Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

We walked for a few blocks, heading south. I followed close behind him, but we didn’t speak. There was a funk hanging in the air between us, and I could feel him still brooding about our encounter with Michael.

The streets were dim, lit only at large intervals by weak yellow streetlights. Much of the houses were in shadow, and it almost felt like this part of the city was abandoned. I breathed the cool air in deeply and pretended like this was our neighborhood, and I ruled it alongside Rex. He was my king and I was his queen, and those empty, dark streets were our streets. People like Michael couldn’t bother us there, not in our kingdom of darkness. I took a few quick steps and caught Rex’s hand. He didn’t look back, but he squeezed my palm in response, and we walked the last two blocks hand in hand. I kinged him in my mind and made him my ruler for the night.

Finally, we reached his building. It was like every other place on the block, brick front façade and an old, painted wooden door. He unlocked the handle, pushed it open, and I followed him inside. We went up a flight of stairs where he unlocked another door. This was obviously a house that had been renovated into two apartments, one downstairs and one upstairs. I guessed the third floor was another apartment, but he didn’t say, and I never checked.

Inside, the space was dark. Rex stepped in a few paces then flicked a switch. His apartment was sparse. There was a kitchen to the right, a large space for a living room, and a bedroom and a bathroom off down a short hallway. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration. He had workout equipment near the couch, a single old television, a beat up coffee table, and not much else. I didn’t expect a professionally decorated space, but it was a little strange how empty it felt.

He walked across the room and dropped onto the couch. I followed him in, a little tentative.

“Cool place,” I said.

“No, it isn’t.” He patted the seat next to him again. I walked over and sat down.

“I like this neighborhood.”

He shrugged and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. I looked at him.

“Pretty empty though,” I said.

He opened one eye and grinned at me. “I like to keep it simple, just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

He shrugged again. “Want a drink?”

“Sure, what do you have?” He was getting pretty good at avoiding my questions.

He stood up and went into the kitchen. After a minute, he came back with two drinks, a can of beer for himself and a tall glass that looked like soda.

“Whiskey and Coke, just like you like,” he said.

I eyed the drink. “That’s all that’s in there?”

He laughed. “I don’t need to drug you. Drink up, Miss Spoiled Girl.”

I took a sip and swallowed as he took a long pull on his can. He placed his drink on the coffee table.

“Alright, I’m here. Want to explain the fighting thing?”

He sighed then shifted his body toward me. He took the drink from my hand and placed it on the coffee table next to his. Looking back at me, he took my face gently in his hands and kissed me long and deeply. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, and I shifted my weight to press myself close against him. I lost myself in his kiss for what felt like an hour, until he pulled away.

“Is that what I’m here for?” I whispered.

“No, I just wanted to do that before I told you.” He moved away, but his hands lingered on my thigh.

“Let’s get this secret over with then, the suspense is killing me.”

He nodded, face suddenly somber. “I fight for a living,” he said.

“I know, you said that already. But what does that mean?”

“Do you know what MMA is?” he asked.

“Not really. I think I’ve seen it on the TV guide or something, but I’ve never watched it.”

“Well, it’s like boxing. Except MMA stands for mixed martial arts, which means you can fight in whatever style you want. There are fewer rules. It’s faster, harder, and more violent. I do something like MMA.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “So how is Michael your boss then?”

“That’s a little more complicated. You have to understand, I don’t fight in any professional club. I guess it’s called street fighting. Michael runs it.”

“Wait, so like, an illegal fighting ring?” I felt a little confused.

He nodded. “Exactly like that. Michael gets a lot of local fighters, dudes who can’t exactly get involved in the legal MMA competitions, and has them fight. People place bets through Michael’s people, and the money gets moved around that way. I fight in those matches.”

That made sense, and explained his injuries. “But why are you doing it? Why don’t you fight in a regular fight?”