Page 13 of Rogue
Money or no money, getting my revenge or not, coming to Hell Camp was a stupid idea.
With shaky hands, I pop open a bottle of water and take a sip.
Aside from Francis, I’m dealing with cavemen here. Every single man is built—or just big all around. “Ex-military, street thugs, convicts . . . only the best,” Hayden had said. No way in hell will I survive a fight with any of these professionals if weapons are involved. Maybe I should fight like a woman and throw them off their game. Does a tiny white string bikini qualify as physical weaponry? Dumb thinking. Any one of them would likely cop a feel with one hand and slit my throat with the other. I take another sip of water and think,What am I good at?
I swallow hard, then my eyebrows arch. That’s it. I quickly scribble down my sudden yet brilliant idea and, folding the paper, slide it into the blue box.
Time to start assessing the competition. Moving away from the table, I work my way back into the crowd.
I naturally find myself searching out the man responsible for dragging me before Hayden, and—aided by some screwy decision-making on my part—into this mess.
Instead I catch Declan’s attention. I offer a friendly smile—why make an enemy of the fiercest man here?
His brows immediately furrow and I swear to God, he bares his teeth to me.
Okay. Wrong man to faux-friend.
I hastily turn away, only to come face-to-face with the man I’d nailed in the balls. “Bitch is back,” he bites out to the guy next to him. Yep, Ball-Busted is a man with a short fuse and a long memory.
With a shrug of my shoulders that only irritates him more, I begin to circle the room, repeating a drill I often do at the Dayton gym. It’s helpful to pause and take notice of your competition, their strengths, their weaknesses. Though as I hit the halfway mark around the room, I’m starting to think these cavemen came out of their mamas’ wombs with raised fists.
“Chiquita, roll those hips at the wrong guy and you’re going to be fighting a different battle.” I turn toward a man with hair the color of black ink and with brown eyes filled with such unbridled lust, he could set the room on fire. “Diego,” he says, sticking out his hand.
I take it and feel the tight, powerful squeeze of his fingers. Jesus. I’ve poked a puma with one shake of my hip. A sexy, warm-blooded cat, ready and raring to pounce. “Kylie,” I reply, withdrawing my hand but standing my ground nevertheless.
He flashes a predatory smile at me.
Back at you, I think, giving him my best faux grin.
He nods, and I get the impression I’ve somehow earned his respect. “Better prepare yourself. You’re going to need to do more than shake your ass if you want to survive Hell Camp.”
“Shake my bootie? How about I give three shakes of a firm fist cast in your direction?”
“Guess I’m the lover and you’re the fighter.” With a conspiratorial grin, he stalks off.
I ignore his warning and continue my rounds until the weapons arrive and an excited murmur sweeps across the room.
Yeah, men and their toys.
I’m handed a small plastic bag. “Hey, handsome,” I say to the harried deliveryman, “do a girl a favor? Turn off the air conditioning. It’s going to be hard enough fighting these beasts without my nipples perking up and getting in the way. Pleaseee.”
Fighting back a wince—Jesus, this innocent female bullshit is for the birds—I watch as he rushes out of the room, only to reappear a few minutes later.
Still, anxiety kicks in as I take in the literal arsenal of weapons he proceeds to hand out. Knives, machetes, chains, and ropes, you name it. Men begin posturing, attitudes switching on a dime toward the ugly. Hand a guy a weapon and his machismo kicks in. As if his weapon is an extension of his penis.
With a sigh, I get busy, twisting off the caps on the water bottles and methodically adding my own special flavoring to them. Then it’s caps back on with no one the wiser. But will this work?
I take an unpolluted bottle and return to the group being gathered around the boxing ring. My spine stiffens when I spy the ringleader—Hayden. I keep searching, looking for another man until, at long last, I spot his blond-haired head.
Our eyes connect.
Jaxson winks.
My lips part in surprise.
Then Hayden speaks, and I feel a sense of loss as his attention shifts away. “I suggest you hydrate your bodies. It’s going to be a long morning. Remember, I’m looking for winners—the smartest of the bunch. First to fight are Diego and Timuran.”
I remove myself from the crowd and walk around the gym. Shaking off both nervous tension and my unwillingness to witness the sexy Latino get his face beaten in. A few minutes pass then the crowd shrieks. “Diego. Diego.”
