edge and leaned on the ropes. “Hey, do you know who I’m fighting yet?”
“Her name’s Layla. And she’s an asshole.” He kept walking, pushed open a side door and paused. He looked back at her. “And just remember what they say.”
“Which is what?”
“You never forget your first.”
With a nod of his head, he was gone.
When the door slammed, the auditorium was eerily quiet, and her fatigue from earlier had all but vanished. Moving to the center of the ring, she threw a few punches at her soon-to-be rival.
“My first,” she whispered to the empty space. First fight, first asshole fucked—she didn’t know which he referred to. Didn’t care. There would be quite a few cherries popped in a few days, if she had anything to say about it.
“An asshole.” KC pictured her opponent on her knees, ass in the air, with KC’s strap on deep in her ass. Her clit tingled at the thought of taking her first victory fuck. “I can most definitely handle an asshole.”
Chapter Five
Training.
She hadn’t just been training for a few weeks. Nor a few months. This night had been years in the making.
Hundreds and hundreds of days.
Thousands of hours.
Millions of heartbeats counting down to the moment she sat in the corner of The Cage with Creed at her back, his voice in her ear, telling her what she should do to plunder the woman facing off with her in the opposite corner.
Boomer told her the day before that Creed didn’t coach many of the Rapers anymore during the fights. Usually, he left that to Boomer, Jackal or Rage. Too busy growing the business, his attention was shanghaied in too many directions, and he didn’t want to fuck with a fighter’s focus so he stepped back.
But not with her.
She felt special and loved it.
And he was right.
Layla, whose fighting name was, The Torturer, was definitely an asshole.
KC had no clue how many bruises she was gonna sport the next day from the short redhead she’d been fighting. Her back was tight and she felt as though she’d pulled a muscle around a rib, and several of the hits she’d taken had ranged somewhere between unsportsmanlike and downright illegal. Even in their world. “She fights dirty.”
“Then stop toying with her and finish it.”
She halfway smiled and glanced over her shoulder at the man she wanted. Then she affixed her eyes on her target again. “What makes you think I’m playing with her?”
“I know how you move. I’ve studied how you fight the past few weeks. You’re a machine. Better than most. As if your ego needs another boost,” he muttered when she let him see her smirk. “I bet you’ve already picked apart each of her weak points and devised a handful of strategies on how to flip the odds in your favor.”
She smiled again, but didn’t turn around.
He held her shoulder and rubbed one of the tight muscles close to the top. “So I know you’re just fucking with her, and letting her think she has a chance. It’s an interesting ploy.”
Shaking her head, she stretched her neck and settled into the easy working relationship they’d seemed to find together the past few days. “It’s no ploy.”
“Tomato, tamato. Then what do you want to call it?”
“Her biggest problem? She’s too cocky. Thinks she can’t be beaten, and she’d gotten sloppy. So, I call it a derivation on the underdog property. Everyone loves a story of triumph. None of the people that paid to see the fights tonight has any clue who I am. None. I’m a faceless girl who’s about to get her ass handed to her. Well, you know what I mean.” She paused for a second and studied the other woman. The ref for the evening stepped away from the ropes, signaling the last break was about to come to an end. “But, tonight. In a few minutes. They will all know who I am.”
They both stood, and KC found her focus.
“And who are you, Gladi-Raper?” Creed was so close his lips brushed her neck when he spoke.
“I. Am. Spartacus.”
A
“Her name’s Layla. And she’s an asshole.” He kept walking, pushed open a side door and paused. He looked back at her. “And just remember what they say.”
“Which is what?”
“You never forget your first.”
With a nod of his head, he was gone.
When the door slammed, the auditorium was eerily quiet, and her fatigue from earlier had all but vanished. Moving to the center of the ring, she threw a few punches at her soon-to-be rival.
“My first,” she whispered to the empty space. First fight, first asshole fucked—she didn’t know which he referred to. Didn’t care. There would be quite a few cherries popped in a few days, if she had anything to say about it.
“An asshole.” KC pictured her opponent on her knees, ass in the air, with KC’s strap on deep in her ass. Her clit tingled at the thought of taking her first victory fuck. “I can most definitely handle an asshole.”
Chapter Five
Training.
She hadn’t just been training for a few weeks. Nor a few months. This night had been years in the making.
Hundreds and hundreds of days.
Thousands of hours.
Millions of heartbeats counting down to the moment she sat in the corner of The Cage with Creed at her back, his voice in her ear, telling her what she should do to plunder the woman facing off with her in the opposite corner.
Boomer told her the day before that Creed didn’t coach many of the Rapers anymore during the fights. Usually, he left that to Boomer, Jackal or Rage. Too busy growing the business, his attention was shanghaied in too many directions, and he didn’t want to fuck with a fighter’s focus so he stepped back.
But not with her.
She felt special and loved it.
And he was right.
Layla, whose fighting name was, The Torturer, was definitely an asshole.
KC had no clue how many bruises she was gonna sport the next day from the short redhead she’d been fighting. Her back was tight and she felt as though she’d pulled a muscle around a rib, and several of the hits she’d taken had ranged somewhere between unsportsmanlike and downright illegal. Even in their world. “She fights dirty.”
“Then stop toying with her and finish it.”
She halfway smiled and glanced over her shoulder at the man she wanted. Then she affixed her eyes on her target again. “What makes you think I’m playing with her?”
“I know how you move. I’ve studied how you fight the past few weeks. You’re a machine. Better than most. As if your ego needs another boost,” he muttered when she let him see her smirk. “I bet you’ve already picked apart each of her weak points and devised a handful of strategies on how to flip the odds in your favor.”
She smiled again, but didn’t turn around.
He held her shoulder and rubbed one of the tight muscles close to the top. “So I know you’re just fucking with her, and letting her think she has a chance. It’s an interesting ploy.”
Shaking her head, she stretched her neck and settled into the easy working relationship they’d seemed to find together the past few days. “It’s no ploy.”
“Tomato, tamato. Then what do you want to call it?”
“Her biggest problem? She’s too cocky. Thinks she can’t be beaten, and she’d gotten sloppy. So, I call it a derivation on the underdog property. Everyone loves a story of triumph. None of the people that paid to see the fights tonight has any clue who I am. None. I’m a faceless girl who’s about to get her ass handed to her. Well, you know what I mean.” She paused for a second and studied the other woman. The ref for the evening stepped away from the ropes, signaling the last break was about to come to an end. “But, tonight. In a few minutes. They will all know who I am.”
They both stood, and KC found her focus.
“And who are you, Gladi-Raper?” Creed was so close his lips brushed her neck when he spoke.
“I. Am. Spartacus.”
A
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