Page 17 of Royal
The very definiteFuck you, I’ll do what I wantis written all over her pretty features. She rips herself from my steely gaze and sits her lush ass between them. Wilder gives me the smallest of nods. Good. They understand. This is going to work perfectly.
And as for Echo?Game on, baby. Game on.
I swing my head back to Bear, just in time for the ref to tell us to touch gloves, and then, it’s fucking on.
Bear eyes me with deadly determination. The guy is intimidating as fuck. He’s a beast in the ring, all six foot six of him, and because of this, his dad has him fighting in the main event almost every damn weekend. And the hell of it is that the guy doesn’t lose. I guess I should have been honored when I received the call from Derek Pierce that it’d be me up against his son in the first match of the semester. I don’t claim to know the guy’s motives. But with a lot of money on the line at every fight, I do know that he simply wants it to be a good fight. Can’t put little asswipes in here and let Bear pummel the shit out of them. That’s no fun for anyone, except the real sickos who enjoy seeing a lesser fighter get beaten to a pulp.
I prefer a real motherfucking fight. An all-out battle of evenly matched opponents. And that’s exactly what Bear’s about to give me.
We circle, sizing each other up. The corner of his mouth twitches a bit, and like lightning, his fist shoots out. I dodge it just in time, then throw one of my own punches at his stomach. With these big guys, sometimes a bunch of hits to the body are the way to go. Tires them out. Or the legs. I fire off a kick to the side of his calf. He grunts. Smiles. And comes forward with a barrage of fists so fast, I realize if I’m not at the top of my game tonight, I’m going to get my ass completely handed to me.
Despite having that knowledge, my eyes slip to the bench, noting Wilder in conversation with Echo. A huff of air blows from my nostrils, and I clamp down hard on my mouth guard just as one of Bear’s punches glances off my cheekbone.Motherfucker.I bounce a few paces back, reassessing.
It goes on like that until the ref calls time on round one. Breath heaving from me, I touch gloves with Bear before turning around to grab my water from just outside the cage. Without my friends right there, this all feels fucking weird, but whatever. I remove the mouthpiece and take a swig, then set it down and grab a towel to mop my face free of sweat. That done, I squat, opening a jar of Vaseline to swipe over my cheekbones and brows. I don’t need one of his punches landing and splitting open my face.
Eyeing the trio on my bench, I shoot them a dirty look before wiping my fingers clean and chucking the Vaseline at Wilder. It almost hits him in the forehead, but he manages to catch it before it does. They might be doing what I asked, but tit for tat, buddy. I huff out a breath and return to the cage.
I’m mentally preparing to go another five minutes with Bear, which is a grueling prospect at best, when Echo hops up from the bench to grab the Round Two card. She lifts it over her head and parades her way around the ring, teasing the entire warehouse as she goes. Echo may not look like a fucking blow-up sex doll like Morgan does, but the focus across the board is pretty evenly split between the two cage girls. I want to rip all the eyeballs glued to her tits and ass right out of the sockets of their owners.
As she passes the bench on the way to set the card down, Beckham reaches out and playfully swats her ass. His palm. Her ass.
Fury blooms behind my eyes, lighting the fuse on a bomb that’s about to go off in my head.Fucker.
She whirls around, and the cheeky devil shrugs, shooting her a beguiling grin. Shaking her head at his mischievous stunt, she returns to the bench and sits right down between them again.
I meet Beckham’s smooth grin with an irritated glare. Some of it’s fake. For show. Some of it’s real. He’s doing what I asked of him. Getting close to her. Even so, I feel my blood getting hotter and hotter the more I witness. I’ve gotta put it out of my head or channel it into the fight. The latter is probably easier because there’s simply no forgetting what is going on over at my bench.
The second and third rounds pass in a blur of fists and grappling and sweat as Bear and I go back and forth, both gunning for the win. Without Wilder coaching me through this, I’m finding it hard to know exactly what the judges are seeing and how they’d be scoring the match. Bear is a fierce competitor, though, and when it’s all said and done, the announcer shouts that Bear has won by unanimous decision. It grates on my nerves, but I can’t deny that he probably deserved the win.Motherfucker.At least he can’t say he fucking knocked me out or won by submission.
