Savage: A Bad Boy Fighter Romance (8 page)

“Not that one,” he growls.

I still for a moment, letting my orgasm wash over me.

“A-angel,” I finally stutter. “My savage angel.”

He grins.

“You make me love that fucking name.”

His mouth crashes against mine, claiming me in a desperate kiss. And I feel him erupting inside my pussy, warm ropes of cum leaving his cock and warming me up from the inside. I let the sensation take over, my body going slack under his. Finally, I accept what I’ve known since the first moment I laid eyes on him.

Since the second I met him, I’ve belonged to this man.

My Angel.

S
age walks
into the cell half an hour later. I am grateful for the small amount of time I got to spend with Memphis, and my hand lingers in his as Sage tells me it’s time to leave.

“I’ll see you soon,” Memphis promises me.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to stay with him so fucking badly. I feel like a kid on the verge of a tantrum.

“Be careful,” I mumble against his chest as he pulls me in for a hug.

I let his body envelop mine, smelling the mix of his skin with mine. It’s so comforting, and at the same time, so horrible knowing I’ll have to leave in the next minute.

“Come on, Miss.”

Sage urges for me to go, but I hear a note of regret for having to break this up in his voice. I feel my eyes burn, those tears I’m willing down desperate to escape and slide down my cheeks. But I’ll stay strong for Memphis.

I’ve been crying too much. I’m going to stop.

“Goodbye, Angel,” I tell him softly.

“Goodbye, Adrienne.”

He kisses the top of my head tenderly, his gentle touch leaving me with some hope for our future. I don’t let myself look back as I follow Sage out of the cell, trying to ignore the awful pain in the pit of my stomach.

I walk silently behind the guard, fixing my gaze on the floor. My mind is spinning after everything that happened, and I have so many questions.

I look up at Sage, wondering how much he knows and whether he’d be able to answer any of those questions for me. There’s only one that comes to mind now, something I didn’t get a chance to ask Memphis, but I’m still desperate to know.

“Sage?”

My voice quakes a little but I force it calm.

“What is it, Miss?”

I ponder whether I really should come out and ask, but in the end, curiosity gets the best of me and I just do it.

“I was wondering,” I start to say, blushing lightly. “Do you know Memphis’ last name?”

Sage looks at me, quirking a brow.

“So you know his real name.”

It’s not really a question, more of a statement. I keep stealing glances at him, hoping for an answer he hasn’t yet delivered as we walk through the mansion.

“Interesting.”

He turns around and begins to walk upstairs, disregarding my inquiry. I feel let-down for a moment, but in the next second, anger fills up my body and I run up behind him, pulling on his shirt sleeve.

“Hey!” I bark at him. “I asked you a question. And now I want an answer.”

Sage gives me a dark grin.

“Not so much unlike Cobb, then,” he tells me, and I pale.

“I am nothing like that man,” I spit out. “Never say that again.”

“Fine, fine.” Sage raises his hands in the air, admitting defeat. “Memphis’ last name is Danvers.”

“Danvers.” I repeat the word, feeling its weight on my lips.

It feels strange, almost like I’ve seen or read that name before. It’s not very common, but the nagging thought of it sounding familiar in some way makes me want to do some research.

“Thank you, Sage,” I smile at the big guy, and before I can change my mind, I give him a quick hug.

The man goes completely rigid under my arms, and I grin at him as I realize I made him uncomfortable as hell. I guess he doesn’t get a lot of affection down in the pits.

H
e pulls away
and

I follow him upstairs and he walks me over to my door. I’m wondering whether he’ll mention my curiosity to Wilson, but in the end I just decide to let it go. I did nothing wrong, and neither did Sage.

We say our short and curt goodbyes and he waits until I’m safely in my room before I hear his footsteps leaving down the hallway after locking my door. I’m exhausted and sleepy, and not to mention sore as hell from my time with Memphis, but there’s still something on my mind – one more thing I need to do.

I lift up my mattress, bringing out several of my father’s notebooks. It’s a long shot, but I read them a few nights ago and there’s a nagging thought in the back of my mind telling me to go through my father’s curved handwriting one more time.

I settle on the bed with them, going through them one at a time. I read the first one, the second one, and then I start the third one. By the time I move on to the latest notebook on the pile my eyes are bloodshot and I’m yawning, feeling exhausted.

But as soon as I open the fourth notebook, I know I’ve hit the jackpot.

A name stands off the page, written in my father’s own handwriting.

