CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Mercy grins, then turns to me. “See you tomorrow, Pinky. Nine sharp.”
I nod and give her a quick hug. “Thank you for today. It was amazing.”
She squeezes me tight, then shoos us out the door. “Go on, get outta here. You’ve got places to be.”
I slip my arm through Aaron’s and follow him out to the truck. The cold hits me like a slap in the face, and I shiver, pressing closer to the heat rolling off of him.
“Here, baby.” He takes my bag and sets it on the floorboard before grabbing my hips and hoisting me into the cab.
“Thanks, honey.” He shoots me a wink, then closes the door firmly behind me. I watch him through the window as he walks around the hood. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t start the truck right away. Instead, he leans across the seat and cups my face in his large hands.
“Missed you,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening as they roam over my face.
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, kissing me long and deep. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting me, owning me. I moan, my fingers gripping his cut as heat floods my body.
When he finally pulls away, we’re both out of breath.
“What was that for?” I ask, my voice breathless.
He shrugs, a rare smile softening his usually serious face. “Told you. I missed you.”
My heart melts.
God, he’s so sweet. “I don’t deserve you.”
He shakes his head, his brow furrowing. “You’re crazy, woman.”
The words are gruff, but I can see the emotion in his eyes. My grumpy biker’s not good with feelings, but I’m learning to read between the lines.
He starts the truck and pulls away from the curb, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh. “So, how was it?”
“It was amazing.” I smile. “Mercy’s great, and the other stylists are really nice. I even got to help with a couple of clients. Oh! And Cleo came in.”
As I ramble on about my day, Aaron listens, his eyes on the road but a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t say much, just occasional grunts of acknowledgment, but I know he’s taking in every word.
By the time we pull into the carport beside his trailer, I’ve talked myself out. The snow is falling again, light flurries that dance in the beam of the headlights.
Aaron cuts the engine and helps me out of the truck, his hand steady on my arm as I navigate the slippery ground. Once inside, the warmth of the house wraps around me like a blanket.
“I need a shower,” I announce, heading for our bedroom. After a day on my feet, I’m feeling grimy and tired.
Aaron follows me, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. I kick on the shower in our small bathroom, letting the water warm up as I start stripping out of my clothes.
When I glance over my shoulder, Aaron’s leaning against the doorframe, his eyes dark and hungry as they track my movements.
“Oh no, mister,” I laugh, shaking a finger at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I hop quickly into the shower, closing the frosted glass door behind me. But I can still see his silhouette through the glass as he starts stripping off his own clothes.
Fifty-three, my ass.
The man has the stamina of a 20-year-old.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby,” he says, his voice innocent even as I see him shuck off his boxer briefs, his cock springing free, hard and ready.
The shower door opens, and he steps in behind me, his big body crowding the small space. His hands immediately find my hips, pulling me back against him. I can feel his erection pressing against my lower back, hot and insistent.
“Aaron,” I protest weakly, “I need to get ready for girls’ night. The others are expecting us.”
“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below my ear. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
His hands slide around to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples. I gasp, arching into his touch despite knowing we should be getting ready to go.
“Been thinking about these perfect tits,” he growls, pinching lightly. “About this sweet pussy.” One hand drifts down between my legs, a thick finger rubbing at my clit.
“Oh God,” I moan, my head falling back against his chest.
“That’s it, butterfly,” he encourages, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves. “Let me take care of you.”
The water beats down on us as his skilled fingers work me into a frenzy. My hips rock against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. It doesn’t take long before I’m teetering on the edge.
“Aaron, please,” I beg. I need him to make me come.
With a low rumble, he spins me around and lifts me up, my back pressing against the cold tile wall. “Shit,” I hiss, locking my legs around his waist, my arms looping around his neck for support.
“Hold on tight, baby,” he warns, positioning himself at my opening.
Then he’s pushing inside me, filling me completely in one hard thrust. We both groan at the sensation.
“Okay?” He gives me a moment to adjust.
I nod, then he starts to move, his hips driving into me hard and fast.
