Beyond Pain (37 page)

Riff wiped blood from his lip and circled Bren. "Then let's just punch each other until it stops hurting."

It hadn't been working out so well for Bren, but he shrugged anyway. "I've got nothing else to do."

They came together in another clash of fists, and Riff was right. He wasn't in Bren's league. He wasn't a bad fighter, but his style was reminiscent of Six's, fraught with dirty tricks. It probably worked well against someone who'd been trained, who expected combat to have rules.

Bren knew better. He'd been fighting dirty since before landing in the sectors, and he unleashed that on Riff. A distracting punch to the gut, a feinted jab, and a hard right to the jaw sent him tumbling to the concrete.

Instead of retreating to the other side of the cage, Bren held out a hand to help him up.

Riff took it and limped out of the cage. When he was gone, Dallas caught the side of the door and lifted a brow at Bren. "You done yet?"

He had his own guilt to work off, and two easy fights would never do it. "Not yet."

"All right."

Dallas stepped aside, and one of the Armstrong brothers filled the door. This one had a reputation for being brutal in the cage and out. His sneering face and cheap tattoos contributed to his aura of menace, though his sheer size was enough to intimidate most fighters.

He and his brothers had always been unpleasant, but they'd gotten downright ugly and mean since Lex had stopped letting them near her. It would be a good fight, a tough one.

Exactly what he needed.

The silence on the couches was painful.

The O'Kane women weren't made for quiet, especially not when two men were pounding each other against the sides of the cage in an orgy of flexing muscles and rage. But the one thing stronger than their enthusiasm was their sense of solidarity.

As long as she was sitting there, none of them would point out that Bren was losing his shit.

In the end, she gave them freedom by vaulting out of her seat and away from the tangle of sympathetic glances. The whispers started as soon as she melted into the crowd, and she supposed she should just be glad Lex was standing with Dallas. Lex's definition of solidarity didn't involve holding back.

Bren
was
holding back. The hulking, mohawked brute in the cage slammed another fist into his gut, and Bren took it. He took the next hit too, even though it crashed him into the cage, and Six didn't think he was taking any pleasure in the beating.

He was seeking oblivion, but she was the only one who could give him what he needed.

The problem was making him believe. She'd been working on the words for days, trying to string the ones she knew together in some order that might convince him. But neither of them was good with the words that mattered, and Christ, she of all people knew how hard it was to trust the words you wanted to hear, because wanting to believe was the scariest fucking thing of all.

She couldn't tell him. She had to
show
him.

If he didn't get himself killed first.

The crowd parted where people noticed her tattoos, but most of the spectators were riveted, completely engrossed in the fight. Bren had had enough, apparently, and the balance of power tilted between two beats of her heart. He went from up against the side of the cage to slamming hit after hit home on his opponent, driving him across the concrete, punishing him for every punch he'd landed.

By the time Six made it to Lex's side, Bren had laid the bastard out cold.

He gestured blindly, an encouraging flick of his hand, but Lex stopped Dallas before he even moved. "No, it's enough. Tell him."

Jasper and Mad were already dragging the cage open to retrieve Bren's fallen opponent. "Wait," Six said, catching Lex's arm. "Let me go in there."

Lex snorted. "Have you lost your mind?"

Maybe. Or maybe she knew the one thing she could give him that would cut through his pain, would show him the sort of trust he'd have to believe. Loving Brendan Donnelly was never going to be passive, but neither was she.

She tightened her fingers and forced Lex to look at her. "Trust me."

After a tense, endless moment, Lex gave in. "All right. Go."

Jasper and Mad dragged the unconscious man past her, leaving her with a clear view of Bren. He was standing by the opposite side of the cage with one hand raised, braced against the chain. His attention was fixed on the couches as the crowd screamed and cheered and shouted at one another over bets made and lost.

When she stepped across the threshold, silence spilled outward. The clang of the door swinging shut was too loud, but Bren didn't turn. From here she could see his bruises, the scrapes and cuts and the blood and pain. So much of it she ached in sympathy.

She didn't let any of that show in her voice. "If this is some jacked-up way of punishing yourself, Donnelly, you should have just let me beat on you."

His spine stiffened. "Is that why you're here?"

"Depends."

He turned to meet her gaze, and his face looked even worse than the rest of him. "On what, sweetness?"

She couldn't help it. One step, two, and then she had his face in her hands, her heart pounding as she wiped blood from his lip with her thumb and swore she wouldn't kill him for letting himself get injured. "I was gonna fuck you, but now I don't know if you can get the job done."

He closed his hands around her wrists, but it was the sudden flare of hope in his eyes that held her still. "Don't joke about that," he whispered thickly. "It's not funny."

"I'm not joking," she replied just as softly. "But we can't do this unless you get who I am. I could peel Russell Miller's skin off for how bad he hurt you, and if you can't wrap your head around that, I'm gonna pound it into something hard until you give up and admit you deserve to be loved. And that I'm the one who gets to do it."

He lifted one hand to her mouth, touching her lower lip with a gentleness that didn't belong in a cage like this. "Did you just say you love me?"

