Page 34 of Rebels & Rejects
The place is already packed, and a fight is currently underway by the sounds of the roaring crowd.
“Oh, we’re just in time,” Jon exclaims with an excited gleam in his eye. Without further explanation, he grabs my hand and yanks me through the crowd. He shed his jacket as soon as we stepped up to the bouncer, so his Reject’s tattoo is prominently on display on his forearm, and the crowd parts easily for us until we’re standing ringside.
My eyes widen in surprise, and I watch, captivated as two men fight each other like wild animals in the ring. They’re both shirtless, sweat and blood coating their bodies. It’s only when I stare mesmerized at the dark-haired fighter, casting my eyes over the various tattoos inked across every available surface of his torso, that I realize it’s Cain.
“It’s no-holds-barred fighting,” the kid explains, and when I tear my eyes away from the fight to look at him, he’s staring in awe at the fighters. Feeling my eyes on him, he turns to look at me. “They can literally do anything, and it’s allowed. Biting, kicking, twisting.” He grins, and in the dark room, with the stench of testosterone in the air, it looks creepy as fuck. “They can even gouge each other’s eyes out.”
That’s not at all disturbing.I return my attention to the cage fight in front of me just in time to see Cain sock the guy in the face, following it up with a blow to his instep that sends his opponent crashing to his knees. Cain smashes his knee into his competitor’s face, simultaneously slamming his fists down on his back, and the guy collapses to the floor as a roar goes up from the crowd.
“Holy fuck,” I murmur in awe.
“Yup. I can’t wait until I can get my chance.”
At his words, I spin to gape at him. Sure, he was able to handle his own against me the other day, and he’s got some muscles on his arms, but he’s nowhere near as broad as either Cain or the other fighter. Besides that, he seems way too fucking young to be in that ring. He could die, for Christ’s sake. What asshole would let one of his men voluntarily go into the ring all so he can, what, claim bragging rights? Fuck no.
I plan on telling him exactly that. Entirely unaware of the anger sparking within me, Jon simply sighs, saying, “But Cain won’t let us until we’re eighteen.”
Huh. Well, just right. “More like twenty-one,” I grumble. It’s not that I’m a stickler for the law or anything, but I can’t look at him without picturing Luc, and there is absolutely no fucking way I would be letting Luc anywhere near this place before he’s twenty-five. Even then, if I could chain him up at home, where I know he’s safe, I’d do exactly that.
“Come on.” Jon gestures toward the bar. “May as well get a drink.”
I open my mouth to protest as I look around me to see where Cain went. Another fight is starting up in the ring, and I scan the throng of people surrounding it, trying to pick him out of the crowd. It takes me a second, but I catch sight of him just before a door on the far side of the room swings shut behind him, astaff-onlysign making me sigh as I turn back to Jon and reluctantly agree to a drink while we wait.
When we finally make it through the crowd surrounding the bar, I order a beer. The kid does the same before turning to look at me. “So you’re the girl that saw the Reaper?”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise. I didn’t expect him to know anything about me. Isn’t that the usual hierarchy in gangs? It strikes me that he might know something of use, so I deflect with a question of my own.
“Why is Cain so interested in the Reaper?”
Jon grins at my deflection. He seems to like that I hold my own against him. “Who wouldn’t be? A badass like that who can literally kill men in their own beds without getting caught?” He shakes his head, the awe apparent in his voice. I wonder if he’d be just as impressed if he knew the Reaper was a woman.
“Doesn’t he kill gang members, though? Shouldn’t you want to stay as far away from him as possible?”
“He ain’t ever killed a Reject.” He smirks, bringing the bottle up to his lips.
I snort, shaking my head, thinking,only because none of you have given me a reason to... yet.
We sip on our beers for a bit, and I gaze around the room. Another fight is underway in the ring, and the dance floor is quickly filling up. Looking to the floor above me, people are pressed up against the railings running alongside the metal wire of the cage, their fingers wrapped around the thin metal as they shake the wire fence, screaming for whichever fighter they're rooting for.
Along with the heavy techno music, it’s a heady atmosphere, doused in pheromones and tinged with violence. It’s a form of escape that’s offered here. A chance for people to leave the dreariness and misery of their everyday lives at the door, and revel in their sins. All around me, men and women are giving into their basic needs—fighting, fucking, forgetting. I can taste the bad intentions in the air. If the gateway to hell were anywhere on earth, it would be here in this very club. I can practically feel the evil spirits as they coax and taunt us, daring us to give in to our desires—for just one night.
My heart rate picks up to match that of the music’s, most likely in tune with every other warm body in this place, and I feel the itching desire to get up and move. I rarely let myself indulge in such frivolity. The only time I come to a club is when I’m pursuing a target, and even though I’m here with a purpose in mind, it doesn’t change the fact that tonight is the first time I’ve been in a club in years when I don’t have to constantly be on alert, watching my six and keeping an eye on whoever I’m stalking.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m no idiot. I’m still very much aware of everyone around me. One always has to be vigilant in Black Creek, but as I polish off my beer and signal the bartender for another one, I figure, while I’m here, I may as well let my hair down a little. Fuck knows, I deserve to have some fun.
The bartender sets two new beers down in front of us, and I down mine before jumping to my feet. “Let’s dance.”
With a cocky grin, the kid hastily gulps down his own before following me out onto the dance floor. I lose myself in the pounding bass of the music, letting it flow through me until it’s controlling my movements, my breathing, my heartbeat. I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes until a set of hands land possessively on my waist.
Scowling, I turn around to bite the asshole’s head off, but the words stick in the back of my throat as I come face-to-face with my mystery man. A coy smile plays at the corner of my lips, matching his lascivious smirk.
“I was hoping I’d see you again.”
I cast a quick look around me, not spotting Jon anywhere, but as the sex-dripping mystery man strokes his thumb back and forth across the strip of bare skin between my top and jeans, I immediately forget all about Jon and Cain and why I’m here. Just that small bit of contact has my blood warming, an excited thrum humming through my veins. What is it about him that makes me feel so alive? So carefree?
“Is that so?” I barely recognize the seductive purr of my own voice.
He steps in closer, his hips pressing against mine, our chests grazing. I have to tilt my head back to look into his face. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his pale blue eyes that’s a contrast to the hard lines around his eyes and lips, reminiscent of an arduous life. There’s a seriousness about him that resonates with me. As if, like myself, he was never able to let loose and just be a kid or an irresponsible teenager. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.