Corrupt (Devil's Night 1)

Michael shook his head, blowing him off, but then Kai’s eyes flashed to me and instantly narrowed.

Without hesitation, he reached out and lifted the mask up, seeing my lips twist to hide my smile.

“Nice.” He laughed, dropping my mask back down. “Well, this should be fun.”

Shaking his head in amusement, he walked around us into the locker room, and Michael stepped forward, opening the door to the gym.

Leading me through the maze of treadmills, weight machines, and the large boxing ring and supply of punching bags, he entered another room, a little darker, with a large wooden floor and a few fencers already sparring and lunging. Cushioned brown leather chairs sat around the floor, while some men enjoyed the bouting while drinking and talking.

Michael led me to the wall where a plethora of epees, foils, and sabers were displayed and gesturing for me to choose one. Glancing back at the men on the floor, I noticed most were using foils.

My heart started racing, hearing the clang of swords in the background, and I reached out, taking a foil with a pistol grip.

“Hey, are you up for sparring?” a man’s voice said at my back, and I whipped around, my heart jumping into my throat.

“Uh…” I looked to Michael.

But he just smirked and leaned in. “Have fun,” he whispered in my ear and walked off.

What? I straightened, suddenly nervous and feeling alone.

“Collins,” the guy said, holding out his hand.

He had light red hair, balding on top, with a shiny, pale face. He offered a wide, close-lipped smile, and I noticed he had a mask secured under one arm and a foil in his hand.

“Uh,” I stammered and then shot out my hand. “I’m Erik.” And then I lowered my voice, repeating for extra measure, “Erik.”

He grabbed my hand, damn near pulling it out of its socket as he shook it. “Well, come on, kid,” he urged, turning around and putting on his mask.

Kid? I wasn’t sure if it was my voice or my smaller frame, but at least he didn’t think I was a girl.

We stepped onto the sparring floor, and I glanced around, finding Michael sitting in a chair at a table to my right. A waiter brought a drink, and he looked up at me as he took a sip.

The rough threads of my fencing suit rubbed against my skin, and I started breathing harder, feeling the seam in the pants graze my clit.

I held back a groan, a drop of sweat gliding down my back.

“I don’t think I know you, do I?” the guy, Collins, asked.

I whipped my head back around, assuming the on-guard position. “We going to fence or what?” I bit out, holding up my foil.

He chucked and got into position as well. “Okay.”

I immediately advanced, using the footwork I’d been taught and had practiced for years as I challenged him, taking the offense. I parried, moving my foil in small circles and forcing him to defend as I pushed further and further. His arms were longer as well as his legs, so I moved fast, trying to be bold.

Trying to be the little dog with a big bark.

I circled and played, and just when I thought he was caught up with trying to keep up, I lunged and darted out my sword, sticking it into his chest.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Nice.”

The thin blade bent, and I pulled back, breathing out, “Thanks.”

I backed up, setting us in position again and continued to advance or retreat as we bouted, him getting more comfortable and more aggressive.

He continued to challenge me, and I retreated, backing up as he advanced. But then I surprised him when I shot out and scored, stabbing him in the stomach.

“Dammit!” he growled.