Danvers.

Memphis’ last name.

I stare at it for a long time. There’s nothing to go along with those words to tell me much, and I flip through the rest of the notebook, my eyes scanning for another mention. I find a few more mentions, all with dates, and by the time I’ve flipped through it, my eyes are heavy with sleep and my head hazy with tiredness. I need to get some rest.

I carefully put the notebooks back in their rightful place, underneath my mattress. After that, I lay on my back on my bed and think about the small discovery I just made.

Something tells me Memphis’ last name is somehow connected to all of this.

But before I can make any more progress on the thought, sleep overcomes me and I fall into a deep, troubled slumber. I need it, considering everything I’ve experienced today.

Visions of Memphis fill my dreams and it’s the sweetest slumber I’ve ever had. The only thing that could make it better is being in his arms.

“
R
eady
?” Sage asks me, giving me one of his trademark glowery looks.

The crowd is going absolutely insane outside the prep room. There have been some ‘technical delays’ – which I assume is code for one of the mobster bigshots out there having needed some extra time to get his dick polished or to put a cap in someone’s head – and I’ve been cooped up here for the past forty-five minutes.

It’s driving me inane, the waiting. I just want to get in there, do what I’m paid to do and get out. Easy in, easy out.

“Born ready, my sweet daisy,” I coo at him, and I guess I’m lucky that Sage doesn’t decide to knock me over the head for that one.

“Watch it. I’m in no mood for your bullshit tonight,” he snarls at me, unlocking the door.

I shrug. Is he ever?

“Whatever you say, boss,” I tell him cheerfully and step outside, raising my hands already as the first few people recognize me and scream my name.

“Angel!” they chant.

I smile wide and trot down the clear path leading to the cage. The name doesn’t grate at me this time like it usually does. Guess hearing it moaned by the right mouth was all it took to make it somewhat more palatable for me.

Visions of Adrienne swim in my head like a thick, heady concoction. How her pussy felt, milking my cock, and how her young, ripe body grinded against me, wanting to be ever closer. She was delicious and delicate and I want more. So I got to win, it’s just that simple.

There’s a spot of tar in that bucket of honey though, and I see him the moment I’m brought up into the cage. Wilson Cobb’s grinning down at me like the most demented Cheshire cat in the history of the world. There’s a gleam to his eyes that I can only call violent in a way, a pure bloodlust that I rarely see even in my opponents, and they’re actually out to kill me.

I think Wilson prefers to make his victims squirm a little first, though. I bet it annoys him that I refer to do so and that I won’t grovel.

Though, considering what he has on me now, I sort of feel like I might not be far from it. The shit he said about Adrienne, implying that he’s going to have his way with her at some point, play like a broken record in my head every time I get a glance at him. The image of him violating her is too fucking much to bear.

I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

What happened to Hannah has taught me a lesson. I need to be more careful. I’m the one who needs to keep his head clear, his mind focused. Whatever goes wrong is on me and I can’t allow myself to forget about it.

At the end of this bullshit, it has to be me and Adrienne, walking out of here together.

Ninety-seven,
I remind myself, and it gives me confidence.

I’m not that far from a hundred. Then, I can ask for my freedom. It’s in my contract – one-hundred wins and the fighter gets to request his freedom or something of equal value and extend his contract by another hundred. No one’s gotten that far before, not that I know of, so whether or not Wilson will honor the contract is yet to be seen.

But I can only cross that bridge when I get to it, and I’m not fucking there yet.

My gaze flicks to Wilson’s side and Adrienne is sitting there, looking as radiant as ever, and also entirely horrified. I wonder why. She’s seen me fight before, what’s different today?

I frown slightly, trying to give her a reassuring look beforehand, but Joe Pescopi is getting on his stupid podium and starting with his nonsense again.

“Fight lovers, are we ready!?” he howls, and they howl back like the demented pack of dogs they are. “We’ve seen the first fights, we’ve enjoyed the sight of too many good fights to mention, but now we’re getting up to the major leagues! The semi-finals!”

I raise my brows at that, surprised. We never get told how far along we are in the tournament and usually I pick out from what they’re saying in the crowd to know how far I’m advancing. The fact that Joe’s telling us outright this time means he’s either made a mistake or someone expressly told him to say that.

“In this corner, we have the rumble from the East, the beast that can’t be tamed, Angel!”

I raise my fists and the screams are deafening. They like me, they
really
like me. I stifle the urge to roll my eyes.

