Page 50 of Nothing To Lose
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I thought celebrating would involve morenudity, but it turns out to be standing in the middle of a loud, crowded room full of hundreds of people screaming for blood.
To be fair, the original destination was supposed to be a new ice cream place that supposedly has great dairy-free options. And while I'd still prefer an orgasm over ice cream, it's a close second. But I didn't even get the ice cream. What I got instead is just anxiety inducing.
This is your own damn fault.
I couldn't let Isaac pass up this opportunity, though. He got a call from a promoter friend needing a fighter for an event tonight, and the guy was desperate. It seemed like Isaac was going to say no right off the bat, but apparently, I'm still feeling cocky after walking away from my father. I started asking questions, and eventually, Isaac handed me the phone so I could talk to his good buddy, Jimmy, myself. Somehow, I ended up negotiating a favor that involves a higher cut of the profits and got him to agree to host one of his popular fight events for Isaac's grand opening.
Now I'm here. Standing next to a giant cage, waiting for Isaac to potentially get his teeth knocked out. The guy he's fighting was just announced with much fanfare and entered the cage. He's huge! I don't understand how the weight classes work, because I expected someone closer to Isaac's size. Maybe the rules are a little looser when they aren't sanctioned professional fights?
It smells like sweat and the metallic tinge of blood. The overhead spotlights glare down on the cage, illuminating it from every angle. The venue is a community arena, and there are a surprising amount of people packing the stands. Lucky me, I get to be up close to the action in the VIP floor area. Apparently, being close enough that you could get sprayed with sweat or blood is a selling point. Who knew?
When they announce Isaac "The Rogue" Casey, there's an odd response from the crowd. There's cheering, but there's also a low murmur of discussion, like people know who he is and are surprised to see him. There's a lot of gawking as he makes his way to the cage. I'm also gawking, but for a different reason that has nothing to do with his fighting reputation and everything to do with all the skin on display. He’s all greased up and shiny and it’s doing something to me. Maybe he can get this over quickly and I can lick him like the ice cream I was promised.
The bell rings, and I swear my heart skips a beat. The big guy charges in first, meaty fists up, but I can tell right away that he's all brute strength and no finesse. Isaac barely moves, just weaves enough to dodge his opponent's clumsy swings. More than once, a hit lands, and the more I pay attention, the more I see that Isaac isn't doing much to fight back or even block. I don’t understand what’s happening. It goes against everything he’s been teaching me.
A solid jab to his ribs reverberates in my own bruised torso. A right hook snaps his head to the side, but his face remains impassive. Blood trickling from a cut on his cheekbone is the only evidence he's affected at all.
The first round drags on, Isaac throwing lazy punches—light taps that only serve to rile the other guy up. The crowd is getting pissed, but there's a low rumble of laughter that's starting to piss off the big guy. His swings are getting sloppy.
Finally, a bell rings, signaling a break, but I don't move. When the fighters move to their respective corners, I don't approach the cage. I stay planted where I am, arms crossed, pulse hammering in my ears. I should go over there and tell him to stop screwing around and fight back.What is he even doing?But I don't. I'm frozen in place.
Round two begins, and Jimmy the promoter joins me on the floor. There's more of the same nonsense from the first round. Isaac fucking around, dodging some punches and kicks, absorbing others like they're love taps. Like he isn't getting paid to fight but to bait the other guy and endure being hit over and over.
The crowd roars in frustration. They want carnage, but all they're getting is an almost bored looking Isaac screwing around. Then the giant lands a hard kick to his body, enough to send Isaac stumbling back.
He laughs.Fucking laughs.He catches a hard jab to the mouth, his lip splitting open. Blood covers his teeth when he smiles.
He's insane.
"What is he doing?" I mutter to myself.
Jimmy leans in. "He gets paid more if the fight lasts all three rounds. He's just having some fun."
Fun.Right.What the fuck is wrong with these people?
I press my lips together, nerves and frustration competing for space in my stomach. The round ends, and this time, Jimmy pushes me towards the cage.
Isaac wipes sweat from his forehead, smearing blood across his face. He looks unhinged. Feral.
I want to yell at him to stop screwing around, but I don't. Because as much as I don't want to admit it, he's beautiful like this, wild and reckless and untouchable.
"Could you maybe not mess up your pretty face any more than you already have?" I ask, trying to sound casual. He sees through me.
His smile stretches wider. How did I not realize he's deranged?
"You're not worried about me, are you kitten?"
I roll my eyes, but before I can say anything snarky, something in his expression shifts. He crooks a finger at me, and I step closer without thinking.
Fingers pinch my shirt through the gaps in the fencing, pulling me flush against the cage. His mouth crashes to mine, tongue snaking in to play with mine, tasting like sweat and copper. The noise of the crowd fades to a dull roar. All I can hear are his ragged breaths, the low moan he feeds into my mouth, and my frantically beating heart. He kisses me like I'm the only thing that matters. All in, no hesitation, no fear.
Through the links of the chain, my fingers caress over the tattoo on his rib cage.
Nothing to lose. Everything to gain.
I'm dazed when he pulls back. Speechless. And I have a fucking boner in public.
