HerCreed-ARE-epub (2 page)

Arthur had found it on a fluke. Got hit with a rain drop through the open window when he was walking by earlier and had called it in on his walkie talkie.

The girl tried to stand up, and Arthur shoved her down again. Probably just set his hand on her, and she fell under the weight. Arthur was a big dude. Hands the size of hubcaps. One of many reasons it paid to keep him on the payroll.

Arthur pinned her with one more scowl when she tried to get up again, and she finally heeded the warning and crossed her arms. To her credit, she never dropped her gaze. She may not have been able to take the guy on physicality alone but tenacity couldn’t be discounted.

He of all people knew that.

Arthur grabbed his walkie talkie, and his voice blared into Creed’s quiet room. “Boss. She’s ready for you.”

Since he’d been waiting for the call, Creed lifted his hand and growled before pushing the button. “I’ve got it. Head back to the ring. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“You got it.”

His head of security left his office, and Creed waited to see what she would do. The door had barely snapped closed before she was out of her seat, trying the handle that wouldn’t budge. Of course, it was locked. This wasn’t their first rodeo with people trying to sneak into the building. Or break in.

Reporters, self-righteous religious groups, competitors from an opposing ludus. You name it, they’d seen it.

He couldn’t hear her, since he had the volume turned off on the audio feed from the cameras in his office, but he would have bet money that she could have made a sailor blush with all the words coming out of her mouth that likely started with F and ended in UCK.

He clipped the walkie talkie back on his belt and was about to step toward the door, but then she turned to scowl into the mirror behind his desk. Stared him down. He’d have sworn to it. As she approached the mirror, nerves fired up his spine, making the crown of his head tingle.

She put a hand up on the mirror, leaving it in place. Waiting for something.

He did the same, covering her hand with his. With nothing but a quarter inch of glass between them, the world seemed to pause.

Her eyes.

They held some kind of fire he hadn’t seen before.

Her slightly open lips made him feel lost. And hungry.

High cheekbones and her long dark hair reminded him of Roman aristocracy. She would have fit right in.

Then she bit her lip and all he could think about was sinking inside her mouth and staying a while.

Shaking his head, he yanked his hand away.

Fairytale love and all that bullshit had no place inside his walls.

The person you were meant to be with for all eternity and some shit didn’t break into your place of business to infiltrate your illegal fighting ring.

Life wasn’t that easy.

Ever.

He yanked open the door between the rooms, and the girl jumped away from the mirror. Keeping his expression closed, he gave her his coldest glare. “You know I could have you arrested, right?”

She balled her hands into fists and kicked her chin a little higher.

“You know, I thought you were almost legal, but with that attitude, I’m thinking you’re younger.”

“I’m seventeen,” she bit out.

He snorted. “Sure you are. Sit down.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Still not old enough to be in here. I could get you for trespassing. Breaking and entering.”

“But I didn’t break—”

“What’s your name? And I told you to sit down.”

Begrudgingly, she took her seat. Her eyes narrowed, but she relaxed a bit. He shouldn’t have liked that she was more comfortable with him than she was with Arthur. Shouldn’t, but did.

After studying him for a second, she rubbed her lips together. “CK,” she told him with a nod of her head. In finality or greeting he wasn’t certain, which was interesting.

“What does it stand for?”

“Nothing.”

Lifting an eyebrow, he waited. She was lying. No doubt about it.

“Biding your time won’t create another name for me. It stands for nothing. My parents weren’t invested enough to give me a whole name, and then a nickname. They shortened the process and just named me CK.”

Biding my time. Damn.
“Last name?”

Her eyes dimmed, forming a neutral mask, blocking him from any emotion he expected to read from her answer. “You have to be kidding me.”

“Maybe your parents did you a favor.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “Come again?”

“Maybe they didn’t want you to get carpal tunnel writing that last name plus a whole first name so they cut you some slack.”

After a few seconds of pondering. “I don’t follow.”

