Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
I blushed when she said that, heat creeping from my chest to my face. I remembered clearly. He even commented on it. He couldn’t stop touching me, and that dance—God, that dance. It was so intense. So hypnotizing.
For a moment, I had felt the tension melting off his shoulders, loved how his breath drifted down my chest, through my cleavage, his grip tight on me as if he never wanted me away from him.
That one dance heightened all my senses, lulled me deeper into his clutches.
So before I could talk myself out of it, convince myself that he wasn’t worth my time since I wasn’t worth his, I told Kylie I would meet her at her house.
Who was I fooling? The last six days were torture, especially with his phone number stored in my contacts list. I wanted to call so many times; I even started to, but I would never push the send button.
He wouldn’t like it, and the last thing I wanted to do was get on his bad side.
So I was going to give this a shot. I would wear a hot dress, some sexy heels, and have Kylie do my hair in those cute curls she always does for me. Then I’d go to the Dirty Dawg Pit with her, pretending to be something I wasn’t, all so I could hopefully capture his attention.
There was a possibility that he wouldn’t even see me. This was all so stupid, but it didn’t matter because I was going to find out why Drake loved being the Doomsday person everyone was afraid of.
I was going to see what this Doomsday character was all about.
Chapter 9
Drake
The Dirty Dawg Pit was sweltering with bodies.
People bumping into one another, sweating, hollering, shouting for Dripper to shred his opponent to pieces. Dripper was a part of the Dawg Pit. One of ours.
I was next. I knew Dripper would destroy the fucker in the cage with him. He was no match. I’d heard his opponent—Bonez—talked a bunch of shit on Twitter and Instagram.
Funny, as I stood watching Dripper demolish Bonez with blows to the face, Bonez didn’t have much to say. Not that he could really talk. Mouth fucking bloody, spilling down the side of his face.
“He talked all that shit,” Wildcard said as he stepped up to my side. “Heard a lot of people are betting on Grit tonight. Betting against you. Gotta prove them all wrong tonight, Doom.”
“Hmm.” I looked around the large pit from where we stood. We were behind the cage, cut off by a few other fighters so no one could try and run back and start some shit.
I could see most of the crowd from where I stood. The VIP section, my boy Manny had covered. He was talking to someone. Smiling a lot. I couldn’t really tell who it was over his tall frame. Most likely some skimpy-dressed drunk girl running around. “I always prove them wrong.” I turned around, throwing my hood on, bouncing on my toes as I threw jabs in the air. I needed some motivation.
I needed my blood to boil because from what I could hear—the shouting for Dripper to finish Bonez—I knew it was soon going to be my time to shine.
As if my prayers were sullenly answered, Flex carried his heavy body down the hallway, pushing a few people out of the way as he focused on me.
I continued jabbing in the air, teeth already gritting, knowing what to expect. “Look at you,” Flex grumbled, stopping only a few steps away. He watched me swing. Watched me growl. He wasn’t impressed. “All those people betting against you tonight and all you have to show is that pussy of a growl? What would your mother think, huh? She would hate that you’re even here right now! The bitch would kill me—shit, she’s probably flipping in her grave as we speak.”
I shoved the mouthpiece into my mouth, brows furrowed. Anger took a strong hold of me. I’d gone from mellow to pissed in mere seconds, snarling up at him and then ramming him back by the chest.
I hated him.
I hated that smug look on his face, how he really meant those words, deep down. He hated me too, but he needed me here because he needed me to win. We needed money. We’d come to that agreement.
I got the best percentage here and it was the only fucking reason I still stuck around. I could handle his comments. I could handle him… period. He knew the only reason motherfuckers showed up at the Pit was to see me.
I was the moneymaker. I was his cash cow.
I was the star of the night. The headliner.
All that shit about Grit getting bets was just for show, something one of the promoters put together so more people would come. I shoved Flex again and he chuckled.