The cage door opens and two men walk in as Joe is rattling off another dumb intro.

Shit.

I look up at Wilson and he’s grinning even wider, the asshat. So that’s what he has planned. We’re done playing fair, or whatever it is that passes for fair here, and I’m supposed to take on two opponents this time.

I don’t look at Adrienne, I don’t want her to see that I’m a tiny bit worried about this. Instead, I loosen my muscles, crack my neck from side to side and take a deep breath.

I can do this. I have to. Losing is not a fucking option.

“And in
this
corner, we have the twin turbos, the two weapons of mass destruction that form an unstoppable force when combined. Salem and Sawyer! Give it up for the twins!”

Salem and Sawyer are two beefy, stocky types. They look like they may have been wrestlers when they were younger, but now they’re just mountains of angry flesh. I can practically see steam rising from their nostrils, the two big oafs that they are. Both have fair hair and brown eyes, but Salem has a wide scar running down his abdomen that looks all too similar to the cut at my side, which has begrudgingly healed.

No sane man would be trying to fight with that thing still in the state it is, but neither I nor Salem here has been given a choice.

Sawyer has a tattoo with his name – how original – across his chest. I wonder if it is there so he wouldn’t forget what his own damn name is. I’m half-way surprised that it isn’t written backwards so he could read it in the mirror.

“Gentlemen are you ready?” Joe asks with a flourish.

I pop in the mouth guard and hop to the center of the ring, touching knuckles with both brothers.

“You’re toast,” Salem promises me through his own mouth guard.

“Don’t promise what you can’t deliver, baby,” I shoot back, and he grins a smile that has half the teeth missing.

Figures.

The bell rings and all hell breaks loose.

The twins have obviously been doing this for far too long together. They have a routine. Good thing is, they’re so fucking sure of themselves that they don’t even bother to hide it.

They charge at me in unison, both taking one side of the cage, hoping to pin me between them. While they probably spent their youth grappling and grunting on top of sweaty bodies, I spent mine learning how to be quick on my feet and how to exploit others’ weaknesses. Doing that against two opponents is at least twice as hard, but fuck it, Iemons and lemonade and all that shit.

I read their body language and take a step back when they don’t expect it, making Sawyer alter his course. The next steps I take move me into a swift tumble, just as the two ogres are about to catch me between their meaty pinchers. They collide into one another with a thud and I roll up to my feet, turning around to see them untangling themselves from one another.

Dancing closer, I get a nice square hit at Salem’s thick head with my foot, kicking up high, before they can retaliate. Sawyer tries to grab my ankle on its way down but misses. Every hit I get in without getting one back will be a small miracle, because it’s damn difficult keeping both of them occupied with something other than beating me into a bloody pulp.

Salem’s the weaker of the two. I know, because the big wound on his stomach is as red and raw as mine is. But I have to get what I can. When they try their running attack again, I decide on a different tactic. I meet Salem half-way, punching him in the jaw and then adding a round-house kick into the mix before he can slow down his momentum.

I send him clattering into the fencing, but that gives Sawyer enough time to come and grab me from behind. He has me from under my arms, his hands hooking behind my back, and Salem scrapes himself up. Before I can kick myself free, Salem’s on me, knocking punches in my gut that feel like they’re rattling right through my organs with every hit.

I manage to swing my body back when the pain’s already starting to be too much, getting a solid kick in Salem’s face with my heel. Blood spurts out of his nose and he falls back, hissing and gripping his face. I do the same maneuver again, getting so much momentum this time that I manage to make Sawyer bend back, and from there it’s a short enough way to have him on the floor.

He falls and I slip out of his gasp, breathing hard and spitting blood. Salem managed to rip a couple of my stitches open and I’m dribbling blood with every step I take, but so is he, so fuck it. In my book, that’s even.

I don’t have the luxury of giving them time to recoup. I fly at Salem, hands up, and launch into a volley of punches right at his face and at his gut while Sawyer is still scrambling to get up. I’m focused, the world falling away, all that I’m seeing the way my opponent moves, ducks and parries. He’s way fucking slower than I am and the times he manages to block, were when he catches my fakes, only to receive a knock to the face or gut in return.

He keels over and I grab him by the shoulders, hearing Sawyer already coming at me. I have to take the risk.

I slam my knee into Salem’s face and the crush of cartilage and bone against it is so fucking rewarding. When Sawyer grabs me and pushes me away from his brother, Salem’s already going down.

