Page 1 of Only for You
Chapter One
Grunts. The wet suction of metal slamming into flesh and jerking free. The dark crimson splash of blood. The tangy, wet-penny scent of it heavy in the air.
The large, meaty fist crashed into Killian Vincent’s jaw, and his head snapped back. He welcomed the hot blaze of pain. Loved it.
More.
Another blow to his jaw. A red haze dropped over his vision.
The clang of a steel door closing. The stygian darkness. The walls and ceiling inching closer…closer…sucking the air from his lungs. “I can’t breathe. I’m going to die…”
He shot his arm out, the swing a bit wild, a lot desperate. But accurate. Bone connected with his knuckles, transmitting a jagged, almost pleasurable vibration up his arm, into his shoulder.
Yes.More.
His opponent, probably some frat boy slumming it for shits and giggles, grinned. “What’s the matter, bitch?” he sneered, flashing a cocky smile that had probably cost his parents thousands. “You look a little tired there. Not used to having your ass kicked?”
Less talk. More punching. As long as flesh connected with flesh and pain white-washed thought, the memories didn’t choke him.
He cranked his jaw from side to side, then ducked the fist flying toward his throat. Killian slammed his own into the preppy, wannabe badass’s kidney. The fresh meat doubled over, and Killian jacked up his knee, ramming it into the guy’s face. Blood spurted, splattering Killian’s skin and the dirty cement floor of the abandoned Boston warehouse. The crowd surrounding the makeshift ring roared, the sight of so much blood rousing them into a fury. But Killian backed off, balancing on the soles of his booted feet.
C’mon, man. Fight, he silently urged the preppy. The demons in his head hadn’t quieted yet, though their noise had muted some since the fight began. But not completely.
The guy stumbled backward, dropping his guard and clutching his bleeding nose. Growling, Killian advanced and let loose with a flurry of punches to the abdomen, chest, and finally, to the jaw. The other man dropped to the ground, his head bouncing hard off the crimson-spattered cement.
Get up, damn it.He wasn’t ready to call it quits. This bout hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. The memories still lurked in his head, flickered in the shadows.
When the preppy didn’t move after several long moments, Killian strode out of the makeshift ring in disgust. When the asshole eventually came to, it was going to be a long, painful ride back to Beacon Hill or whatever rich part of Boston he’d traveled from.
The yells and shouts of the hyped-up crowd rose to a deafening din, bouncing off the bare walls of the warehouse. Men in business suits or jeans and T-shirts. Women in short, designer dresses or cutoffs and skimpy tops. Rich, poor, black, white, gay, straight. Watching one man beat the shit out of the other was equal opportunity entertainment.
Killian ignored them all, pushing through the mob of bodies. They parted for him, but more than a few women grabbed at his arms or stroked a hand over his chest, grazing his nipple piercing. If he stopped, they would all issue the same invitation:Want to fuck?Some of the women came to these things specifically to ball a fighter. But none of them interested him.
Not that he wasn’t down to screw.
Fighting and fucking… They were the only things that quieted the incessant drone buzzing under his skin and the memories clawing at the inside of his skull.
“Vincent.” The harsh, smoke-blackened voice halted him as he snatched up the T-shirt he’d dumped in the back corner before his fight.
Glancing at Rick Lester, the organizer of these underground fights, Killian dragged his shirt over his head before answering. “Yeah.”
“You keep knocking ’em out that quick, people get disgruntled about not getting their money’s worth. And it’s becoming hard to find someone to go up against you.”
Killian shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I’m not taking a dive for anyone. So get better opponents.”
Even in the dark warehouse, Rick’s eyes gleamed like the sly ferret he resembled. “Tomorrow night. I can line you up with Ben Trainor. What’d you say? You up for it?”
Ben Trainor. The man had a reputation for being brutal, merciless. Known for fighting dirty.
Perfect.
“Yeah. I’ll be here,” Killian growled.
Half an hour later, a roll of cash in his pocket, he handed his keys to a valet and looked up at the huge, converted brick warehouse that dominated most of the block in Boston’s upscale Leather District.
Lick.
The club he and his best friends, Rion Ward and Sasha Merchant, owned together. The three of them had come from nothing—broken homes, screwed-up parents, the Irish mob. Through jail, getting shot…and worse…they’d survived and finally escaped a world that would’ve eventually left them dead or back in the hell also known as prison. Now they were legitimate businessmen, owners of Boston’s newest and most exclusive aphrodisiac club. They were their own men, their loyalty to no one but each other and the two new women in Rion and Sasha’s lives.
