The Complete Rockstar Series

A loud roar surrounds me as I make my way to the ring. The energy seeps into me, my body itching for some kind of release—physical release—whether sexual or not, I need relief.

Heavy hands slap my shoulders and back, sharp voices wish me luck or yell at me to fuck up and lose so they can collect their fifty quid. I stretch my neck from side to side, hopping on my toes once I hit the small set of stairs that leads into the cage. I’m ready and all too willing to set the beast inside me free.

My opponent tonight is hideous. Not just any kind of ugly, mind you. He’s a right minger. Ewan Blair—eighteen, black hair, black beady eyes, acne scars all over—and the meanest bastard I’ve ever met.

“Ya ready for me to pound yer arse into the floor, Davies?”

The dull roar of the crowd fades into the background as I calmly stare at Ewan and his big, bloated face, following dad’s rules to the letter. Even if you’re bleeding from every orifice and your kidney is falling out, if you’re angrier than a bull with a red flag in it’s face, you keep yourself under control, never let your emotions show. It’s part of the rules.

Rule 1—Family first.

Without saying a word, I stare at Ewan’s hideous face. My brother, Liam, puts in my mouth guard and leans close, his massive arm coming round my neck. “Nasty prick is weak on his left. He never remembers to keep his chin down when he throws a right uppercut.” I already know this, but reviewing your enem

y’s flaws is part of the ritual dad beat into our skulls. Literally.

I nod and shrug Liam off, more than ready to get this fight going. I feel like I might explode I’m wound so tight. The ref for tonight is one of dad’s regulars, Tommy MacGregor. He’s an okay bloke, fair enough, lets the fighters have a go without interfering too much. Plus, he’s a Scot, which holds more weight than anything else in dad’s eyes.

Tommy raises his hands in the air, motioning us forward. “Fighters to the center!”

Ewan and I walk towards each other, converging in the middle. My training takes over, as natural to me as breathing. I’m thinking about that reward. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, my cock is already anticipating it, twitching in my shorts.

I never break eye contact with my opponent, studying, intimidating, showing him I’ll never back down. Tommy’s voice booms over the sound system and I simply stare when Ewan frowns. The noisy crowd falls silent as he announces the match.

“Tonight you’re in for a great show. We have two former youth champions meeting up as adult fighters for the first time.”

Loud hoots and hollers bounce throughout the open space of the warehouse that holds the fight club. Tommy thrusts a finger at Ewan.

“In the black corner, we have our challenger, last year’s welterweight under eighteen London Underground champion, at six foot even, weighing eighty-eight and a half kilos or one-hundred ninety-five pounds, Ewan Blaaaaair!”

Ewan does a three-sixty spin for the crowd, holding up his hands and air-punching as he goes round. What a tosser. The idiots in the audience eat it up, going wild for Blair. Dad told me the betting was especially heavy tonight, with me only getting a slight edge in the odds. Ewan and I have never fought before because until recently, I hadn’t been in his weight class—that plus I used to fight without the thin, fingerless gloves I’m currently wearing.

Tommy turns from Ewan to point at me, once again doing a bang up job of whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

“Aaaaand in the red corner, standing six foot three inches, weighing in at ninety kilos or two-hundred pounds, we have last year’s London Underground seventeen and under bare-knuckle boxing champ, Dax Daaaaaavies!”

Wild shouts come from all sides of the warehouse. The men (and quite a few women) who bet on me call out their cheers of approval. Mingled in are a few boos and hisses, but I could care less. I’m going to shred this prick and I’m going to do it quickly. Yep, I’m a fucking cocky bastard, but I’ve earned every bit of it.

We step to the center, tap gloves, and it’s on.

Kate

I’ve been in love with Dax Davies since the moment I laid eyes on him in year three of primary school at the tender age of seven. Sadly, I’m not sure if he even knows that I exist.

Now, we’re in our final year of school, newly turned eighteen, and he still hasn’t said more than a few words to me here and there and when he has, it’s only because we shared a class so he didn’t have a choice. He’s on an entirely different level of existence than I am, beautiful, perfect, girls throwing themselves at him. It’s not surprising that he never noticed plain, boring Kate, the least girly female in school.

It’s the first day back after the winter holiday break, so I’m desperate for a fix of Dax’s gorgeous face. I mentally cheer for myself because lucky me, this term Dax ended up in front of me in class. I can’t help but stare at his wide, muscled back, defined perfectly under his tight T-shirt, as we wait for Mr. Patel to take roll call.

They always seat us alphabetically first thing in the morning. Since my name is Campbell and his is Davies, Dax either sits several seats behind me, or, like this year, the beginning of the next row. Obviously, I prefer him to be in front so I can ogle as much as I want without anyone knowing how pathetic I am.

“Kate Campbell?”

“What?” I jerk my eyes away from the back of Dax’s head and drop my hair, which I had been twirling in my fingers nervously.

“Are you with us today, Miss Campbell? I’ve called out your name three times.”

Mr. Patel stares at me from behind his wire-framed glasses with a bemused look on his face. Most of the class turns to gawk at me and I hear a few giggles from them, but it’s when Dax’s dark eyes meet mine that I feel the burning shame spread up my face and cheeks. He doesn’t look amused, he looks… well, hot, but he’s always hot, even with the dark bruise that spans the length of his jaw. No, scratch that, he looks… totally uninterested. Bored to death. By me.

I shift in my seat, utterly humiliated. “I-I’m here. Sorry Mr. Patel.”