CHAPTER 069: Pick Your Victor
Knox walks around the car and reaches for my hand. His palm is warm and steady. Mine isn’t. I let him hold it anyway. “I want to give you a little view into my past life,” he says.
And then he urges me forward, heading for the dark building. It’s quiet out here, too quiet, and every step we take makes the gravel crunch beneath our shoes. My heart thuds harder with each sound.
When we reach the door, Knox lifts his hand and knocks. A second later, a little metal panel slides open from the inside. Someone’s eyes peek out.
“Evening, Storm,” a deep voice says. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”
“Showing my girlfriend around,” Knox replies.
“Pretty one you’ve got there.”
“She is.”
I feel like I’m being auctioned.
The door creaks open. A bouncer steps aside to let us through.
“I’ll call and get your booth ready,” he says behind us as Knox leads me into a dim hallway that smells of sweat, rust, and old cement.
We reach an elevator that looks like it belongs in a horror movie–scratched metal, unstable overhead light, one single call button with a crack running through it. Knox presses it, and after a few seconds, the doors groan open.
We step inside.
As the doors close, I brace for the familiar upward jolt. Instead, we drop.
Fast.
I grip the railing. “We’re going underground?”
“Yes.”
The elevator shudders to a stop and opens into chaos.
Loud music pours in from somewhere above. People are yelling–some cheering, some cursing. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and metal hits the back of my throat.
Right in the middle of the floor, a crowd circles a boxing ring. But this isn’t some organized match. It’s raw. Bloody. Two men are inside, shirtless and soaked with sweat. One of them throws a hard punch, and the sound it makes is awful–wet and solid. No gloves. No gear. Just bare hands and bone.
People around us cheer like they’re watching fireworks. I see someone slap a wad of cash into another guy’s hand.
Another hit. One of the fighters stumbles, and I’m almost sure I see a tooth go flying through the air.
My stomach tightens.
Knox leans in, voice calm against the chaos. “Welcome to The Devil’s Pit.”
A man in a dark suit, which is far from what I expect from a place like this, appears beside us and motions us toward the
stairs.
“Your booth’s ready, Storm.”
This is the second person calling him by that name. Guess I have to catalogue that under my Knox–to–ask list.
We climb a tight metal staircase to the VIP level–rows of glass–walled booths that look down on the ring from above. Knox leads me into one. Inside, there’s a comfortable black couch, a low table with a silver tray of drinks and glasses, and low lights built into the ceiling. It smells like leather and sharp citrus. The side walls are dark, while the front wall is made entirely of glass, stretching wide and tall, giving a perfect view of the ring and the wild crowd around it.
From here, I can see everything.
One of the fighters has collapsed. The other paces the ring, arms raised. The crowd roars like animals.
I’m still processing the view when Knox grabs my waist and pulls me into his lap. I land with a small gasp.
His mouth is instantly at my ear. “You like what you see?
“What is this place? Is it even legal?”
Successfully unlocked!
“No. But it’s good business.” His hands trace lazy lines on my hips. “You may not believe it, but fighting in that ring was how I got the capital to start my club.”
I twist to look at him. “You… fought?”
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CHAPTER 069: Pick Your Victor
He nods. “I did.”
“You must’ve fought a lot to save that much.”
“It wasn’t just about the money. I love taking punches.”
I don’t have time to react to that before a bell rings.
Two new fighters enter the ring.
One is bald, lean, with a long scar down the side of his jaw. The other is thicker, broader.
The crowd leans in closer, like wolves scenting fresh meat.
Beneath me, Knox shifts. I feel the movement of his chest against my back before I see it. He slides his phone from his pocket and taps the screen. A strange website loads–dark background, bold fonts, two flashing icons pulsing with names I don’t recognize.
“Time to place bets, Bunny,” he murmurs against my neck. “Pick a fighter. I’ll bet on them.”
“That’s creepy.”
He hums, not disagreeing. And then-
His hand moves under my dress. Slowly. Knuckles drag against my thigh. Fingers find the edge of my panties, and I tence My legs go weak even though I’m sitting.
“Place the bet, Bunny,” he says again, almost like a dare. His voice has dipped into that wicked tone I’ve come to recognize. The one that means I won’t win. He hooks a finger into my panties and tugs them down. The soft lace slides down my thighs and rests at my knees.
My hand tightens around his phone in anticipation. “Can people see us?” I ask.
