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When we reach the front, Garrett’s head cranes before he heads over to some old crates in the corner of the ring. He turns, grabs my hips, and drops me on top of one. “Stay here, do not fucking move, and shout if you need anything,” he orders.
I nod, and he steps back before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it at me. I catch it automatically, even as I drool at his chest. The scars make me wiggle uncomfortably as my pussy pulses. He’s a goddamn machine, and his torso is carved for girls’ wet dreams. I hold his shirt on my lap as he turns and kicks off his boots, and then he lays his weapons on my lap before, with one more narrow-eyed look at me, he heads to the ring where someone is being dragged from it, unconscious.
“I’m going to see what I can hear, stay right here. I’ll have my eyes on you at all times,” Diesel murmurs, before dropping a kiss on my cheek and blending in with the crowd. I look for him, but I can’t spot him through the throng. However, like he said, I can feel his eyes on me, as well as others. I turn and meet their stares. They’re confused as to who I am, but no one dares approach me, and honestly, I don’t blame them. I walked in with Diesel and Garrett—two scary fucking bastards.
Even if they don’t know who they are, they can sense the danger, so they stay clear. Garrett is up next, and they announce him as Mad Dog before a really big guy steps into the crude ring opposite him.
Then, I can’t drag my eyes away from him. He needed this, I realise, to let some anger out. This isn’t a game or a way to gain information. He needed to fight like he needed to breathe. His body is finally relaxing, his shoulders rolling as he cracks his neck, and a nasty smile curls his lips.
My pussy basically starts a Garrett fan club then, pom poms and all.
He waits for the other man to move first, the crowd screaming his name, but they all fade away as I watch the bunching of his back muscles, knowing he’s going to move. He ducks the punch, dancing backwards on light feet, teasing his opponent.
“Hey, hot stuff, want to party?” a voice slurs in my ear.
I jerk my head around and realise I was so distracted, a man has snuck up on me. He grins, flashing crooked yellow teeth at me. His slicked back hair is greasy and unkempt, his blue eyes are lackluster, and his skin is pale and clammy. A junkie. I would recognise the signs anywhere without having to see the track marks. “Get lost,” I snap, knowing Diesel will be over soon.
“Aww, come on, I can show you a good time,” he mumbles, and grabs my leg—on my bare thigh. Before Diesel can kick his ass, I clutch his hand, twist it back, snap his wrist, and use it as leverage to turn him around.
“Do not fucking touch me, you piece of shit, or I’ll kill you, understand?” I snarl, and push him away.
He howls but glares at me, stumbling closer, his bad wrist held against his chest. I pull back my fist and slam it into his face before grabbing Garrett’s gun and clicking off the safety. Pressing it to his forehead, I meet his eyes with an ice-cold glare. I will pull this trigger without hesitation. I don’t fucking care. “I’ll kill you, can you see it in my eyes?” He nods, fear wafting from him. “Good, better run before I do.”
He stumbles away, swearing as he pushes through the crowd that gathered to watch. I watch his progress until he’s near the door, then he disappears. Turning back, I realise the fight is paused. Garrett is watching me, his eyes heated with desire and anger. He nods, and I nod back, letting him know I’m okay. A small smile curves his lips as he turns to his opponent.
The crowd starts cheering again then, but they make sure to give me space. It’s strange, them being afraid of me when Garrett is in the room. But I keep the gun close in case anyone tries anything else. You can never be too careful in the underbelly of the city, and that’s exactly where I am. I might be with the Vipers, but I refuse to sit here looking pretty while someone attacks me. I can handle myself, and I will kill if I need to.
I go back to watching Garrett fight, but somewhere in the crowd, I hear a male scream that makes me smile. I’m betting Diesel has found the man. What a shame. Eventually, the crowd relaxes around me, their attention back on Garrett, who’s kicking fucking ass. It’s hot as hell to watch, and I have to clench my thighs together, my lip caught between my teeth as I watch him. No wonder they call him Mad Dog. The crowd’s whispers drift to me. I hear some saying that I’m the Vipers’ girl and not to mess with me unless they want to turn up dead, which makes me laugh.
I guess they aren’t wrong.
I hear other rumours, spoken out of jealousy and fear, the words murmured as they glance back at me, knowing I’m with the Vipers. I try to listen, but after I hear a few snippets of conversation about a disembowelled man and a massacre, I focus on the fight again. Garrett is a machine. Fucking art in motion. His body is a giant weapon, each hit strategically placed and filled with such power that I can see it. His style is raw and wild, his anger leaking out.
It takes him over completely until he barely sees his opponent, he just fights. Getting all that aggression out. They have to hold him back twice as they switch his challengers, but he wins each fight, and when he’s done, he’s sweating. His chest is heaving, his hands are covered in blood, and his face is dark. He ignores the applause and dramatics, instead leaping from the ring and heading over to me. He plucks his bag from the ground.
“Diesel?” he snaps, his face dripping sweat which I have the strangest urge to lick.
“He was listening in,” I offer, just as the man in question appears next to us.
“Let’s go.” He nods, and Garrett storms away. The crowd parts for him as I hop down. Diesel drapes his arm around me as we follow the angry man. Everyone watches us in fear and respect, and I tilt my chin higher at that.
Diesel drives home, and Garrett ignores us the entire way, his head turned as he glares out of the window. When we get back, he prowls through the apartment and to his room, slamming the door behind him. Diesel slips away as well, and I’m caught in the hallway, unsure what to do.
For some reason, I follow Garrett, feeling like he needs me. I open his door and slip through to see him standing there, his body taut and angry, his feet bare. He whirls and glares at me. “What?”
“Are you okay? Want me to look at your hands?” I offer sweetly, softly, like you would approach a wild animal.
“Fuck off,” he snarls and turns away again, as if he can’t bear to look at me.
So I step into the room and slam the door. He wants a fight, then fine. “No, want to talk about it?”
“About what?” he snaps, his built shoulders tensing and drawing up, preparing to argue.
“The thing eating you up?” I press, leaning back against the wall.
He spins and rushes me, slamming me into the wall. His arms land on either side of me, caging me in as he leans closer and glares at me. “I told you to fuck off!” he roars in my face.
But his eyes are lost, wild, searching, and hurting. He’s heartbroken. “Let me help,” I whisper.
