Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
One of these days, I was going to put River and KC in the interrogation room with Shay and enjoy the show.
“Daddy, you’re not wearing anything other than the sweats, right?” Shay hollered from inside the cabin.
“Nope. You almost done?” It was time to join the others.
“Yes, Sir. Just wanted to make sure.”
It was interesting getting to know his quirks about fighting. While he was frighteningly lax about protective gear, he was almost militant about the one piece of clothing he wore. Regular sweats didn’t work for him; he’d bought us matching pairs of three-quarter-length black sweatpants instead, stating that they were the perfect combination of comfortable and easy to move around in. Now that I was wearing a pair myself, I supposed I could see the benefits. They were loose but not baggy, and they weren’t in the way. They didn’t have pockets either.
It hadn’t been all too comforting to find out that he wore just “a bit more” protection during the illegal fights, especially since he’d spent more time talking about these pocket-less sweats than anything else.
The more I grew to care for the boy, the more I disliked thinking about those damn fights.
Shay stepped out and closed the door. He looked…excited. There was a spark in his eyes that made it clear how much he loved this. And had it been just for the fun of it, for the competitiveness, I would’ve relaxed. All my life, I’d been an adrenaline junkie, and to see that Shay got off on that thrill too was an immense turn-on. But at least the times I’d jumped out of an airplane, I’d worn a parachute.
“Do you get this excited when you face brawlers who fight dirty?” I asked.
He quirked a brow before he snorted in amusement. “You mean at the underground club? There’s very little space for anyone to fight dirty. They check you for weapons and stuff before you enter the cage.”
How fucking reassuring, but I’d been talking about hits to the throat, balls, and head.
I took a breath and just barely managed to shove aside the worry and irritation that flared up. “You don’t need a rusty shank to kick someone in the back of their head, boy.”
Shay thought that was an invitation to mock me, and he puffed out his chest and widened his arms a bit as he spoke in a darker voice. “And I don’t need to be good at martial arts to disarm those slow motherfuckers, boy.” At my hard stare, he deflated and smiled and hugged my bicep. “You’re sweet to worry, Daddy, but maybe you should come to a fight and see for yourself. The men I fight in those cages are nothing but juiced-up morons with anger issues, and if you’re as good as you say you are, you know whose moves are the easiest to predict.”
Of course. Fighters who acted on emotion, but that wasn’t the point. Actually, it was worse.
“That’s worse,” I repeated out loud. “A hundred idiots to lower your guard, and then a single trained fucker comes along and dropkicks you before you can blink.”
To my frustration, his smile only widened.
“You may be trained, and you may be a fucker, but you’re not single.” He grabbed my hand and dragged me off the porch. “Come on. Dropkick me before I can blink. I dare you.”
That little son of a—
I sighed aggravatedly. And I cursed myself for letting it go. But he could trust me to circle back to this subject another time when we weren’t about to face each other in a fighting cage.
“Speaking of single,” he said, threading our fingers together, “how come you and River don’t date outside of kink? I mean—for love and stuff. You just want the BDSM component.”
I’d never said that to him, and I could bank on River never having said that either, which meant Shay had talked to others about us. It had been true in the past, though not out of some principle. We’d just grown comfortable in the presumption that we’d never be that interested in anybody.
“That’s not a rule, sweetheart.” I noticed he wasn’t making eye contact. It was usually for a reason. “What made you ask?” I halted my steps before we came within hearing range for anyone else, and I cupped the back of his neck.
If he gave the slightest indication he was interested in more, I’d pounce right away. Fuck River and his advice to “pace ourselves a minute.”
Shay shrugged and kept his gaze on our feet. “I think we should make the fight more interesting.”
I thought we should stay on topic and discuss dating, aka slapping cuffs on his wrists and shackling him to us for the foreseeable future. If he could also tell me that he’d developed a sudden hatred for living in DC, I wouldn’t complain.