Page 14 of Make Me, Break Me

DEX

Taking hits became synonymous with fucking Zin because my Friday night memories were the way I distracted myself when the easy shots came flying at my face that I had to take and take and take. I kept my hands taut at my sides as I recalled sinking balls deep in her pretty, hot little pussy and pretended the blood dripping down my face was her juices creaming on my lips.

I had to admit, she tasted better. Sounded better than Jericho screaming obscenities from the other side of the cage, too.

I flipped him off for the hell of it, delivered a roundhouse kick because I could with my eyes closed—that last because the bastard I fought had opened a cut over my eyebrow and my vision turned red in the last thirty seconds—and risked knocking the fucker out. Pity it didn’t work. I would have worn Beau’s wrath for that little misdemeanor.

Instead, I took a kick to the back that knocked into my healed ribs and cracked them anew. A sound like a wheezing, dying dinosaur left my lips before I could tamp it down. I slammed my fist onto the cement floor once and something else popped.

Pinkies are overrated anyway.

A boot rocked my stomach, and I spat blood onto the floor. Fuck, I was getting killed and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I turned my head to the side, spotting Beau’s ugly mug in the crowd at the back in his customary place between the twins where they flanked him like pale bodyguards.

Last time,I mouthed, and rolled sideways, facing the asshole grinning down at me. I flipped him off, too. “Heard your mother is watching. I know she’s loose, but thought I’d have a go later. Show her how to give you a brother with real DNA.”

The man’s face purpled as his eyes bugged out comically as a vein popped somewhere around his temple. His next kick aimed for my head.

I stared at the swinging fluorescent lights inside Jericho's office from the floor and tried not to think about what the hell I was lying on. From the accumulated grit in his trailer, the man had never vacuumed in his life. The fight ring was probably cleaner. At least it got hosed down once a night.

“You gonna tell me who?”

I stared at the rusty wire the light hung from. One end that bore chew marks. “Fucking rats,” I realized. “You need an exterminator or some shit.”

“We aren’t all fucking rich boys. Is that who’s paying you to throw fights? You’re fucking with my life, kid.”

I turned my head. “No one is paying me to do shit.” The simple motion hurt, and my stomach revolted.

Jericho pointed to the door. “If you’re gonna puke, do it the fuck outside.”

I shoved up and made it to the door before bile left my mouth in a projectile motion. I decorated the parking lot andheaved until my stomach flipped over a few times on a personal rollercoaster ride I didn’t appreciate.

Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand I made it back into his office and found a chair to collapse into. My ribs protested every breath as well as every cramp but my stomach didn’t care about my current pain threshold.

“I’m not here for dirty money.” I took the beer Jericho offered. “You gonna throw me off the fights?”

He snorted. “Not fucking likely. You bring in too much cash. But if you’ve got trouble, I have muscle who can help you out of it.”

I stared at him, exasperated. “Then I what, owe you instead? I already have one problem. I like you. But you don’t own me.”

Jericho smirked. “It was worth a try.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You got a ride?” He frowned. “I heard your ribs go. You’re not fighting for a while. I’ll pay you if you can emcee for a few weeks.”

“Shit, I'll do that for free. You suck.”

“Little shit.”

We shook on it and I walked out of his trailer, trying to flip my phone in my left hand, and fumbled the grab. My coordination sucked as badly as Jericho's fight ring callouts. From the swelling in my right hand, I’d either dislocated my pinky or broken it. Sighing, I called Falcon, but his phone rang out. I sent a message, but that bounced too.

The hell is he doing?

I flipped it again and caught it. Okay, if Falcon wasn’t answering, maybe I could walk to the hospital. Again?—

Which had been hell last week.

Or I could call Zin.

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