Still, I’m pissed. Because I can’t help but think that I’d have done better if I hadn’t been worrying about what was going on with Echo right under my damn nose. My rage channels in the only direction I have left.
Livid, I come down the stairs from the cage, take one look at Wilder, and give his shoulder a rough shove that has him stumbling backward before I turn and plow my fist into Beckham’s gut. I heave out, “That’s for swatting my girl’s ass.”
Echo’s face is pale. Stunned. And as the surprise at my actions and words continues to roll through her, I stoop, banding my arms around her waist to pick her up. My skin is sweat-slickened, and her body slides against mine, clawing a groan right out of my chest.
With the way I’m carrying her, she’s forced to either wrap her legs around my hips or let them dangle. Doesn’t matter to me what she chooses to do, all I know is I’m not putting her down until I have her to myself. She must understand her options—either she makes this look like I’m an asshole barbarian hauling her off or she goes for more of a can’t-wait-to-take-care-of-my-fighter vibe. A moment later, her decision seems to have been made as her thighs squeeze me tightly and her hands scramble to get a grip on my shoulders. I barrel across the warehouse, through the gawking crowd, and she doesn’t produce so much as a peep of dismay.
We reach the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, and she finally sputters, “Wait. What are you doing? I have to find Freya.” And then the struggle commences. “Let me down.” Smacking at me, her chest heaves. “I don’t have to go anywhere with you. Nobody warned me about what this cage girl gig entailed. If they had, or if they’d told me it was foryou,I sure as shit wouldn’t have shown up in the first place.”
“What? And dishonor your mom by embarrassing her sorority?” I huff out a laugh when that shuts her up. “Your girl is busy with her man. And I’m afraid you’re wrong about that other bit. You do have to be here with me. You have your end of the deal to uphold, princess.”
I manage to let us into the dressing room assigned to me, all while she’s flailing and squirming, then slam the door behind us. Temper flaring, I drop her to her feet and turn, shoving her against the wall beside the door. The expression on her face when her hands end up above her head again is almost comical. She’s spitting mad, but not angrier than I am. I’ve built up a whole head of steam throughout the fight as I watched the tiny touches both Wilder and Beckham got away with. A squeeze of a shoulder here, a pat of the knee there. A fucking hand on her goddamn ass. A frenzy of savage, irrational thoughts slam through my head, and at the center of all of them is Echo.
“Who do you think you fuckin’ are?” I snarl and, as my venomous words tumble out, my hand snakes down her body. Touching her. Memorizing the new and different way she feels. “You’remycage girl. You don’t invite other fucking dudes to my bench. Not acceptable.”
Anger of her own flashes in her green eyes. “They’re just friends, you belligerent asshole. And you’re out of your mind if you think anything you say to me matters, Royal. I’m not yours. I never will be again.” She twists in my grip, writhing against me and riling me up all at once. “Let me go.”
“What, do you need me to chase you to make this hot enough? You need to be panting and gasping for air when I catch you and make you come?”
“I never wanted any of it,” she grits out, bucking wildly, her words like stabs of a dull knife to my heart. “I don’t want you,” she raggedly breathes out.
But it’s there in her eyes, the lust we both know she felt the moment I reminded her of our past. The memories I have of her had gotten me through over a thousand lonely fucking nights, even if they also slashed my soul to pieces, knowing I wasn’t good enough for her.
I let out a guttural growl. “Little liar, I’ll make you fucking pay for the lies you tell.”
Her chest heaves and jerks against mine in her fury. “You don’t deserve my truth,” she seethes.
“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t know the truth if it hit you over the head with a flashing neon sign.” My fingertips slip under the small triangle of fabric covering her tit. “If you don’t want me, why is your needy little nipple begging for me?” Her breath stutters as I squeeze and play with it. “If I slip my hand under your skirt, what will I find? Have you drenched your panties for me? Or are you wearing any at all?”
