Savage Things (Chaos & Ruin Book 2) (7 page)

Dr. Bochowitz grabs one of my sister’s toes through the sheets and tugs on it playfully. “Of course not. There’s nowhere I would rather be.”

Dr. Romera leaves. It feels like she wants to run out of the room, but she’s doing her best to walk instead. A cold chill runs up and down my spine. What the fuck is up with her? What could possibly have happened during the time I left the room? Doesn’t make any goddamn sense. I swear, I will never understand women.
 

******

Millie falls asleep around nine. I feel like shit for leaving her again after being gone all day, but my hope is she’ll sleep through and won’t miss me until morning. I thought about calling Ben and canceling my fight tonight, but we need the money. Desperately. If I don’t fight, I’m two grand down, and that’s our rent money for the month. That’s money I need to pay our utilities and put food on the table for Millie. It won’t be anywhere near enough to cover the bills we’ve racked up at the hospital—I’ll have to fight again next week to even come close to settling those, which makes me worried. If I don’t win, if I get injured, if Millie’s ill again and I can’t leave her…
 

I’m plagued by ifs.
 

The night air is cool as I climb into my car and head south, out of the city toward La Maison Markets. French’s, an enclosed, dusty, airless storage facility under the markets, will already be thrumming, alive with crowds of people expecting to see blood tonight. They’re bankers and stockbrokers, baggage handlers, mechanics, nannies and chefs. They’re everyone, you and me, people from all walks of life. They’re the people of Seattle unafraid to show their true colors, to cast their money hand over fist as they bay for violence and carnage. They are how I keep the devil from my door, though most of the time they somehow make me feel like I
am
the devil.
 

I park up and head down the narrow staircase that leads into the basement where the fights take place, my head still back at the hospital with Millie. I’m third on the card tonight. I haven’t lost a single fight yet, but I’m still not the main event. There are other fighters, favorites who’ve been kicking the shit out of people way longer than I have, that still claim the title fight. They’re earning upwards of twenty grand a match if they’re good negotiators, and the guy fighting tonight is that and more.
Jameson Rayne
. He’s notorious for his round one knock outs. His right hook is fucking terrifying. You see that thing coming and that’s it. No time for blocking. No counter on earth is good enough to prevent a serious concussion and a few missing teeth. Only the maddest of the mad take on Rayne. Only people like Ben.
 

My best friend greets me out the back, where a hot blonde with gigantic fake tits is stroking her hand up and down his bicep like he’s some kind of fucking demi god. When he looks up and sees me, he slaps the chick on the ass and sends her packing.
 

“She won’t be so eager to bounce up and down on your dick later, when you’re black and blue and humiliated, asshole,” I tell him.

Ben smirks. “So what? My dick’s chaffed raw from her bouncing up and down on it already. I need some time to recover. There’ll be another chick just like her ready to ride my cock in a couple of weeks, and I’ll
still
be flush from this fight.”

He’s right. Rayne may make a shit load of cash from thrashing Ben tonight, but that’s not to say Ben will be going home empty handed. Everyone knows there’s no chance they’ll win against Rayne. It requires a decent purse to entice fighters to come and take the beating of their lives, and tonight it’s Ben’s turn to get thrown around the cage. Crazy bastard.
 

“You given any more thought to what we talked about?” he asks, holding up his hand wraps. I take them from him and begin to wind them around his right hand.
 

“No. You know I can’t leave, man. If there was any way…” A few weeks ago, Ben mentioned that he’s thinking about moving to LA to train with the pros and he hasn’t fucking let up about it since.
 

“They have schools in California, dickwad. They have auto mechanic shops, too.”

“It’s not that simple. Millie’s settled here. She’s got friends. I’d be screwed if Wanda didn’t pick up Millie from school every day. I wouldn’t be able to work.” I don’t mention that I have a DEA agent shoved so far up my ass, she knows exactly what I ate for breakfast. If I try to leave the state, Lowell will have CPS on my doorstep quicker than I can blink.

