Chapter 11: people

RAVEN

Going to the fights has been something I’ve been doing for a few months now.

I’d only learned that my uncle was having some of his men participate in illegal underground fights maybe six months ago. I remember overhearing it and asking Dove if she’d like to come with, but she didn’t. Which meant that I ended up taking Ariah and we fucked in the bathroom because it bored her.

I, however, found it quite interesting. Although, most of the shit that I’m essentially banned from doing or seeing happens to be shit that I find amusing. That’s likely the reason I enjoy it—only because I’ve been refused from going anywhere near it.

Tonight, I was here alone. I didn’t expect much of it, but I was very quickly proven wrong when Luca appeared in the cage. Initially, I wondered if maybe he just did this in his free time, but there’s something almost innocent about him that tells me he isn’t here of his own accord.

Of all the people my uncle has working for him, why’d he choose Luca? Cain seems to have a hard on for torturing the guy.

They’ve only just started, but luckily Luca hasn’t noticed me. I’m trying to stay hidden so as to not distract him.

I can admit, it’s attractive watching him fight. Though he doesn’t seem like a massively muscled guy, it’s obvious he can hold his own. He looks hot as fuck with his tattoos, his messy hair, his sweaty skin, the blood and bruises on his body, and the focused expression on his face.

It’s extremely hot that he’s good at whatever he puts his mind to. It’s like seeing him being the wheel of a car—instant oof energy.

This is the first time I’m seeing Luca without a shirt. I’m finally able to scrutinize the many, many tattoos he’s kept hidden beneath clothing. His skin is decorated like one massive piece of art. Jesus, talk about a pain kink.

Amongst the mostly black and red ink, I see the toning of muscle and I drool.

How is it possible he’s gotten even more attractive? I swear he isn’t human. It’s unfathomable for a single person to be this flawless.

Roller has a few tattoos, but the way with how he displays them, it’s not attractive in the slightest. He’s arrogant about it, like he’s only inked himself because he thinks it’s the cool thing to do. I’ve seen him a few times and he almost never wears a shirt, but when he does, it’ll be one of those flowy beach tops, which he refuses to button up. He’s begging you to stare at his body and inquire about what the bear in the middle of his chest represents.

I’m sure if I asked, he’d spout some lame ass story about a bear’s journey—which would be complete bullshit.

Some of Luca’s tattoos are more private. It’s like staring at his diary and debating whether to crack open the lock. He has things that are inked in another language. His fingers have symbols and shapes that I don’t immediately recognize. Studying them feels like I’m about to get caught poking through the personal pages of his life.

Ultimately, Luca punches Roller in the kidney and Roller keels over at the assault. It’s the first time Luca breaks some of his focus and his eyes meet mine. My breath catches at the intensity of our connection, which only gets more consuming when his gaze drags down my body to admire what I’m wearing. It only lasts a second before he gives attention back to the fight, but it feels like the world stills.

I watch in shock as Luca throws a jab straight for Roller’s jaw and Roller drops like lead to the floor. The crowd around me instantaneously erupts in wild and raucous celebration—me, included as I scream and yell for Luca.

He finds me again and I lift my hands, clapping them in the air to tell him I’m proud and impressed.

Fuck, I want that man.

Adiv draws his attention elsewhere and despite wanting to see him, I decide it’s time to get out of here. Carefully, I weave through the crowd, not wanting anyone to potentially see me and rat me out to Uncle Cain.

Knocking on his front door, I wonder what I’m doing here. Although, in all honesty, it’s more of me forcing myself to think that to rid myself of any guilt. I know exactly what I’m doing here. Everybody does. How could they not?

I hear him as he approaches, notice the shadow at the base of the door before it swings open, revealing Luca in all his handsome glory. Even with the blood of his enemies splattered on his face and chest—despite the visible cuts and wounds—he’s still the most attractive person I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Raven—” He starts, as if he isn’t entirely sure how to greet me. He shakes off whatever he was feeling and steps aside. “Come in.”

I take a careful step past him and take it upon myself to kick my shoes off near the door.

“What do you think you were doing there tonight? Never mind that, what the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t say it in a scolding way, but he seems genuinely curious and simultaneously worried. Like he both can’t figure out how I evaded my uncle and his security team, as well as why I continually put myself in these situations.

“Despite what you think, I’m completely capable of taking care of myself.” I cross my arms over my chest, which just so happens to draw his attention there and it causes a flare of heat in the pit of my stomach. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“We’re friends, yeah?”

This time it’s my eyes trailing over his shirtless torso and I exhale a humourless chuckle. “We aren’t friends, and you fuckin’ know it.” There’s a lot of shit hidden behind those words, no mistake about it.

“No?” He seems amused, clearly understanding.

“If we were friends—as you say—then you’d stop pretending you’re okay. ‘Cause I know you’re not.”

“Right back at you, baby.”

My breath catches in my throat at the sound of the petname.

I decide to change the subject, feeling a bit nervous. “Congrats on winning the fight.” My gaze departs from his and I glance at the tape still wrapped around his hands and the cuts on his knuckles. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

He doesn’t say anything, but locks the front door and then walks past me and deeper into the house. I trail behind, my heart beginning to pound in my chest. He leads me into his bedroom for the second time, going straight for his master bath. The lights are already on in both rooms, so I automatically assume he was in here before I arrived.

I noticed his wrap on the one hand is already half off, so I’d guess he was beginning to remove it until I interrupted him.

He opens a cabinet on the far side of the room, producing a small white box. I take it upon myself to sit on the vanity, observing him come back to rest the kit on the marble top beside me. I reach for it, instantly getting distracted when I feel his touch against my bare knee and I gasp as he settles my legs further apart to step forward and stand between them.

Gently, I take his hand in mine, slowly starting to remove the white tape. It sticks slightly to his flesh, but he is patient as I do so.

That familiar sexual tension has erupted in the space between us and it’s so intense that I find myself holding my breath. He observes me as I work, right up until I yank the last of it off his left hand. When I shift to his right, he moves his free hand to grip my hip. The way in which he does it is almost possessive—like it belongs there.

It’s the equivalent of Luca dumping a massive amount of gasoline on this fire raging between us.

I focus my attention on the task at hand, which becomes near impossible when his touch ghosts lower until it’s teasing at the hem of my romper. His thumb strokes back and forth, eliciting flares against my bare skin. It’s such a light gesture that I can’t even be sure he realizes he’s doing it.

Lust and desire shouldn’t burn between us like this—like the infernos of hell. He works for my uncle. My uncle would cut off his fingers if he knew where Luca’s were right now.