He found it interesting how her gaze never wavered from his. Full eye contact the whole time they’d been talking. She’d had it with Arthur, too.

“CK You-Have-To-Be-Kidding-Me, seems like quite a name on its own.” Then he did the stupidest thing ever. He smiled at her.

She relaxed further and dropped her gaze, smiling at her lap where she had a bit of a death grip on her knees. “Good one, and I truly didn’t mean any malice behind coming inside.”

Creed’s eyebrows lifted. Another big word for a girl he knew nothing about but was already worried for. Her clothes were clean. Could have been designer threads or well-kept hand-me-downs for all he knew about teenager fashion for girls. “Then why did you come inside if you clearly knew you weren’t allowed within these walls?”

“I couldn’t stay away when I found out what happened here. It’s amazing.”

She blurted it so quickly, he doubted she’d thought about what was going to come out of her mouth.

The wonder in her eyes, when she spoke, called to him. It was exactly how he felt about the Rapers, so he had to nip it in the bud, for both their sakes, and get back on track. Which meant he had to get her booted out of the building as fast as possible. He took a couple steps closer until she stiffened and pegged him with that laser focus again. “ID?”

“Fresh out.” No joking and a whole lotta weary.

“How much have you seen?”

She snorted. “Plenty.”

She looked around his office for the first time, he thought.

“Can I ask you a question or two before you kick me out?”

No
. “Yes.” What the hell was wrong with him?

“How do your fighters learn to fight like they do? They’re different than the other groups brought in here.”

“They’re hungry.”

“You starve them? Are you fucking with me?”

“Not literally, and don’t curse. It’s unladylike.”

Cocking an eyebrow up high enough for it to disappear behind her bangs, she looked behind her on both sides. “I know you didn’t just try to tell me I’m a lady.”

“You’re a young woman, most definitely a lady, unless you’re packing something extra below the equator I haven’t noticed yet. Plus, Sword didn’t find anything on you when he patted you down, and he would have told me if you were a tranny.”

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why would he have told you that?”

“Because we have a new TS division about to kick off. It would have been pertinent info. But back to the question at hand. The fighters I train are hungry to win. They want it more than the others. They each have a fire inside them.” A fire he saw in her but didn’t want to acknowledge nor encourage. “The drive they have to win is equal to only one other thing. Can you guess what that thing is?”

“Sex.”

No hesitation, and his dick did
not
jump again. ‘Cause that would be wrong. “You got the topic right, but what about it specifically?”

Nibbling her bottom lip, she crossed one leg over the other and seemed to be considering her answer.

He liked that she didn’t just blurt out nonsense. She thought about what she was going to say, which actually made him care what her answer would be. Almost as much as he cared what color her panties were if she were wearing any at all.

Which he didn’t because again—wrong.

“Exhibitionists. That’s what they are. Being more than okay to take or be taken in a room full of strangers, fans.”

“Correct. But why is that important?”

“Because you can’t check out while it’s happening. The audience will notice. The other fighters will notice, too, and they could use it to their advantage to rattle the other fighter at a later date. If their head isn’t in the game, it could jeopardize the reputation of the owner and the Rapers themselves.”

Fuck
. “Correct.” She’d said it better than he normally did when talking to other people in the same league. Not to mention pitching to his legion of kinky sponsors. And he’d definitely not been so poised at her age. Not that he was that far away from seventeen, being only seven years older than her—if the age she gave him was correct.

Which he still doubted.

“So why were you out at,” glancing at his watch, he cursed, knowing he’d missed most of the first fight, “two AM?”

“Sunday stroll?”

“It’s not Sunday.”

“Must have missed flipping a few days on my day planner. My mistake.”

She was bright, smart. “What’s your story? You’re pretty, seem to have an intact head on your shoulders, don’t seem strung out, but instead of partying with your friends, you’re sneaking in here to watch the fights? There’s more to you than meets the eye, I bet.”

“The Transformer’s franchise tagline. Nice.”

