Her Tattooed Fighter (2 page)

He adjusted his hard-on discreetly, because the last fucking thing he needed was Harlond or Mack noticing him sporting wood because he was checking out Sunny. He cursed under his breath and turned away from her. Mack watched him with a scowl on his face. The big fucking Russian said in a deep, menacing voice, “Man, you’re trying to go after the wrong girl.” London cursed, but refused to be intimidated by Mack or show that yes, he already knew he couldn’t have Sunny because she was too damn good for him, but that he didn’t need Mack or anyone else pointing that fact out.

London cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders back, not about to admit anything, not unless he wanted to get into a dirty fucking no rules fight. “You’re seeing something that isn’t there.” He threw a punch into the bag, saying without words he wasn’t about to talk about this, but it was clear Mack wasn’t finished.

“Don’t gloss shit over, man. You know damn well what I’m talking about, and all you are doing by ignoring my words is pissing me the fuck off.”

London threw a punch into the bag again, and again, but his anger and frustration were mounting over the fact Mack wasn’t going to let this go.

“Sunny’s off limits, especially to guys like you.” Mack stilled the bag with his hands and stared at him.

“Guys like me? What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Using the back of his arm he wiped the sweat that started to drip from his hairline. London didn’t even hide the anger in his face over Mack’s words.

Mack’s eyes went hard. “You know exactly what the fuck I mean. Guys like
us
are pieces of shit when compared to females like Sunny. Believe me. I’ve known her since she was just a kid, love her like a sister, and no way in hell am I going to let a guy like you, one that will fuck anything with a warm pussy, go after her.
She.
Is.
Off.
Limits.”
London clamped his mouth closed, ground his teeth, and curled his hands into fists by his side.

“Fuck you, Mack. You don’t know shit.”

“I think of you as a friend, London, but if you try and hit that up I’ll beat your fucking ass into the ground.” London growled low in his throat, literally fucking growled. “There isn’t any way in hell I’ll let her get fucked over, and we both know you only sleep with a woman once. She’s a good girl, and deserves better than a quick fuck in a club bathroom.”

For as pissed as London was over what the Russian said, he also couldn’t deny it was the truth. Those were all things he had told himself over and over again. He drank when not training, fucked too many faceless women, and didn’t give a shit
whom
he hurt in the process. He looked over at Sunny again. She was on a treadmill, her
earbuds
in and her mouth moving to whatever song she listened to.

“I’m not going to argue with you simply because I fucking know who and what I am.” He took a step toward Mack and said in a low voice, “But
don’t
ever fucking threaten me. I’m not some pussy amateur that will roll over because your Hulk ass bares his fucking teeth.” He looked back at Mack and
grit
his teeth. “And you don’t have to worry about me going after her. I know I’m no good for her, and no way in hell would I ever want to hurt her.” They had a stare-down for several seconds. “Now, can we please get this workout the fuck over with?” He cocked a brow at him, and finally Mack nodded. For the next thirty minutes London slammed his fists over and over again into the bag, feeling his rage over what Mack said fuel his actions, because fuck, he wanted the one thing he couldn’t have … Sunny McGrieve.

Chapter Two

London ducked right before the massive fist coming straight toward him could connect with his face. He moved left, and then right, and felt the tightening of his muscles when he swung his own fist out. He connected with the muscled abdomen of his opponent. The underground fight was currently being held in the basement of an old abandoned warehouse right on the outskirts of the town of Absinthe. Upon first entering, the stench of decay, mold, and dirt filled his nose, but as the people swarmed in and the fight began, the new scents started to cloak the aroma of age: sweat, blood, and aggression. He swung out left, connected with the guy’s jaw, and heard the sound of bone cracking. A surge of adrenalin pumped through his veins. HIs opponent stumbled back, blood spilling out of his broken nose and moving in a rush over his mouth.

Before the fighter could right himself London was on him, wrapping his arms around his neck like a vise, and tightening his hold until his airway was cut off and he gasped for air. London reached down and delivered a series of short but effective hits to the guy’s side, but had to stop and block a few. He felt his opponent growing tired, and that was when he did the takedown. Bending and wrapping his arms around the guy’s thighs, he used all of his strength to lift him into the air, and then slammed him onto his back on the filthy mat. He was on him a second later, tightening his thighs around his upper body and twisting so he had him in an
armbar
. It only took a few seconds for the fighter to slam his open hand down on London’s thigh, signaling his tap-out.