Ben flexes his hand when I finish wrapping him, easing the material around his knuckles so he can still form a fist. “All I’m saying is Los Angeles is where we need to be if we want to start making any headway in this industry. You know it, and I know it. If we stay here, fighting for chump change every weekend of the year, we’re never gonna end up on cards in Vegas. Joe Rogan ain’t gonna be talking about us on his podcast. This will be it for us. Until Jameson Rayne finally gets knocked the fuck out and makes room for the rest of us, we’ll always be playing second fiddle.”

I don’t give a shit about playing second fiddle. I’m not trying to build a career for myself here. I wouldn’t be fighting at all if I didn’t have Millie to take care of. Ben doesn’t understand this, because he’s young and he has no fucking responsibilities. I may be the same age as him, but I’m fifteen years ahead of him in the dependent stakes, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Every decision I make, every single action, every last move—it’s all for her, and it will be until the day I die. “Whatever, man.” I wrap his other hand while he tries, yet again, to tell me how easy it would be to get a job in LA. How kids Millie’s age always make new friends easy. It’s only when he starts bullshitting about how the hospitals are so much better in Cali and Millie would get better treatment out there that I cut him off.
 

“Look, dude, I just can’t. I’m sorry. Not right now. Maybe in a year or two. I’m sorry.” Ben can tell from my tone of voice that this is the end of our conversation on the topic. He sighs, thumping his fist into his palm, disappointment rolling off him.
 

“All right, Mase. But fuck. A year or two’s a long time in the UFC. I don’t know if I can hang around that long.”

“You should go,” I tell him. “Fuck, go and make your name, man. I don’t wanna be the one keeping you here. You don’t owe me anything.”

Ben grumbles. “You’re such an asshole. If you said don’t go, wait for my ass to be ready, then I’d get mad at you and go. But when you say that shit instead, there’s no way I can leave.”

He’s fucking ridiculous. He makes no sense half the fucking time. I punch him in the gut, hard enough that he doubles over, groaning melodramatically. “If you want me to suck your dick, man, it ain’t gonna happen,” I tell him.
 

Ben howls with laughter. “I already told you, my dick’s chaffed right now. Maybe after I beat Rayne I’ll hit you up for some victory head, though.”

Chapter Seven

MASON

I win my fight, but not without getting my bell rung pretty hard. The guy I’m matched against is a seasoned vet, and I make the mistake of believing he’s flagging in the third round. I get cocky in the fourth, dropping my guard to showcase a little, trying to rile up the crowd some, and that’s when the bastard smashes his fist into the side of my head, right where my jaw bone connects with my skull. They call that the button. The off switch. Get hit hard enough right there and it’s lights out, motherfucker. Thankfully I manage to feint to the left a little, which lessens his blow, otherwise I’d be counting stars and my ass would be hitting the canvas. I stagger back, slamming into the chain link of the cage, and my head starts swimming.
 

I needed the reality check. I needed to feel the panic that comes with the realization that I might actually lose this fight. It spurs me on, fills me with the anger I need to come back swinging. I take the fucker out at the end of the round, sending him crashing to the ground like falling timber. Most of the time, practiced fighters are on the look out for pile-driver hooks and uppercuts from new guys like me, but they’re not as prepared for back kicks and roundhouses. The crowd screams in disbelief as I plant my foot, pivot and land a powerful kick to the side of his head, knocking him clean out, and that’s it. That’s all she wrote.
 

Predictably, Ben gets his ass handed to him in the first round. The crowd loves seeing him sail through the air, falling like a bundle of limp, wet rags onto the canvas as his lights go out. Rayne’s a decent sportsman, crouching down beside Ben and waiting until he regains consciousness before he gets up to celebrate, fist pumping and hollering at the masses of people packed around the cage, who chant his name and rattling the chain link, going wild.

I catch the flash of white-blonde hair by the entrance to the cage and I do my best to get the fuck out of there before the owner of the unmistakable pixie cut catches me, but I’m not quick enough. The crowds move out of the way as hurriedly as they can for me, bodies jostling against bodies, people standing on one another’s feet as I slip through them, but they magically part for Kaya Rayne like she’s the queen of fucking Sheba. Her hand is on my shoulder before I can get halfway to the exit.
 

“Smooth,” she purrs. “And here I was, thinking we were friends.”

