Chapter Seventeen #2
The music cut off and the emcee introduced the boxers. Green shorts was The King. Blue was God of Death.
My money was on blue, and not just because his name was better. He may have been smaller, but bigger wasn’t always an advantage.
A bell dinged and it was on.
And it was ugly .
I wasn’t sure why the ref was even there because he wasn’t calling a single thing. King fought dirty, aiming for low blow after low blow. God of Death was quick with a dodge and a jab, though he’d yet to connect a good hook.
When the round ended, I tilted my head toward Maximo’s ear. “Who’re we supposed to root for?”
“Doesn’t matter with this one. Who do you like?”
“God of Death.”
“The King is favored to win.”
“And he knows it. He’s too cocky. Death is hungry.”
He lowered his head so his lips grazed the shell of my ear. “I agree.”
A shiver went down my spine, goosebumps spreading across my skin. Since his arm was still wrapped around me, I doubted he missed it.
He never missed much.
The bell rang, and I shifted so I was facing outward rather than sideways.
Death took a couple kidney shots before King dropped his gloves. It was just inches. Just for seconds.
But it was the opening Death had been waiting for. With energy he’d been conserving, he went at him until King was against the ropes.
The ref was close but he wasn’t pulling Death off. He wasn’t forcing the TKO. He wasn’t even trying to get him to back away.
Death is gonna kill him.
Holy shit, he’s gonna kill him.
My frantic eyes turned to Maximo, but he just stared ahead like a robot. The only reaction he gave to the savagery unfolding was his hold tightening so I couldn’t move.
All around me, depravity flowed free and bloodshed went unchecked. It was clear the rules were different there.
Because there were none.
Like it was a train wreck happening in slow-motion, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the devastation. I watched as Death threw a right cross, twisting his pelvis so all his strength went into it.
King slammed to the mat, not even trying to break his fall.
Like deadweight.
My breath froze in my lungs. It whooshed out when King lifted his glove just enough to tap out.
And that was it.
Second round.
Victory by submission.
And no one died.
Shoulders slumped, I grabbed my water and drank half in one go. My heart rate slowed from hummingbird speed, though I was still amped on adrenaline and relief.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a no-holds-barred fight. I’d grown up around violence—and not always the spectator kind. It ran in my veins as much as blood.
Rich people betting on fights to the death would’ve pushed me beyond my violence threshold, but as long as everyone left the ring breathing, I was good.
There was a rush to prepare for the next match.
I turned to talk to Maximo, only to find him already watching me. When he didn’t speak, I bragged, “I called it.”
His lips just barely tipped, but I caught it. “I agreed with you.”
“Yeah, but I said it first.”
He lowered his head to kiss me before returning his focus to the preparations. “So you did.”
The second match went longer, making it to round five before ending in an exciting knockout. And, once again, it was ugly but no one died.
During the last break, the emcee hyped the final bout. His efforts worked and more attendees went to place their bets before it was too late.
“That man deserves a fat bonus and a good raise,” I muttered more to myself than Maximo.
Still, he lifted his chin. “Noted.”
Whatever further commentary I may have had died in a lusty fire when Maximo moved to rest his hand on my thigh.
There was something about the contrast of his large tattooed hand encircling my pale skin that sent a jolt of need through me.
As though he knew the effect he had, his fingertips teased up my inner thigh.
I tilted my head to look at him, but his expression was blank, his eyes hard and alert. In a room full of powerful people, he made it clear he was in charge. That he held the cards and wouldn’t hesitate to take someone down. That he’d enjoy it.
It scared the hell out of me how someone could look so icy and ruthless, but I couldn’t deny it was also crazy hot.
So long as it wasn’t aimed at me.
The emcee climbed the steps and swung under the ropes. “You know what time it is, folks. I hope you’ve put your money down because you could be leaving with stacks on stacks.”
The frenzy grew, everyone’s amped-up energy feeding off one another. It was always like that on fight nights, especially before the main event. With the addition of the other vices, it was magnified tenfold.
Music started—loud and pounding. The first boxer climbed into the ring and circled the mat, hitting his glove to his chest a few times. The waistband of his red and orange shorts touted sponsor logos, but I couldn’t see what they were.
The song faded, a new one starting slow and low before growing louder as the bass and tempo increased.
The other boxer entered with his crew around him.
I didn’t have to strain to see if he had sponsors because he stopped right next to us, giving me a clear view of the single logo on his black shorts.
Black Resorts.
He held out his glove, and Maximo tapped his fist to it. When the boxer lowered it toward my hand, I did the same.
Returning his focus to the ring in front of him, he stretched his neck. And then he grinned.
It wasn’t cocky.
It wasn’t aggressive.
It was the kind of grin that said he was damn excited to throw fists.
As he climbed in, the emcee finished intros and sponsor rundowns.
Orange was Alek ‘The Finisher’ Findlay.
Black was Mateo ‘Kid Wonder’ Torres.
Oh, both good nicknames.
Kid Wonder is better by a hair, though.
I shifted on Maximo’s lap and waited for him to give me his ear. When he didn’t, I cupped his cheek and tilted his head. “I guess I don’t have to ask who we’re cheering for. He’d have been my pick anyway.”