“I do my best to educate others among the ways of the cool. Now, quit stalling. Talk and don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie. It’s unladylike, I’m told.”

His lips twitched, but he kept the smile in check. He did not need to enjoy verbally sparring with her. So he didn’t. Much.

Holding up a hand, she started ticking fingers off. “My parents didn’t love me; my teachers didn’t understand me; none of them got their monies’ worth out of my therapy, years ago; puberty is setting me on a path of self-destruction…” She actually rolled her eyes at that one. “And God forbid I actually have a mind I tend to use and speak up for myself. Crazy. I know, I know. Yet, no one can seem to get a handle on my problem. Shocking.”

The girl had walls and walls up around herself, and he wanted to take them down. Every one of them. She had a look about her. The same look he’d seen on foster kids, and he’d seen a hell of a lot of those, but the look didn’t fit her.

She just didn’t fit into a category he could place, and he had a hard as hell time walking away from a human Rubix cube. He walked to his mini-fridge and pulled out two water bottles. Handing one over to her, he uncapped his own and leaned against the edge of his desk.

Studying her, he tried to put a few of her pieces together, but didn’t come up with much. “What school do you go to?”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Long story.”

He hazarded a glance at the clock above the mirror. He didn’t have time. “I’ve got time.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Says who?”

Nodding in his direction. “You do. You grind your teeth when you’re busy and trying not to show it.”

He had to relax his jaw. Twice. Something he never let anyone else see. “How do you know I do that?”

Shrugging seemed her “go to” gesture of non-answer. Or maybe just a delay tactic. “I watch people.”

“And you watched me?”

“A bit.”

Her answers were so vague they did nothing but irritate him—and make him want to know more. “Did you drop out of school?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do you ever just answer an actual question?”

“Occasionally.” A mischievous grin lifted the corners of her mouth, but she said no more.

He had no more real information about her than when he’d stepped into the room, but he did know one thing. She had an old soul. It was all in her eyes. The depths. The pain.

And they had at least one thing in common.

A fighter’s spirit. That need to succeed, to be the best—he saw it in her. In the tightness of her jaw facing a bigger opponent. The stubborn set of her shoulders even while she was seated. Her warrior’s spirit was there, simmering below the surface.

Whether she used her drive to take down her dragons or to simply build walls around herself and shut out the world, he didn’t know.

“Is this the ‘stay in school and don’t do drugs’ portion of tonight’s event? Cause I’ve heard the speeches and read the pamphlets.”

Oh. And the attitude of a fighter. She had that, too.

He’d probably have to shovel it out of his office after he kicked her out.

“If you think an education is so beneath you, then what do you think is important?”

“To be the biggest, baddest, strongest chick in the ring so I can fight anybody. Everybody. And win.”

“You don’t need any of those things.”

Lifting an eyebrow, she stared at him with a bless-your-little-heart look.

“I’m not saying some smart fat-ass dude who’s been gorging himself on Ho-Hos and Coke for twenty years could come in and kick ass.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank goodness.”

“What I am saying is, yes, you have to be in good shape. You have to eat right and work out a hell of a lot, but those things will only get you so far.”

“And the next step is…”

She hissed at the last word, and he ground his teeth for a reason other than his busy schedule. “Being smart is what you need. That’s what makes a great fighter. Training, being healthy can only get you to a certain level. Intelligence and cunning are the only two things that make a good fighter a legend.”

“But part of that still comes down to training.”

“So you think if I trained you for a year...”

Her eyes lit up.

“Which I’m
not
doing. If I put you in a ring with a dummy and taught you how to move, could you win every match no matter who you fought?”

“No. Hand-to-hand real fights are the only way to really learn. And,” she got louder as he opened his mouth to cut her off. “Studying your opponents—”

“Studying. Did you catch that word leaving your mouth?”

“Yes,” she grumbled.

“You have to be able to anticipate your opponent’s next move, counter it and gain your advantage. Being smart is everything in this sport. Hell, any sport. Ours just has a very steep learning curve if you fail.”