I turn and there she stands—perfectly formed, pocketsize Kaya, with her rosebud mouth and devilish twinkle in her pale blue eyes. Damn. I’ve been hiding from her for weeks like a goddamn coward. What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s smoking hot. As far as I can tell, she’s very interested in seeing me naked, which is awesome because I find myself imagining what her nipples look like, how they’d feel in my mouth, at least three or four times a day. Don’t get me started on how much time I spend thinking about her pussy. I should be giving her exactly what she wants: my dick. And yet I can’t. It wouldn’t be even close to fair. My life is a fucking circus right now. To drag her into it would be shitty beyond measure.

“Hey. What’s up?” I rub the back of my neck, scanning the sea of people pressing in around us, trying to see Ben. If I can find him, I’ll be able to use him as an excuse—the old,
I-gotta-go-take-care-of-my-friend
bit. Kaya seems to have other ideas, though.
 

“Hmm. What’s up? Well, lately I’ve been worried about how complicated technology is getting, y’know?”

“I’m sorry?” Her weird response throws me off balance.

“Yeah, you know. Old people can’t work TV remotes anymore. People in their forties can’t figure out social media apps. Now it seems like guys in their mid-twenties don’t even know how to use their cell phones to reply to their text messages.”

Ahhh. That makes more sense. She’s pissed at me. “God, Kaya. I’m sorry. I’ve just been kinda tied up the past few weeks.”

“Literally or figuratively?” She reaches into the pocket of her jacket and pulls something out of it, the end of which goes straight into her mouth. A red vine. The girl seems to have a never-ending supply of the damned things.
 

“Figuatively,” I answer. “Of course not literally.”

“Okay, ‘cause, see, even when people are really busy they still find time to shoot other people a quick text message. It happens all the time. So I asked because I figured, Kaya, give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he actually
was
hog tied in someone’s basement, and he was only released from captivity earlier this afternoon.”

Ben’s nowhere to be seen. Fucking Ben. He’s probably bleeding profusely in the showers by now and I could really use an out. “It just didn’t seem fair,” I say. “I don’t have time for a relationship, Kaya. I like you, I do, but if we hooked up it would only be sex. And I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”

“Why?” She snaps some red vine off in between her teeth and chews, frowning up at me.
 

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to use me for sex? Am I repulsive or something?”

Oh god. How the fuck am I supposed to answer
that
without putting a foot wrong? “You’re beautiful. You know you are. You
know
I wanna fuck you. I just don’t want to
hurt
you.”

Looking around, Kaya laughs quietly down her nose. She doesn’t look hurt. In fact, she looks amused. “You can’t hurt me, sweetheart. You want to fuck me. I want to fuck you. We both want to use each other for sex. So we should.”

I just stare at her. Believe it or not, I’ve been in this position before. Girls have used this line on me in the past, given me the whole, ‘I don’t want anything from you story,’ and then two months down the line they’re trying to sleep over at your place every night and attempting to introduce you to their parents. It never ends well. When Kaya says it, though, I get the impression I’d be the one trying to sleep over at her place every night, attempting to talk her into meeting my parents. I guess there’s no real fear of that happening, since both my mother and father are long dead, but still… Kaya makes me feel like I’m not the one in control here, and I don’t fucking like it. It’s terrifying. I’ve never liked a girl enough to consider picturing where she might slot into my life on a permanent basis. I don’t think Kaya
would
slot into my life. I get the feeling everything would have to change to accommodate her, and that just can’t happen. It’s just not possible.
 

Kaya sucks the red vine into her mouth, wrapping her lips around the twisted red candy, and my dick stirs in my pants. She knows all too well what she’s doing. It’s a cheap and obvious trick, but it’s also really fucking effective. My mind instantly starts showing me how awesome it would be if she were sucking my cock instead of that length of licorice, and she waggles her eyebrows, trying not to grin.
 

“You need to loosen up, Reeves. Not everything has to be serious. Sometimes, things can just be
fun
.” Slowly, she begins to back away, melting into the crowd, and I’m painfully fucking aware of the fact that I’m still in the tight shorts I fought in, and I’m about to be sporting an obvious boner. “If you remember how to use that cell phone of yours, you should reply to one of my texts. I’d love to help you relax sometime soon.” She gives me a tiny wave, and then she vanishes, swallowed by the surging flood of people now trying to leave French’s since the fights are over with.