The words spilled out into the uneasy silence, and she knew the closest part of the crowd was straining to hear. Whatever she said next would ripple out, a message passed in whispers until every person in the warehouse knew.

She'd never been more exposed. She'd never cared less.

She slid her hands into his hair and gripped the strands, smiling because it was finally long enough for her to pull. "I love you, Brendan Donnelly," she said clearly and loudly. "And you are
mine
. Don't you fucking forget it ever again."

"Yes, ma'am." The words barely made it past his lips before his mouth crashed down on hers. She tasted the blood of his split lip and didn't care, not when her body was shaking and her blood was roaring in her ears.

Except that wasn't her blood but the crowd, screaming now in anticipation of a different kind of show, the kind encouraged as Bren's hands slid down her body to clutch at her hips. She couldn't forget the gossip she'd heard when she'd first arrived, the whispers of how women would fight to climb into the cage with him after a victory.

Too bad for them. He was hers now, and she issued her final ultimatum as she tore her mouth free. "I'll let you fuck me right here, up against the cage. I'll let you get me off as many times as you want while everyone listens to me scream. I'll give you my body and my heart. But only if you need me. Not want me or like me.
Need
me."

"I do--" The clank of bars and chain drowned out the rest of the words as he lifted her against the side of the cage. "I love you."

No one would have been able to hear the words over the cheering of the crowd, and that suited her just fine. The admission was hers, something she wasn't ready to share, even though she was ready for damn near anything else.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and raised both arms, weaving her fingers through the wire of the cage. "Make me feel good, Bren. Make us both feel good."

He kissed her again, and his hand eased under her shirt--a careful exploration, like he was rediscovering all the things that made her moan and rock against him. But when he reached her breast, his fingers twisted tight around her nipple with just the right amount of pressure to make her groan.

The catcalling spectators melted away. They didn't disappear--no, that edge of adrenaline was still there, the one that sizzled over her nerves and whispered that she was being reckless, so reckless--but they didn't matter. Bren did, his teeth against her lip, his fingers tugging at her other nipple until a zip of pain slammed through her and turned to pleasure.

"Say it again," she whispered, arching closer to his denim-clad erection and wishing her underwear was already gone.

"I love you." His hands dropped, one to push up her skirt and the other to jerk at his pants. His cock sprang free to rub against her, closer when he dragged her panties aside.

The fabric ripped, but she barely heard it with Bren's words echoing in her ears, barely felt it with the blunt head of his erection nudging between her pussy lips.

She shuddered, savoring the anticipation, the knowledge that any moment he'd drive home. "How much do you want to be inside me?"

He didn't answer. He stroked his thumb over the corner of her mouth, then edged it between her lips, pushing deep. His gaze locked with hers, and she watched his face as she teased him with soft licks and gentle suction and finally the warning edge of teeth.
Get in me, Donnelly.

He smiled, slow and soft, and thrust into her--hard, unyielding, his hips crashing against hers.

God, she'd missed him. It wasn't as though they'd been apart for long, but it felt like forever since she'd savored this moment, when he took all of her at once, no hesitation, no working his way in. She loved it because it was raw and real, with just enough discomfort to make the pleasure feel well-earned, and because this was the only thing Bren did without care.

Without control.

He could finesse a lock or spend hours setting up the perfect shot, but when it came to sliding into her body, he needed her so much he couldn't wait, couldn't plan, couldn't handle not being as far inside her as he could possibly go, as fast as he could get there.

She tightened her legs, digging the heels of her boots into the backs of his legs as she held him there, deep and hard and
everything
.

"I'll show you," he promised, already panting in her ear. "Every day, I'll show you how much."

Shivering, she freed one hand from the cage and twisted it in his hair, hauling his head back so he had to meet her eyes. "You deserve love. Say it."

"I deserve better." He pressed closer with a grind of his hips. "I deserve you."

The words slipped under her skin, igniting a warmth unrelated to the friction of his cock. She pulled his mouth to hers for a hungry kiss, one that mingled their panting breaths and tangled tongues and left her shaky, squirming for more pressure, just
more
--

He gave it to her, one hand behind her head and the other behind her hips, protecting her from the cage bars even as he slammed her against them with rough, driving thrusts, each one shoving her higher, twisting her tighter, making her need the next that much more.

She forgot to be nervous about getting off until the first shivers of orgasm snaked up her spine. It cut through the bliss, thrusting her back into her body, into the gritty reality of the cage and the crowd, their hollers and whistles and glee.

They were watching her, watching Bren, captivated as he brought her to the brink of release. For one breathless second, she wondered if she could really be this fearless woman, one who loved hard enough to forgive, who was strong enough to be vulnerable in front of the whole world.

Bren saw it, just like he saw everything. "It's okay," he growled. "I've got you."

He had her. Beautiful, dangerous, flawed, lonely Brendan Donnelly had her, and she was going to give him everything.

Closing her eyes, she lifted her hands to the bars overhead, wrapped her fingers around the cool metal, and clung to the cage as he fucked her into bliss.