He leans in, brushing his mouth over the curve of my shoulder. “One–way glass,” he whispers. “We see them. They don’t see
us.”
My heart’s beating too fast.
“Oh…”
He lowers my zipper next. His palm follows the path he opens, spreading heat along the bare skin of my back. The screen in my hands trembles.
I’m not sure if it’s my fingers or my body that’s shaking. Maybe both.
“The fights don’t last too long,” he breathes and kisses the dip of my back. “I want to make you cum before it’s over.” He slides the straps of my dress down my arms, then all the way down to my waist. I’m bare from the chest up.
Then his hands are on me. Both of them. Cupping my breasts with firm, confident pressure that makes my toes curl. His thumbs brush over my nipples, and my hips shift without permission, rubbing against his growing hard–on. He groans against my back.
I forget the crowd below. The fighters. The ring.
There’s only him. Only this.
“Pick your victor,” he says, “right now… so I can bury myself inside you.”
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CHAPTER 070: He’s Losing
CHAPTER 070: He’s Losing
My breath comes out shaky. I force myself to glance at the phone in my hand. The site looks like it was built in the shadows–dark background, bold red names, icons flashing like they’re breathing. The two fighters are listed with codenames: Red Reaper and Goliath. Beneath their names, odds glow in bright numbers–Red Reaper: -180, Goliath: +220. The slimmer man, Reaper, has better odds. A favorite. Fast. Deadly. And it’s the bulkier one, Goliath–who looks like he could crush a skull with one swing–that is surprisingly the underdog. Next to their names, there’s a pulsing red button that says PLACE BET-$100,000.
Knox is betting a hundred grand?
What the hell?
It should be simple. Just one or two taps and I’ll be done with placing my bet. But Knox is still touching me. His thumbs tease the tight peaks of my nipples, and I squirm in his lap, trying to keep the phone steady as my body trembles. I swipe clumsily between the fighter bios–not that it matters. I’m supposed to be picking the right fighter, making sure his hundred grand doesn’t burn–but Knox’s hands are dragging my focus everywhere but the screen.
My body is arching, greedy for more.
His mouth presses heat into the skin just below my ear, and I can’t think anymore. I just act.
My finger taps Goliath–the thicker of the two men in the ring–just as his image flashes again. A second later, the screen blinks.
Bet placed.
Knox just gambled away six figures. Rich people are weird.
I would comment on that any other day, but right now, my core is pulsing with a need I don’t know how to contain.
“You picked the fighter that’s more likely to lose,” he says.
“Did I? I didn’t notice. Must be because someone wouldn’t keep their hands to themselves while I placed my bet.”
He laughs and squeezes my breasts a little firmer. “You need to see yourself through my eyes, Bunny. You wouldn’t keep your hands off you either. That body…” His voice dips, and then he kisses my left shoulder. “So beautiful. So damn soft. Comes with a few psycho issues too. What could be more tempting?”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth climbing up my face betrays me. I’m blushing. Damn it.
I toss his phone onto the couch beside us and turn to face him. His gaze is fixed on me–dark, amused, and full of that quiet arrogance that somehow manages to thrill and irritate me all at once.
“You sweet–talk like a player,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“You’re smiling. Means I’ve successfully played you, baby.”
That grin. That smug, sin–soaked grin. I should slap it off him.
Instead, I lean in.
My fingers find his jaw, tracing the edge. I press a soft kiss to his mouth–barely there, just a tease. His lips part, inviting more, but I pull back an inch. Just enough to hear the small growl in his throat. Then I dive back in.
This time, the kiss isn’t soft. It’s rough. Heated. My hands slide into his hair as his arm comes around my waist, dragging me flush against him. Our mouths crash and clash, tongues tangling in a rhythm that’s fast becoming a habit–like we’re trying to consume each other. Breathless and greedy.
His teeth nip at my lower lip. I bite back. He groans into my mouth, and I feel it all the way down my spine.
I’m not sure who breaks first–but by the time we part, we’re both breathing like we ran a marathon.
“You’re beautiful too, Knox,” I whisper against his lips.
He smirks, voice gravel–soft. “Now who’s the player?”
We can have this fight much later. I need him inside me right now.
I untangle myself from him and stand, placing my back against the covered part of the booth. I know Knox said the glass in front is a one–way glass, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be self–conscious about planting my bare ass against it.
I push my dress down my body. It pools around my ankles. My panties are already at my knees, barely clinging. I step out
Knox’s phone and my purse. of them and bend to pick everything up, tossing them onto the torch be
Successfully unlocked!
