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CHAPTERNINE
Trouble
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Dougie Slimon, akaSlimy Dickless Prick,drawls.
“Ah shit,” Hudson mutters, bending over and throwing up. His puke splatters against the asphalt, covering my brand new DM’s. This day is just getting better and better.
“Oh no, you got a headache,Huddy? Need a pill to ease the pain? Better yet, why don’t I just finish the job, huh?”
“Come back for seconds?” I goad, propping Hudson against the wooden base of the slide so that I can deal with these arseholes once and for all. My side is killing me, but I don’t let the pain show, I can handle a broken rib.
“You didn’t think we’d let you off that easily? Hudson owes us five grand, and we’re here to collect.”
“I don’t owe you shit,” Hudson slurs, trying to push up to his feet, and failing.
“Stay put!” I hiss, then turn back around to face the prick, loving the fact that he hasn’t gotten off lightly either. His right eye is swelling and his lip is split from where I managed to throw a pretty hard left hook. Just a shame I didn’t manage to knock some of his veneers out. I’d love to fuck up that smarmy thousand pound smile he’s so well known for.
“Leave it, Grim,” Hudson warns, his gaze swimming as he slides down the wooden frame, in no shape to stand, let alone fight.
“If you’d let me finish it, we wouldn’t have this problem right now, Hud,” I reply, pissed at him for stepping in when he did and getting his head smashed in for the trouble. I was handling my opponents just fine before he went all knight in shining armour on my arse and tried to take them all on himself. I’m not scared of Dougie and his gang of cronies. They’re just another bunch of rich pricks trying to play gangster. In reality, they’re as far fromgangsteras they come. Brought up with a silver spoon stuck up their arse and daddy clearing up their messes, they wouldn’t know how to survive on the street if the concrete beneath their feet rose up and gave them a helping hand.
“Yeah, what’s up with that? Getting a girl to fight your battles,” Dougie taunts.
“I wasn’t fighting his battles,dickhead.We were fighting them together, you misogynistic prick,” I counter, eyeing up his crew. There might be four of them and only one of me, but I’ve trained with some of the toughest men in London, and I know how to handle myself, mainly thanks to Beast. These arseholes would’ve found that out if they hadn’t run the second a police car went hurtling past the car park. It scared them off enough for us to make our escape, not because I was afraid, but because I knew Hudson needed a doctor and quick.
“He was hiding behind you. Just like he is now.”
“He’s got a fucking concussion,shit for brains. He can’t fight, but if you really want to end this, let’s go,” I say, cracking my neck and rolling my shoulders.
He tips his head back and laughs, then lunges for me with his arms wide.
The fool.
I spin on the ball of my foot and kick him square in the stomach, my steel toe-cap boot burying itself in his non-existent abs. The surprise on his face is a picture as he falls to the floor, winded. Not that I get very long before his cronies pile in.
All of my training with Beast comes to the surface, and I duck punches and defend myself with relative ease until one fucker—who’s a bit more streetwise than I first gave him credit for—lands a blow to my broken rib. It knocks me off-kilter, and I stumble a little, giving one of the others enough time to land a punch to my jaw.
“YOU FUCKER!” I roar, losing all sense of control as I launch myself at him.
Beast has always taught me to keep my anger under control when in a fight. He constantly reminds me that the best fighters, and the ones who consistently win in the cage, are the ones who fightsmart. He’d be pissed off if he saw me now. Still, it doesn’t stop me from following through. I land a punch to the guy’s gut, winding him, only to receive a blow to the side of my head from one of the other arseholes.
Stumbling sideways, I fall over Hudson’s legs. Hitting the asphalt, I glance at him and try not to panic at the paleness of his skin and the fact he’s now unconscious.
Fuck!
“What’s the matter,” Dougie drawls, standing over me, “Met your match?”
“You fucking wish,” I retort, pushing up onto my feet and ignoring the ache in my rib and jaw. “I’ve eaten better fighters for breakfast.”
He grins, his cronies flanking him. “I bet you have. Rumour has it you regularlyeatthem for breakfast. In fact, word on the street is that your dad likes to loan you out to deal with his debts. Quite the little whore, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I enjoy a good nosh on a cock in the morning,” I retort with a roll of my eyes, dismissing his remark.
“Fuckingslut. I bet you like it hard, don’t you?”
My fist meets his cheek before he can even blink, and this time I don’t stop throwing punches until I’m pulled roughly off of him. Satisfaction fills my veins as he spits out a tooth, his perfect smile ruined by my fist. Behind me one of his men has my arms twisted up my back. I’m not worried, I can get him off me when the timing is right.
“You fucking bitch!” Dougie snarls, swiping the back of his hand over his face and smearing blood all over his cheek. “Do you know how much these cost?”
