28. Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Bexley
W ho knew that applying for a bank loan or a job would be so difficult?
I spend most of the new week pleading my case to loan officers and emailing off job applications, but to my disappointment, no one is interested in hiring or loaning to an inexperienced full-time schooler. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but with each day that passes, I realize I'm out of options. Which only means one thing.
Wind whips my hair around, the cool gentle breeze making my skin tingle as I lean against my truck. This has to be the single lowest point of my existence. And if he doesn't turn up soon, I might just consider a run along the canyon since it would be less torturous.
But to my utter surprise and relief, headlights turn into the warehouse parking lot, the familiar sound of wheels flicking up gravel and roar of an engine sizzling my nerves.
Rylan pulls up next to my truck, wasting no time to disembark. The driver's door slams shut a bit too harshly behind him, and I know he hasn't forgotten our last conversation.
"Well, I'm here," he proclaims with a huff, leaning against his pickup, facing me.
That stoic, expressionless look is back, his mental walls up as he scans my frame. But despite being in the one place we come to spar, I'm not here to fight. It's ironic, really, but I didn't choose this place because of its significance to our feud, or because it's neutral territory—I choose it because it's where we found a truce in a savage world.
I'm hoping to dig deep; to find the courage and strength I normally have in the cage, to step outside my comfort zone. And if that fails, Arch is on standby if I need rescuing.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, asking Arch for help and letting him see my broken-down mind. This next conversation will be even harder. But I've quickly realized if I don't do this—don't ask for help—the only place I'll end up in is Failure-Ville.
"Thanks for coming," I murmur, wrapping my arms around my frame.
Rylan nods sharply, the lights from the eternal warehouse bulbs reflecting off his silver rings. "What's this about?" he asks coldly.
Sighing, it takes every ounce of strength not to automatically snap back at his tone, but I remind myself that he has every right to be mad at me. I did break into his house and cause him to trash his room after all.
"I'm sorry," I start, voice shaking. I swallow, clearing my throat as I attempt to strengthen my words. "For the other day. You were right—I shouldn't have done that. Any of it."
He doesn't answer, but his eyes soften slightly, silently gesturing to continue.
"My mom died," I admit, even though he already knows that. "It wasn't expected. She passed while we were here that night…"
The words cut off, grief gripping my insides like steel vines. I hate talking about this—to him—but he needs to know. He needs to know the extent of my pain, why this is so hard for me. Especially if I need to do what is required.
A deal with the Devil.
I'm still not entirely sure I can even trust him. But so far, I'm the only one who's given any reason for distrust. Except of course for the whole Tai being a know-it-all asshole. But that's an issue for another day. And when I'm finished having this minor crisis, I fully intend on interrogating Rylan to ask how he ended up with Mom's belongings.
"I'm sorry," he finally says. "That must be hard."
I nod. "It is." My eyes meet the ground, no longer able to face looking at him. "But you already knew that."
There's an intense need to know more. It's been painstaking, driving me insane trying to figure out how he found out when my own found family didn't even see the signs.
A gruff sigh breaks the silence. "I'm sorry for sticking my nose into your business."
I laugh quietly, shaking my head. "I tried so hard to figure shit out on my own. But I can't."
His eyes focus on me. "What do you mean?"
"I can't get the money for the funeral. Turns out I might be the queen of Cedar Heights, but in the real world… I'm a nobody."
The admission out loud sends a sharp stab through my chest. His feet come into view, hand tipping my chin up. The movement forces me to face him straight-on.
"You're not a nobody. You're Bexley fucking Spencer."
Our eyes lock together. For some bizarre reason, the words ricochet through my body, and for the first time in a while, I feel that old fire again. It's small, insurmountable, but there's a flicker of something.
"Come on," he says, dropping his hand. "I want to show you something."
Nodding, I follow him. Rylan heads straight to the warehouse doors, pulling out a key identical to the one on my keyring. He opens the side door to the building, slipping inside into the darkness. We both know the path well despite being shrouded in complete darkness. Little scraps of moonlight trail over the concrete floor of the main arena, the windows lining the tall tops of the walls letting in the faintest of light.
I reach the power switches first, yanking down the lever. The room explodes in a furious array of fluorescent light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, blinking rapidly until the room fully comes into focus.
A gasp escapes my lips. There, in the center of the room, is a large, fully enclosed cage. It could easily rival a proper UFC ring, the thick black fencing almost glistering under the industrial bulbs.
"Holy shit," I mutter, stepping toward it.
The white floor is pure and unmarked—though I have no doubt it won't stay that clean for long. The side door is open, inviting, and I step inside, still mesmerized by the perfect structure.
"Do you like it?" Rylan asks, stepping in behind me.
"Like it?" I repeat. "I love it. This is amazing." Spinning around, my body buzzes with excitement. I'm fairly certain in all of the warehouse history, there's never been a cage of this magnitude. It would have set Willowbrook back a pretty penny.
"I had them fast track it. But I still want the beach for the month as promised."
Turning to face him, I relax at the visible smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.
"I suppose you still want the votes too," I joke.
"A deal's a deal."
My fingers run along the fence, the black vinyl-coated chain-link metal surprisingly warm. "Shit. Well, you've really outdone yourself, Astor."
"Impressed?"