London rolled off of him and stood. He breathed heavily and looked out at the crowd. The only thing separating him and the hundreds of people that had come to watch some bare-knuckle fighting was the crudely made cage in the center of the decaying basement. The right side of his face throbbed from the two punches the other guy managed to land on him, and he might have a few bruised ribs, but other than that he was feeling fucking good from the endorphins and adrenalin moving at a rapid pace through his system. He needed to find a female to fuck, to help him let off the rest of the steam and energy coursing through him, and he needed a good, hard drink. A blonde was eye fucking him to his left, but the color of her hair reminded him too much of Sunny. No way was he going to even go there, because even if he was an asshole, he wasn’t a bastard. A brunette caught his attention. She looked nothing like who he really wanted, not with her bobbed dark hair and stick thin figure. Shit, even with her smirking at him and throwing off all kinds of come-hither vibes, all he could think about was Sunny.

No, push those fucking thoughts right out of your mind.

London climbed out of the ring, ignored the way the hollering of the crowd around him intensified once he was on the main ground, and walked right to the brunette. She was a Chaser, a chick that hung around the underground fights in hopes of picking up a fighter. Some fighters steered clear of Chasers, because all they were after was the spotlight of being with a champion, and the money that came with that title. Clearly London wasn’t one of the guys who stayed away. He eyed the chick up and down. She was a bit skinny for his taste, but he just wanted a quick fuck, and there was no doubt she was willing. Ross, one of the organizers of the underground circuit, came up to him and slapped him on the back goodheartedly.

“Good fight. Good fight.” He shoved a dark envelope and London’s duffle at his chest and leaned in close to his ear. “I’ll have Bernard hit you up later in the week. We got a live one coming in, asking specifically to go head-to-head with you.” This piqued London’s interest.

“Yeah?”
London wasn’t a stranger to the happenings of underground fighting. That was how he made his living, and the five grand he knew was in the envelope he held against his chest was a testament to that. But he didn’t just do it for the money. He liked facing off with another guy, throwing hits and occasionally letting his opponent land a few on him. The pain made him feel alive and juiced him up for more. Maybe he was a masochist and sadist all rolled into one?

“Yeah, apparently he’s seen you fight back in your home town and wants a go at
ya
. The guy’s a beast and known as ‘The Lion’ in the circuit.” This certainly had London interested. Although he hadn’t heard of this fighter before because frankly there were just too many newcomers onto the scene to keep up with, he did love a challenge, especially when they asked to fight him specifically. Occasionally they allowed guys from the street into the ring, ones that were cocky bastards and thought they were tough enough to hang with the big boys. More times
than not they didn’t last one round
. “Listen, we’ll be in touch. Good fight, man.” Ross slapped him on the back once more before disappearing into the thick of the crowd.

London turned his attention back to the brunette. He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head to the side, practically smelled her pussy getting wet, and reached out to take her hand. The people parted for him, and he quickly made his way to the back of the warehouse. There were a few rooms in the corner, but there wasn’t anything clean or respectable about the places he fought. He pushed one of the heavy, scarred doors open and pulled her inside. The sound of the metal slamming shut resonated through the whole room, causing his ears to ring.

“You were so hot—”

“
Shh
, that’s not why we came back here, yeah?” He turned and looked at her, but could just barely make out her face through the thick darkness that surrounded them. The light from the main room spilled over the top of the makeshift wall that created smaller rooms throughout the warehouse.

Her breathing hitched at his coarse question. “No, I guess it wasn’t.” He could be an asshole, but they both knew she was after his dick just the same as he wanted what was between her thighs. His cock started to harden, and he spun her around, pressing her against the wall and reaching between their bodies to push his shorts down. He could have taken her somewhere else, cleaned himself off, and possibly been a gentleman about the whole thing, but he wasn’t about to play games, and he knew neither was she. The skirt she wore was short as fuck, and he easily slid it up her thighs and over her ass. Of course she wasn’t wearing any panties. He moved away just long enough to grab a condom from his duffle, tear it open, and roll it on his shaft.

“I’ve been watching all your fights. I just love how ruthless you are in the ring,” she said a little breathlessly. He moved close to her again, gripped her too thin waist, cocked her ass out, and aligned himself at her pussy. He didn’t bother answering her. “I’m so fucking hot for you. Come on, London—”

“Stop.”
That one word came out of him clipped, but fortunately she didn’t continue. He just wanted to fuck, wanted these few moments of pleasure, and then that would be it. He hated the fact she was saying his name. Yeah, he was a bastard. In one move he was buried inside of her. This would be quick because he didn’t want it any other way. Ten minutes later he was groaning out his orgasm at the same time she was crying out her second one. He pulled out, ripped the condom off and tied it off before tossing it aside to land with the other debris and trash that surrounded them. The girl, whose name he hadn’t even bothered to get, pulled her skirt down and turned to look at him. Guilt slammed into him, as well as a healthy dose of self-disgust. It was the norm after he did these backroom fucks.

“What’s your name?”

She perked up, and her smile grew, which only made him feel even shittier.

