2. Rory
Two
Rory
Iwas deep into enemy territory with my loud, pink bike, but no one recognized me as Aurora Vincent, sister of Ella Bourgeois.
If they did, the Crimson Devils would have a fucking field day.
I knew the rumors of what the Devils did to their enemies, and being a woman, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of vengeance.
No one should recognize me in the dark shadows of the fight club.
All I wanted to do was see women fighting.
Half-naked women fighting was a lot hotter than sweaty men fighting, and Crestview had the best fight scene.
It made sense, considering the town was shit.
If Briarwood resembled Crestview, my sister would have had a stroke.
Cin made sure our town was livable with minimal violence, but sometimes that grew boring.
Growing up always on high alert, I wanted to dance with danger and have some risk in my everyday life, but Cin said no.
I knew why she did it, but she couldn’t baby me for the rest of my life.
We both had to deal with our mother, but I got the blunt end of the stick.
Our mother couldn’t control Cinder until I was born, and then I was used as leverage.
It seemed I had ruined a lot of things in life.
Cinder was twelve years older than me, and when I was born, she became the mother figure, making sure I was okay and fed.
When she turned eighteen, I was still a toddler, and Mama kicked her out.
Our mother used me as bait on a fishing hook to manipulate Cinder into doing things for her—buying drugs, giving her money for alcohol, and so on and so forth.
I was the child excited to see her sister without knowing the logistics behind it.
I remember Cinder telling me she wanted to adopt me, but that never happened.
Instead, my mother moved me with her boyfriend to Nevada, and used me to get drugs.
My mom never sold me per se, but I was on the chopping block if her dealers and boyfriends wanted something else.
Her last boyfriend—I think his name was Chester or Charles—was one of the few who wanted to get ‘close’ to me.
It was why she initially moved us halfway across the country and changed my last name after Cinder got kicked out.
Thankfully, both her and her boyfriend got a laced batch of heroin and died.
I found them dead on the floor with drugs and needles scattered around.
Little seven-year-old Aurora didn’t know what was happening, so I called 911.
Because my mom was dead and I didn’t know where Cinder was, I was put into the Nevada foster care system.
My mother changing our last name also made it complicated for Cinder to find me.
The first two families weren’t horrible, but I was a terrible child.
Now I knew it was my trauma and my missing my sister that made me lash out.
And then I was given to Jude Booker. He was the devil incarnate.
Jude was sexually abusive in a way that made him money.
He didn’t get off on my torment, but he touched me to pose or expose me for his patrons.
He would strip me naked, dress me in frilly princess outfits, and touch me for the camera, but he didn’t rape me.
But God, did that asshole love hearing me scream when he’d carve me up.
Grown men loved watching little thirteen-year-old Aurora bound and naked while Booker cut me with various knives and tormented me.
Cinder saved me. It took her four years to find me and start my healing journey, but I was free. She brought me back to Georgia, and I was still healing, but I was better.
I walked into the hole-in-the-wall fight club hidden in an abandoned warehouse by the docks.
How they did this without the police getting called for a noise complaint was beyond me, but it was above my level of care.
There was one thing I wanted—well, two things technically, but the first was sweaty women fighting.
The crowd was filled with rowdy men ready to see a catfight.
I jabbed the asshole next to me in the ribs when he got too close and personal with my backside, then moved up to watch the show.
There was nothing I loved more than admiring stunning, half-naked women fighting, and maybe I wanted to catch a nip slip or two.
God, I needed to get laid. Maybe tonight would be my lucky night if I could slip away to a bar.
When the redhead with Dutch braids kicked the blonde to the mat and straddled her backside, the crowd went ballistic.
The wrestling tonight was women only, because men ruin everything.
It was hot, but I also knew how to contain my urges and excitement instead of hollering at women who didn’t care if I existed at the moment.
“That’s it, princess!” someone yelled. My body stiffened, my breathing became more erratic, and I knew I needed to get away from this crowd before I had a meltdown.
Never thought my trigger phrase would be uttered at an MMA fight.
The room tilted, and voices blurred into one beehive buzzing all around me.
There was a commotion, but I couldn’t focus on anything around me as I tried to get my breathing back on track.
The knife dug into my thigh, soaking the torn fabric of the pink dress and the dirty mattress.
I pulled against the chains, biting back the pain.
Jude didn’t like when I cried; he’d make it hurt more.
There was a stinging pain and a throb as he pulled the knife back, and then there was a camera flash.
“That’s it princess.” I cringed at his words. “You’re so pretty. Smile for me.”
I wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he just get rid of me?
He talked about killing me, but he said his friends liked me a lot more than the others.
I didn’t want this to be my life anymore.
Why didn’t someone come looking for me? They checked in on me before, but not with Jude.
I didn’t know how many weeks had passed since I last saw the man who brought me here.
It was a woman before that took me from the other families to a new one, but the man said I would like Jude.
“Don’t cry,” Jude taunted. “My pretty princess shouldn’t shed a tear.”
Breathe, goddamnit.
I needed to get out of here—and I knew the exact place that would ease my soul and maybe give me a gorgeous pair of thighs to sink my teeth into.