Page 14 of Fighting the Darkness

I lift an eyebrow at Quinn, and she just shrugs. “People eat that shit up, and it’s not like it isn’t true.”

“First, I’d like to invite Soren “Hellhound” Huxley to the cage.”

Music blares from the speakers, nearly cutting off the announcer’s words. “Heart of a Champion’ by Hollywood Undead blares around us, and I smile.

“What’s this?” I ask, unsure why the music is playing. Not that I’m complaining because I love this song.

“The music?” Quinn asks, smiling at my nod. “All the big fighters have their own entrance songs.”

“I like to think of them as their theme songs,” Vicki replies, and I laugh.

So what does this song say about the fighter, I wonder?

The crowd parts, a light shining down to highlight the fighter making his way toward the cage.

He’s fucking gorgeous. His dark hair is buzzed close to his head and his body is amazing. I wouldn’t mind licking those abs. He’s definitely older than me. I haven’t dated many older men before, but I think I could get on board with this one.

Heat courses through me, surprising me. When was the last time I felt lust? When I felt anything but grief? I guess with Wilder there had been some lust mixed in with the rage.

“He’s pretty to look at, isn’t he?” Quinn asks, and I jerk my head around to look at her. “You’ve got a little bit of drool.”

I flip her off when she gestures to her own chin. I wasn’t drooling. It’s not my fault he’s hot as shit. I’m not blind.

“Next, I’d like to invite Wilder “Black Mamba” Finch to the cage.”

Once again, I recognize the song that fills the warehouse. “Thunder” by Imagine Dragons. Oh, yeah. That one definitely fits him. Even just that first line is him to a tee.

Just a young gun with a quick fuse.

I lick my lips as my eyes catch on his figure as he walks through the crowd.

Damn, Wilder is hot on the worst of days but in those fighting shorts with his chest and abs on display? I wouldn’t mind licking him too—all over. His black hair is perfectly styled, something that confuses me. Why fix his hair before a fight? What a prima donna.

His head jerks up and, I swear, his eyes meet mine across the warehouse as he stops walking for just a moment. His jaw clenches before he rips his gaze away and makes his way to the cage.

Soren has already climbed inside, moving from side to side as he talks to someone I can’t quite make out through the cage. He nods his head but keeps his back turned as Wilder climbs into the cage.

The announcer comes back over the speakers, but I’ve already tuned him out. My eyes are locked on Soren and Wilder in the cage, finally facing one another.

Even from this far away, I can feel the tension between the two of them. I wonder what the story is between the two of them. Not that it’s likely I’ll find out, because I highly doubt Wilder would be willing to tell me.

Then the two of them are fighting, and it’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. It’s clear that both men are evenly matched, but the way they move—it’s like artwork. Violent artwork, obviously, but I can’t tear my eyes away from them as blood flies through the air, Wilder’s head jerking to the side.

The blood pumps in my veins so loudly I can’t hear anything else. It didn’t feel quite like this when I was watching the other fights, but it was similar. I don’t think I could look away from the fight if I wanted to. They’ve sucked me in, and I kind of don’t want them to ever let go.

Goosebumps creep up my arms, watching the violent beauty that is the fight. What I wouldn’t give to be closer to the fight—to be beside the cage. Hell, even in the cage.

To be between the two of them.

Fuck.

I lean forward in my seat as I rub my thighs together, needing some relief from the heat coursing through me. I feel lightheaded at the thought of being pressed between both of their hard bodies as they pleasure me. I lick my lips, losing focus on the fight for a moment as the image runs through my mind.

Yes. Wouldn’t that be the dream?

A groan from the crowd has me blinking against my daydream, watching as Soren hits the mats and Wilder drops beside him, quickly getting him into a hold from behind. Both of them strain—one trying to break free, and the other trying to keep his hold. Their sweaty skin is pressed together, and I lick my lips. I don’t know what is going on with me and my body tonight, but I’m horny as hell.

Is it wrong to objectify these men, imagining them together? Absolutely, but I don’t feel a lick of guilt over it—as long as it stays inside my head where my fantasies are locked away.

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