“Yeah?”
I let go of his cheek and nodded. “He doesn’t just want the victory, he likes the fight. That makes a difference.”
I had no clue why, but at my words, Maximo cupped the sides of my head and kissed me. His fingertips dug in as he tilted my face to deepen the kiss.
He speared his tongue in to taste and take and devour.
And, like there was no one else in the whole world but the two of us, I let him.
I hadn’t noticed the bell ringing, but he must’ve because he tore his mouth away just as the fight began.
Taking a shuddering breath, I focused on the match and not Maximo, his kiss, and the way my body reacted to him.
Okay, I split my focus between Maximo and the match because they were both engrossing.
Some people thought boxing was barbaric. A fake sport for muscle heads and steroid dummies whose only talent was taking a punch.
But they were wrong. Maybe not about it being barbaric, but about no skill being involved.
Each fight was like a dance. A boxer had to know when to lead and when to follow. They had to be light, agile, aggressive, passive, strong, quick, and in tuned with themselves and their opponent.
It was a sport.
And, when done right, it was an art.
The way Finisher and Kid Wonder fought?
It was a masterpiece.
Evenly matched, neither let the other run the show for long. They may have bided their time, but then they took any opening to go on the offense.
Each time I thought one of them had it, the other fought for the upper hand.
I missed this thrill.
Turning, I grinned at Maximo. “This is such a good fight.”
Before I could turn back, he palmed the back of my head and tugged me closer so his lips were at my ear. “Glad you think so.”
At the graze of his lips, goosebumps spread across my skin. Before I could do something stupid—like beg him to trail his lips across other areas of my body—I twisted to face forward, but my ass slid from his thigh to his lap.
Oh God.
Maximo was hard.
Not kinda.
Or slightly.
Or semi.
Long and thick, it stretched down his other thigh.
It may not have been the first time I’d felt it pressed against my ass, but it was the first time in public. I tried to shift back to his thigh, but his hands gripped my hips, keeping me in place.
Sitting on his thigh had been intimate enough, but with my ass firmly on his hard-on, I was keenly aware of how few layers separated us.
We wouldn’t even have to take them off. Just tug down his zipper and pull my panties to the side. Done.
Before I lost my head and did something insane, I tried again to return to his thigh.
Maximo wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing my back against his front. His voice rumbled right in my ear when he ordered, “Watch the fight.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t.
“Relax.”
“I am.”
I wasn’t.
He bit down on the spot that already displayed his mark. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
I was.
Maximo went silent, and so did I. I forced myself to watch the fight because I had no clue when I’d be able to see another one, let alone one so good.
Kid connected a killer right hook to Finisher’s jaw. He took the advantage, coming on strong and landing blow after blow. His technique was perfect, each punch landing at a different location, making it hard for Finisher to block while also inflicting damage to a widespread area.
The crowd went wild, growing louder with each show of unfettered brutality. Like the two previous bouts, the ref was there, but he didn’t interfere. Not even when Finisher was being held up by the ropes rather than his own two feet.
My hands clutched Maximo’s forearms as I stared at Finisher’s gloves.
Come on, man, tap. Kid is not going to stop.
Tap, tap, tap!
I leaned forward, unsure if he was even conscious and able to tap out.
Kid’s fist connected with Finisher’s eye, tearing open a cut until blood sprayed Kid’s face and chest.
And Kid laughed.
A twisted, cruel, gleeful laugh.
A chill went down my spine at the sound.
I must not have been the only one to realize how crazy he was because Finisher finally tapped.
Almost everyone erupted in applause, though there was some angry bitching from those who’d lost their hefty bets.
Clapping until my hands stung, my cheers cut off suddenly when Maximo spanned my hips and ground my ass into him, lifting his hips to press harder. “Ready to go, dove?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe?
Using his hold to lift me to my feet, he kept me close so when he stood, my back was pressed to his front. His arm went around my chest, keeping me pinned to him as we waited.
Kid catapulted off the top rope like he’d joined the WWE before jogging over. He shook Maximo’s hand before gently booping my nose. “Thanks for the good luck, doll.”
I’d have congratulated him, but Maximo spoke first. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.’
“Cool.” With the strut of a winner, he headed toward the long hallway, stopping occasionally when someone grabbed his attention.
Especially if that someone was of the female variety.
Maximo released his hold on me and took my hand. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone as we walked, just lifted his chin in the briefest acknowledgement. When we reached the crowd that’d formed at the exit, security guards I hadn’t noticed forced a path for us.
At least the arena is safe in its lawlessness.
Unlocking his SUV, Maximo opened my door but didn’t meet my eyes once. He got in, started the car, and began driving.
I’d thought his withdrawn mood was because he was preoccupied with making sure the night went smoothly. As far as I could tell, it had, yet he was still on edge.
Giving him space, I looked out the window as we made the long drive in awkward silence.
Only once we were home and standing in the foyer did he finally break it. “Did you change your mind yet?”
Startled, I asked, “About what?”
“This. Us .”
“What?”
Speaking slowly, he enunciated each word. “Did you change your mind about us yet?”
Yet?
Was he trying to scare me away?
That asshole.