I shoot him a smile. "Don't let it go to your head. We both know I'd be able to kick your ass in here."
Rylan steps toward me. "Want to put your money where your mouth is, Spencer?"
"Like a bet?" I laugh. "I didn't take you to be a losing man."
He snorts. "I'll go easy on you."
"I don't like things easy."
"Evidently."
His knuckles grace my cheek intimately. Our eyes are locked, both burning with need. But I can't make the first move. Guilt still eats at me, the silent fear that if I give in to my temptations, something bad might happen again.
"Stop overthinking," Rylan murmurs. "I can see the cogs turning in your mind. Fight me, Spencer."
Stepping back, he pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side of the cage. Muscles ripple under the orange glow, and I'm not sure if I want to fight him or fuck him. Both seem equally enticing in my mission to escape reality.
I repeat the move, trying not to pay attention to the way his eyes flare at my bare torso. We're even now, both in shorts, though it's obvious my sports bra is a distraction for him.
Idiot.
He's still staring at my chest when I rush forward, punching him square in the pec. Rylan's solid frame stumbles back slightly, eyes shooting up. Only two seconds pass before he moves forward, throwing a hook toward my face. I block it with ease, annoyed that he's going easy on me like promised. I don't want easy. Or pity. I want to feel something other than the gut tearing pain that pulls apart each thread of my heart.
"You can do better than that," I taunt, the two of us circling off.
"I don't make a habit of hitting girls," he remarks.
"Spare me your nobility. Gender has nothing to do with this right now."
To prove my point, I swing my leg around, the top of my foot slamming into the side of his ribcage. Rylan growls in pain, the last piece of chivalry fading as he charges forward.
The two of us exchange blows carelessly. Even when my knuckles hit his flesh and his hand finds my face, I know we're both holding back still. But it's enough. The air rushes in and out of my lungs, chest heaving as we spar. Pink patches blossom on his torso with each hit, and I have no doubt my own skin is flushed. But the slight ache feels like home.
In a sickening way, it feels like justice. Allowing myself to feel pain. I can't help but continue to regret that night, but I know I can't hold onto that forever. Nothing I do will bring her back, and the longer I let myself fall into these feelings, the more I lose myself.
I can't do that.
I'm still needed.
I still want to live.
Somewhere in my hazed, adrenaline-fueled rush, I lose track of my control, my fist connecting with Rylan's jaw harder than anticipated. He stops instantly, rubbing his jaw with an amused look.
"Jesus, Spencer. You have a mean right hook."
"Shit." I step forward, pulling his hand down to survey the damage. Thankfully, it's just a pink mark, but it's probably going to bruise a bit. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard."
I let out a squeak when Rylan snakes his arm around my body, pulling me flush against him. My eyes widen when I realize just how little he cares about his face, erection pressing into my thigh.
There's a small calm before the storm, the two of us staring at each other. It's electrifying, and I'm not sure who moves first, but when our lips smash into each other, I find I don't care.
Our teeth clash together in our intensity, tongues battling for dominance as my hands waste no time in slipping down the waistband of Rylan's shorts. I grasp his hardened cock, stroking him from tip to shaft as his lips trail down my jaw, feasting on my neck.
The rest of our clothes get thrown around the ring, creating a makeshift circle around us. Rylan's foot attempts to sweep me off my feet, but I quickly turn the tables, swinging him around until he lands with a heavy thud on the floor.
Straddling him, I hold him down, my hands pressing against his rock-hard chest. Rylan doesn't fight me though, his own hand slipping past mine to grip his cock. I feel it pressing against my entrance and I slam myself down, impaling my body with his.
Rylan hisses softly, hands gripping my hips. I roll my body, little gasps of pleasure mixing with his rugged breathing. It feels like we're back in his truck again, two dominant forces, and once again, he's giving me control—like he knows it's what I need.
Raising myself on my knees, I slowly draw him out before sliding back down. It's agonizing for both of us, but the speed keeps me level-headed. I don't get lost in a frenzy. And when his head tips back, eyes closing tight, I realize he needs it too. We're almost cut from the same cloth, except his is designer while mine is thrift store. There's nothing wrong with our differences, and I think we're both starting to see that. Here, we're taking what we need—polar opposites.
I need control as much as I need pain. The unwavering desire to feel a hold of something is all I have left to cling to right now, while Rylan clearly needs someone else to take the reins for a minute.
We're perfect, in complete unison as our hips smash together. We chase our releases as one, my nails digging into his chest as I start to feel the coil tighten in my stomach.
"Bexley," he says, deep and low, and already I know what he's asking. Not realizing my eyes had fluttered shut, they open, locking with his. And when I come, I don't hold back, letting him see everything wash over my face—the pleasure, the destruction, the agony. It's all one, and I allow myself a reprieve to enjoy a moment of weakness in the safety of his tight grip.
As soon as my orgasm finishes, Rylan is right there with me, groaning deep in his throat as his hips finally jolt up, taking control as he falls over the blissful edge.
Flattening myself against his chest, I feel the thudding of his rapid heartbeat through his chest. It's soothing, hearing it beat, and a tear slips out and splashes onto his skin.
He doesn't point it out or make a big deal of it though. His arms wrap around my back, holding me against him while I silently cry.
And there, in our new ring where we will return as enemies, I find some short lived peace.