The cold wall at my back and his hot body pressed against my front is intoxicating. I cling to him, holding on for dear life as he pounds into me.
“Fuck, you pussy is heaven,” he growls, his face buried in my neck. “So hot. So wet.”
His words push me closer to the edge. I can feel the tension building.
“I’m close,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Me too, baby,” he pants, his rhythm faltering. “Come for me, butterfly.”
His words send a jolt through me. With a loud moan, I’m thrust into the abyss, my walls clench around him, milking him dry.
“Goddamn,” He pants, lowering me to my feet and keeping his arms around me until he’s sure I’m steady.
“No shit,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “We need to hurry up and get ready.”
I roll my eyes and giggle. Pretty sure that’s what I said before he climbed in the shower with me.
We finish our shower quickly, the hot water starting to run out. Aaron helps me wash my hair, his big hands gentle as they massage my scalp. It’s these little moments of tenderness that keep catching me off guard, showing me a side of him I’m not sure many people get to see.
Once we’re clean, we dry off and get dressed. I choose a pair of tight jeans, a black sweater, and my new boots, adding a touch of mascara and some lip gloss. Aaron keeps it simple with his usual distressed jeans, black t-shirt, and his Bastard Saints cut.
“You look beautiful,” he says, watching me from the doorway as I put my large gold hoops in my ears.
I smile at him in the mirror. “You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”
His lips twitch at the compliment, and he holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I nod, taking his hand and letting him lead me out to the truck.
The drive to the Underground is short, but it takes us into a part of town I haven’t seen before. The buildings here are older, more run-down, with fewer streetlights illuminating the darkness.
Aaron parks in an alley behind what appears to be an old warehouse. There’s no sign, no indication that anything is happening here, but I can see a few other bikes and vehicles parked nearby.
“This is it?” I ask, peering out the window.
“Yep.” Aaron hops out and comes around to my side, helping me down. “Don’t let the outside fool you. Place is always packed.”
He leads me to a heavy metal door where two enormous men are standing guard. They nod to Aaron, their eyes flicking to me curiously before they step aside.
“Rambler,” one of them acknowledges. “Ladies are already inside.”
Aaron nods his thanks, then guides me through the door. A steep metal staircase descends into what looks like complete darkness. The sound of pounding music and a roaring crowd grows louder with each step we take.
“Stay close,” Aaron says, his hand firm on the small of my back.
At the bottom of the stairs, we emerge into a large, open space filled with people. The ceiling is low, with exposed pipes and ductwork, and the lighting is dim except for the bright floodlights aimed at the octagonal cage in the center of the room.
The air is thick with the smell of cigarettes, and it’s hot down here, the press of bodies generating enough heat to make me start sweating in my sweater.
“This way,” Aaron says, leading me through the crowd toward a raised section at the back.
People move aside for him, nodding respectfully or calling out greetings. Everyone here knows who he is.
A waist-high barrier ropes off the VIP section. Inside, leather couches and chairs are arranged around small tables, offering a perfect view of the cage. I spot Demi, Cleo, and McKenna sitting together on one of the couches, drinks in hand.
“Pinky!” McKenna calls out when she sees me, waving excitedly. “Over here!”
Aaron helps me over the barrier, then leans in close. “I’ll be at the bar keeping an eye on you. Are you good here with your girls?”
I nod, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m perfect. Go do your thing.”
He kisses me back, hard and possessive, his hand cupping the back of my neck. There are whistles and catcalls from the girls, but Aaron doesn’t seem to care. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are dark and heated.
“I’ll be right over there if you need anything,” he says, nodding toward the bar. “Don’t leave this section without me, understand?”
I roll my eyes but nod. “Yes, sir.”
With a final kiss to my forehead, he turns and makes his way to the bar, where I can see Pee Wee and several other club members gathered.
“Look at you,” Cleo says as I join them on the couch. “Got the big bad biker wrapped around your little finger.”
I laugh, settling in beside her. “Hardly. He’s just... protective.”
“That’s one word for it,” McKenna snorts, passing me a drink. “Here, I got you a vodka cranberry.”
