get home until late. Adam, well, Adam went straight home, too obsessed over this Ellie girl from school to chat up anyone at the DK. After he noticed her in the audience, he went looking for her. When he couldn’t find Ellie anywhere, he was done for the night.
“Dax! Get yer arse out here ya skiver! Your lie-in is over, son!”
I punch my pillow miserably. My day has officially begun.
* * *
“You need help?”
My brother Liam ignores me, choosing to stretch his own muscles instead of answer as he readies for his fight.
“Fine,” I snap, using Liam as an outlet for my irritation. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re tight and pull every muscle in your body!”
Liam doesn’t fight often. He’s not weak by any means. He honestly just doesn’t care enough to win, which makes our dad mental. The intense, burning fountain of rage and testosterone that the rest of us feel before a match doesn’t seem to extend to this particular Davies. Somehow, Liam maintains an even, Zen-like attitude no matter how much our dad berates him or how hard he works him. He doesn’t have to hide his emotions like the rest of us do.
“Will you shut yer hole, Dax?” Shaun’s huge form barges into the tiny locker room, all puffed up and set to defend his less aggressive twin brother.
“Fuck off,” I say lightly. Shaun glares at me, but his lips twitch just enough that I know he’s amused not angry. Thank god, because fighting Shaun is a nightmare. He’s ruthless.
Shaun turns his attention to Liam. People say they can’t tell them apart, being identical twins and all, but for me it’s easy. Maybe it’s the way Liam’s eyes shine with compassion and warmth while Shaun’s are hard and cold. Hell, I’m Shaun’s little brother and the teeny tiny smirk he just gave me is about as much of a laugh as I’ve ever seen on his face. Polar fucking opposites, those two.
They put their heads together, nodding and whispering and doing that strange twin thing they have with each other. Now I feel like an intruder. I have to get out of here. “I’ll be out by the cage,” I growl as I leave the suddenly stifling room.