“Becky Thad.” She took a step closer, and he could see her unnaturally white teeth flash in the darkness. “I swear I’ve seen all your fights. You’re just amazing.” Now he was regretting even starting this conversation. He really didn’t want her
thinking
 
that
he was after more than what they had just done. It had happened in the past where a female he fucked thought they were in some kind of relationship, and he had felt like a major douche when he had to set her straight. Of course being surrounded by this breed of female came with the territory, and he was probably the only fighter that had “buyer’s remorse”.

“That’s great,” he said absently and bent down to grab a tee from his bag. After he slipped it on, he turned back around and saw that she was still staring at him. “All right, well.” Shit, this was an awkward moment, and always was. “I’ll see yeah around, Becky.” He smiled, hoping to soften the blow over the fact he just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

He didn’t miss the disappointed look that quickly crossed her face, but she schooled it and smiled. “Yeah, I’ll see you around, London.”

He tipped his chin in her direction and opened the rusty door. Light spilled in, and the sound of shouting and flesh hitting flesh intensified. He glanced over his shoulder at Becky and stepped to the side. He could be a gentleman, at times. She smiled brightly again and made her way past him and into the arena.

London walked passed her and everyone else, and he didn’t look around until he was outside and by his bike. Putting his helmet on and starting the engine, he loved the feel of his Harley right beneath him, vibrating with life. It took him forty-five minutes to get to his house. Once inside he went into the bathroom for a shower, made it as hot as he could stand, and got in. London scrubbed himself until his flesh was raw, but still he felt filthy. It was always the same dirty feeling that filled him, yet he continued on this path. It was self-destruction, and time and time again he questioned himself on why he put himself through this. If he just cut the shit out he wouldn’t have to feel this way afterward, but there was no way he could stop. London couldn’t stop fighting; he couldn’t stop having this restless energy inside of him, and he couldn’t stop letting that energy out with a willing female. It was a never–ending, vicious cycle, of adrenalin, endorphins, euphoria, and then a downward fall to darkness.

Steam rose around him quickly, and he braced one forearm against the tiled wall and rested his head on it. Closing his eyes, all he could picture was Sunny, like a bright light washing away the disgusting darkness he bathed himself in. When he first moved to Absinthe with his friend and fellow fighter Brock, he never imagined himself falling so hard for a female so quickly. Brock was ruthless, and London had never thought it possible that Brock could settle down, but it was clear when it came to Izzy he would have moved heaven and earth just to please her. He may give Brock a hard time, calling him out on being pussy-whipped and losing some of his edge, but deep down London wanted that. He wanted to have a girl to protect, one that he could be himself around, hold at night, and not have to keep up this image of being an undefeated fighter that fucked around with nameless women and didn’t give a shit about anything.

He liked what he did and how he made his living, but he also wanted to come home to something that was not stillness and shadows. What was the point of having money, a nice house, and land to enjoy, when he was alone? Fuck, he wanted Sunny, but Mack was right, that fucker. She was far too good for him. Here he was, taking random women up against dirty walls, the same way he did the majority of the time, and wanting to beat the shit out of himself because of it.

Sunny, with her long golden hair just brushing the top of her apple-shaped ass, her very blue eyes that almost seemed unreal when the light touched them, and her killer fucking body that was so curvy it was made for a man, for
him
, had London harder than he had ever been. But it wasn’t just that she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Sunny was smart as fuck, had even gone to school for business and helped Harlond with the books. She had it all going on, and that was why he needed to stay away from her.

London grabbed his cock and squeezed himself at the base. He was hard again, and just from thinking about her. He felt the familiar rise of frantic energy inside of him, the kind that was only extinguished with a hard fuck or a good fist-fight. He would not be doing any of that now. It was too late, he was too fucking tired, and he just wanted to crash. He started stroking himself, trying to relieve the pressure in his cock and balls, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. But it felt damn good, especially when he imagined that he had Sunny pressed against the shower wall, his dick buried deep inside of her, and her straight, white teeth digging into his shoulder as she tried not to cry out from the intensity of it all. He groaned out his orgasm, but it was empty pleasure, and his dick was still hard.

“Shit.” Scrubbing a hand over his face and shutting off the water, he was ready for this night to end. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and stood in front of the sink. The mirror was fogged up, and he ran his hand over it. His face looked haggard, and the evidence from his earlier fight stood out against his freshly washed skin. His lip was cut on the side, as was his right eyebrow, and a bruise was starting to form along his left cheek. They hurt like a bitch, but it was what it was. He was in need of a shave, but he was too tired for even that. Maybe he should go get some ink, let the feel of the needle going into him add a little pain to his system? Tomorrow was another day of lusting after the trainer’s daughter, which only meant he’d bust his ass harder in the ring trying to numb his feelings with punches and kicks.