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“Thatta girl,” he groans with amusement. “You feel it now?”
And I do. Like a wave crashing over me, drowning out all sense. All reason.
“I’m—I’m there,” I breathe softly as he shifts slightly, planting his palms on the sofa near each side of my head.
“That’s it, baby,” he urges, quickening his pace. “That’s my good little slut. Come all over my cock.”
I whimper through a feeling of pure bliss. “Oh, God, yes!”
“Clench that pussy around me, baby. Just like that,” he praises, dropping to his elbow, holding me close. “You feel so fucking good. Ah, fuck. Fuck, Frey!Fuck!”
His release sounds more violent than mine. He howls and falls forward, crushing me beneath him.
* * *
We get dressed in the same clothing we’d been wearing. Him in his coarse jeans and me in my hooker getup, wig included. I wish I could be as collected as he is. Sex seems to do more for him than prayer ever did for me, but I’m not so soothed. My hands are shaking. I can’t stop looking over my shoulder just to make sure he actuallyisokay. One glance, and I realize that he isn’t. Not really. Just beneath the surface lurks that rage. That unstable anger. He’s just better at hiding it now, and with a sigh, he leads the way to the door.
By the time we leave the apartment building, it’s dark out, and I’m hesitant to ask where exactly we’re headed.
I doubt this “fight” will occur in a mundane location like his gym, given the grim hype placed on it by Chris and Silas. Sure enough, Daze leads me to his bike and silently adjusts the helmet on my head.
Not even ten minutes later, he’s pulling into an alleyway surprisingly close to Chris’ bar, near yet another seemingly rundown building. Far too soon, we wind up before a battered metal door. Rather than open it, Daze knocks once. At the same time, he grips my wrist so hard I wince. That drowning man comparison floats to the forefront of my mind again—he holds me like he’s seconds from going under.
Maybe it’s stupid to do so, but I can’t stop myself from dislodging his grip in order to grasp his hand, curling my fingers over his. He grips them tight but doesn’t look my way once. Instead, he squares his chin and audibly grits his teeth. “Here goes,” he hisses as the door opens and someone ushers us in with a gruff greeting.
“So, you decided to show up.”
“In the flesh,” Daze replies. His shoulders hunch as he steps inside, still tugging me after him.
It’s narrow in here. Only the light from outside is enough to illuminate a narrow hallway with a door branching off at one end. Faint commotion emanates from it as the door we came through is slammed shut, plunging everything into darkness.
“Silas already had everything set up,” the figure who let us in explains as Daze leads me forward, keeping his hand in mine. “I guess he figured you wouldn’t chicken out. I bet that bastard made a pretty penny. I had it two to one that you’d bail. No one shows up to a public hanging for no fucking reason—”
“Hello to you too, Boris,” Daze cuts in. He must open the other door because fresh light floods in, illuminating him and the imposing figure beside him. A tall guy with long dark hair and a face that resembles one of the beaten punching mats at Daze’s gym. “It was nice catching up,” Daze tells him. “But if you don’t mind, I have a date.”
He tugs me behind him, and I clench my teeth against a complaint. He’s actually hurting me now, holding too tight. Way too tight.
Oh yes, he’s drowning... But how can I possibly keep him from going under? Especially when I have no idea what exactly he’s gotten us into.
“Hey! Watch out, baby.”
“Huh?” I blink, registering our surroundings for the first time. I’d been so caught up in my head that I didn’t notice the dank hallway switching to a massive room with a concrete floor and a chain-link cage fighting ring in the center.
And people.
So many damn people.
They crowd around rows of metal folding chairs, wearing various versions of dark leather and jeans. Drinking beer and chattering, they barely seem to notice me or the man dragging me along the outskirts of the space.
A tense vibe instantly sets my nerves on edge. Pulsing music seems to resonate down to the foundation of the building, rattling the faded posters taped to the walls. My nostrils wrinkle at the stench of booze in the air. That and sweat. It’s like the smell at his gym times a million.
“What is this place?” I have to shout to be heard above the chaos.
Daze grunts without answering as he sidesteps a kissing couple, tugging me along.
“Hey! Daze?”
The voice comes from up ahead, and Daze stops short, so suddenly I nearly run into him. My hand flies out, grasping his arm as I stumble to regain my balance. Before I can, he shifts, pulling me forward, and his arm encircles my waist, hovering way too low.