Knox’s jaw tightens. His bottom lip gets caught between his teeth as bicole roams over every inch of me. I can feel those eyes trailing from my eyes down to my mouth, my bare shoulders, the swell of my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. Slowly, he brings his hands to his pants, unzipping, pushing them down just enough.
His cock springs free.
CHAPTER 070: He’s Losing
It always stuns me–how lovely it is. Long, thick, veined, with that silver piercing at the tip that catches the low light. My mouth waters.
“Come on,” he says, his voice low, hoarse. “I know you’re hungry for it. Come sit on my dick.”
I rush to him, climb into his lap, and straddle him face–to–face. But he shakes his head.
“Other way, Bunny. I want you to watch the fight.”
Oh, right. We’re actually at a boxing ring and should be watching. I almost forgot.
I adjust myself, turning around to face the glass, trying not to focus on the crowd and their noise. Then I rise into a crouching position and reach for Knox’s length, positioning myself over him.
Before I sink down, though, I find myself admiring the wet tip of his dick.
I circle it with my fingers, spreading the moisture.
He groans behind me, both hands gripping my waist.
The sound makes me bolder.
I rub the head of his dick against my center, particularly the pierced part, pressing it against my clit again and again. My hips move in small, controlled circles, dragging the pressure out as I moan softly. That piercing feels so good rubbing against me.
Knox’s breathing gets as uneven as mine as he rocks upward to assist. “Fuck, Sloane,” he says. “That’s so hot.”
One of his hands comes up, cupping my throat from the front and tilting my head to the side. At this angle, he gets a good view of his dick moving against me.
“Just like that, Bunny,” he murmurs. “Rub yourself all over my cock.”
His free hand slides up to my chest. He finds a nipple and rolls it between his fingers.
I whimper.
Outside, the bell rings, signalling the beginning of the fight.
The crowd explodes.
But I can barely hear them. All I care about is Knox–his fingers, his length moving against me. I need to ease the deep, aching throb coming from between my legs, where I’m already wet and dripping right onto his lap.
“Your body’s begging for my dick, isn’t it?” he says.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His hand leaves my nipple and trails down my stomach, teasing its way lower. When it reaches where I’m still holding him, he gently nudges my hand aside. Then, without hesitation, he pushes three fingers deep inside me–filling me so suddenly I cry out.
The sound is loud, uncontrolled, but the roar of the crowd swallows it whole.
His fingers start with a slow rhythm–just enough to make my eyes water. Then he pushes in deeper, his movements becoming wilder. He knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly where to reach. His fingers curve just right, and when they press into that spot–that maddening, perfect place deep inside me–my entire body tenses, thighs clenching around his hand as my brain rings.
“Oh, yes,” I moan.
“God, you’re so wet. Anyone who sees you this needy will think I have been starving you.”
“Please…” I say.
“What do you want, sweet girl?”
“You.”
“How badly?”
“I’m dying here, Knox.”
He pulls his fingers out of me and slaps them against my clit a number of times.
My hips jolt. A startled moan breaks from my lips.
I feel myself getting wetter.
He doesn’t make me wait long. He lifts me by the waist and drives himself into me in one brutal, perfect stroke, filling me so deeply that I lose air. My scream rips out before I can swallow it.
“Don’t close your eyes, Bunny,” Knox growls behind me. “Eyes on the fight. Watch them beat the hell out of each other while I fuck you.
CHAPTER 070: He’s Losing
My eyes fly open, wild and dazed. The world slams back into focus.
The ring. The crowd. The shouting. The fighters.
He pounds up into me again and again, hard and unforgiving. I match him–rocking back, meeting every thrust with one of my own. My palms press against the side wall, the cold surface grounding me even as my body tingles all over.
Below us, chaos erupts.
Goliath–my pick–takes a hit. Then another. His jaw snaps sideways, and blood spills from his mouth. The Red Reaper’s fists are fast, landing one blow after another.
“He’s losing,” I say.
“Who?”
“Goliath, my victor.”
Knox laughs darkly, obviously enjoying my concern.
I can see the entire crowd, at least five hundred people, and even though I know they can’t see me, the idea of it–being fucked so thoroughly in front of them–sends a strange jolt through me.
“You like the view, don’t you?” he says, slamming into me.
“Maybe.”
“Oh, you better like it. Because the only way you’re cumming is if your fighter wins.”
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