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I chuckled. The man’s voice had a cheerful edge to it. The kind where everything was a joke. It made me wonder what darkness lay beneath the surface. What made him need to develop that sense of humor?
“My girlfriend would never go for that,” I told him.
It was true. Liesel and I had an arrangement. Though the word ‘girlfriend’ was an extreme overstatement. I could fuck men. So could she. We could scratch an itch, but those dinners and drinks were for each other. She had stared out as a groupie, but she had become rather possessive over the last few weeks. I didn’t mind. It was all in good fun, as far as I was concerned.
I pulled a pair of jeans from my bag and started putting it on.
He was still on the bench. He had zipped up his trousers and was studying me curiously. His blonde hair was mussed, and his eyes sharp as a tack.
“But she’d allow you to…” His eyes purposely looked at his crotch, then back at me.
“We have an arrangement,” I laughed. “And as for eating me… that’s hardly necessary. That’s not what I use men for.”
He straightened, his smile never wavering. “Whatdoyou use men for?”
“The cock, obviously.” I told him. “And you’ve got a nice one.”
I put on a pair of running shoes, then walked over to him. I put my hands on his shoulders. He put his on my waist. I ran my fingers through his soft, shiny hair.
“And frankly,” I said, feeling the need to tease him some more. “Women are better at oral than men.” I winked at him. “We understand our own equipment better.”
“Oof!” He brought his hands over his heart, as I had stabbed him with a knife.
I pulled away and laughed at him, closing the locker with a slam, and putting my bag over one shoulder.
“You haven’t tried my mouth, sweetheart.” He was still smiling, not at all deflated by my comments. “Where’s your next fight?”
“New York,” I told him, as I started toward the exit. My hand was on the locker room door when I heard him call after me.
“I’ll see you there, my little vixen.”
I didn’t look at him. I bet he wanted me to, which is why I kept my back to him. I couldn’t give in to the feelings heating the pit of my stomach. Was this the thing they called an afterglow?
Chapter 1
Rose - New York
Theburlyoldman,put his hand on my shoulder. It felt clumsy and heavy, like a tied together clump of sausages. He squeezed my bare shoulder, and I resisted the urge to pull away.
“I’m Anton Vasiliev. You are the woman of the hour,” his dishonest, nasal voice crooned. “You’re going to make us a lot of money.”
I kept on wrapping my knuckles in red bandages, then put on the fingerless 4 oz black gloves.
“Is she mute?” Anton asked my coach, Ajax LeBlanc, a 30-something man who made his reputation in the underground fighting rings after retiring from the Navy SEALS. He did some shady things before becoming a trainer, where he found me. There were whispers that he was a spy, a government agent. I didn’t care about that much. I just cared that he made me a champion.
“She can speak. She just doesn’t most of the time.” LeBlanc supplied. “She’s more of a strong, silent type.”
Vasiliev smiled crudely, his teeth stained yellow. He looked around him at the bare surroundings and wrinkled his nose. Locker rooms always smell like disinfectant, foot powder and the body’s less desirable scents. He was not used to this kind of setting.
Anton was dressed in a suit trimmed to hide his belly fat. His brown hair was thinning on the top, and his bulb-like nose was crooked. It had probably been broken a few times. The ring tattoos on his hands, which I assumed went up the rest of his arms, were a sure sign of a person who had done time.
Between the voice, the suit, the bulge under his blazer that was probably a pistol and the last name… probably bratva, or Russian mafia.
“If only all women were that way.” Anton chuckled to a man standing beside him.
His companion was taller, with a full head of brown hair and a healthier complexion. He was broad. His unfeeling eyes were the color of rich soil. While Vasiliev had the belly of a man who lived in luxury, the other man had the blank expression and the inverted triangle body of a man who was like me. A fighter. No suit could hide that fact.
He belonged in this dank locker room. He was natural in it.