The crowd erupts in roars, but that’s not what I notice. From the corner of my eye, I see Adrienne reacting to something to her left, her face turned away from the fight. I turn to see her looking at a tall, but delicate-looking woman who bears some similarity to her, and the next thing I know, I’m in a fucking chokehold.

Sawyer’s roaring in my ear, spouting insults and seeping with rage. He has me in tight, his right fist pummeling at my face and his left keeping me stuck against his sweaty body. I gasp for air, running out, while he viciously assaults my face. Every hit I expect it to be the last one I see, the pain fucking unbearable.

The people around me are chanting, squealing, shouting. I don’t hear anything but a steady murmur, a high-pitched whine in my ears from the loss of oxygen. But then, there’s a voice I recognize.

“Memphis!” Adrienne screams, and I hear the desperation in her voice. “Memphis, you can do it!” she cries out, and I can
sense
the tears in her eyes.

Something surges in me. I’m tired and worn and all I want is to fall into the comforting darkness of unconsciousness, but I have to keep fighting.

For her.

I don’t have a lot of options so I use the best one available to me. I give up on trying to pry myself loose and go for the crown jewels instead. In professional fights, you’re not allowed to go anywhere near a guy’s privates or you get tossed from the cage. Here, we don’t have those rules. So I punch him in the nuts.

The first hit makes him grunt out and the next one sees his hold on me weaken and I slip out like an eel. I’m up, disoriented, but up, and I heave in lungfuls of air. I can barely see through the blood streaming from my face – I’m sure he’s broken my nose and the blood has spread all over me, but I’m up and still fighting.

Growling, I take a step forward and then another. I fake a kick at his abdomen and then counter with a swinging high-kick that hits him square in the face, the ball pf my foot connecting with his jaw. He flies back into the cage and I’m on him like an animal. I don’t see anything but red and the next thing I know, I’m being torn off his limp body by countless strong arms, howling insults at him and trying to kick at anyone around me.

“Memphis, fucking chill,” Sage hisses in my ear and that’s like a bucket of ice to the face.

It’s like I’m coming out of a trance. I look at Sawyer and Salem and they’re both out cold. Sawyer looks like it would take a team of experts to put his face back where it belongs. He looks like Mr. Potato head now, everything sort of off from where it should be. I’m wheezing and my vision is hazy at the edges.

Not this again.

I haven’t gotten like this since that night. The night my parents were killed. I thought I wasn’t capable of that anymore, but I guess the thought of losing Adrienne was enough to send me into a blind rage again.

“I’m fine, I’m cool! Let me the fuck go,” I snarl, and Sage and two other goons I probably know let me go.

I almost crumple to the ground when they do, but I right myself, leaning against the fencing. The crowd has gone entirely quiet, not a fucking peep coming from them. I look out onto the sea of faces and all I see is awe. Awe and fear.

Angel of fucking Pain. I didn’t get that for nothing.

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine,” I mutter under my breath, looking up at the balcony.

Wilson doesn’t look particularly pleased. Adrienne’s face is a mask of horror, but she manages to give me a little smile as our gazes meet. Thank fucking Christ. If she would have looked away in disgust, I don’t know what I would have done.

Clearing his throat, Wilson gets up and yanks the pretty lady I noticed coming in under armed guard during the match to her feet again. Adrienne looks like she’s about to pass out. My ears are still ringing, but since Wilson’s the only one making a peep in the huge, damp, dark room, I catch every word.

“Wasn’t that a great fight, folks?” he asks, and no one dares answer.

I feel the weight of countless gazes on me and I snarl in response. A woman giggles somewhere. I bet she’s trying to find out whether she could come to my room tonight, see the Angel of Pain in action up close and personal.

“You’re damn right it was,” Wilson continues, unperturbed by the stunned silence. “But that’s not the only good news I have. As many of you may know, our good old friend Nicholas Hanson passed away some time ago, leaving his poor wife Valerie and his lovely daughter Adrienne to mourn after him. I have taken them under my wing and tonight, I have some excellent news to share with all of you!”

I straighten myself, wincing as I do so. I don’t want to miss a word. Valerie looks like she’s seen a ghost, she’s stiff, quiet and keeps her eyes down. Adrienne on the other hand has all the makings of someone who is about to push a man off a balcony. Shame Wilson’s standing too far from the edge, I’d love to finish him off if he ended up in my cage.