I take a sip, the sweet-tart liquid burning pleasantly down my throat. “Thanks.”
“So,” Demi says, leaning in with a smile, “how was your first day at the salon?”
I launch into the story of my day, and the girls listen, asking questions and laughing at my impressions of Mercy and the other stylists.
It feels so normal, so right, just sitting here with friends, gossiping and drinking.
For a moment, I can almost forget that we’re in an illegal fight club owned by outlaws.
The conversation flows easily, moving from my job to Demi’s nursing classes, to Cleo’s latest project with the city, petitioning for more funding for the women’s shelter she works at. McKenna listens to everyone’s stories, but the look in her eyes says something’s bothering her.
She sighs heavily, swirling the ice in her glass. “Diana came by the clubhouse today,” she says, her voice tight.
The mood shifts instantly, the other women exchanging glances.
Who’s Diana?
“What happened?” Cleo asks gently.
McKenna shrugs, but I can see the hurt in her eyes. “Nothing, really. She dropped off the kids to see Pee Wee, and I just... I had to stand there and pretend I wasn’t fucking her husband.”
Demi reaches over and squeezes McKenna’s hand. “I’m sorry, Kenny.”
“It’s bullshit is what it is,” McKenna says, anger replacing the hurt. “He says he doesn’t love her, that he’s only staying with her because of the kids. How long am I supposed to stick around and wait for him to end things with her?”
I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I’ve only just met these people, and I don’t want to overstep.
“Have you talked to him about it?” I ask cautiously.
McKenna laughs humorlessly. “Only about a thousand times. He always has some excuse. ‘It’s not the right time,’ or ‘The kids aren’t ready.’ Meanwhile, I’m stuck in this... limbo. Not his wife, but more than a hookup.”
My heart aches for her. I can’t imagine loving someone who’s married to someone else, who keeps you a secret. I send a silent thank you to whatever gods are listening that Aaron is all mine.
“You deserve better,” Cleo says firmly. “And I say that as someone who loves Pee Wee like a brother.”
McKenna sighs again, finishing her drink in one long swallow. “I know. But I love him. Stupid as that makes me, I love him.”
We all fall silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Then the music cuts out abruptly, and an announcer’s voice booms through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the main event of the evening!”
The crowd erupts, people surging toward the cage. The announcer continues building the hype for the final fight of the night.
“In the red corner, weighing in at 195 pounds, the undefeated champion of the Underground, our very own…… KLUTCH!”
The room explodes in booming cheers as Klutch enters the arena, shirtless and muscled, wearing nothing but fight shorts with his hands wrapped. Beside me, Demi stands, her face a mask of worry as she watches her man step into the cage.
I lace my fingers through hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”
She nods, but I can see the fear in her eyes. “I know. It’s just... it scares the crap out of me every time he’s in there.”
The announcer introduces Klutch’s opponent, some big guy from Chicago, but the crowd is clearly here for their champion. The referee gives instructions, the bell rings, and the fight begins.
I’ve never seen anything like it. The Klutch I met in Florida—quiet, stoic, protective of Demi—is an entirely different man in the cage. He’s brutal, dangerous, beautifully violent. His opponent doesn’t stand a chance.
In the third round, Klutch catches his opponent with a vicious right hook that sends him crashing to the mat. The crowd goes wild as the referee steps in to call the fight, raising Klutch’s hand in victory.
“Thank the gods, it’s over.” Demi lets out the breath she was holding, relief flooding her face as she watches Klutch exit the cage without a mark on him.
As the crowd begins to disperse, Aaron appears at the rope, his eyes finding mine immediately. I smile at him, and he holds out his hand, helping me over the barrier and into his arms.
“Have fun with your girls?” he asks, his arm sliding around my waist.
I nod, leaning into his solid warmth. “It was fun.”
Looking around the Underground, at these people who have welcomed me into their world, I feel a sense of belonging that I’ve never experienced before.
It’s not perfect—there’s darkness here, violence, complicated relationships. But these are my people now.
And I can’t imagine being anywhere else.