Ding, Ding, Bitch

Savannah

In biker country, the bar took one side of the street, and on the other, a string of different stores and offices lined the block.

A bail bonds office, law office, gym, tattoo parlor, a mechanic shop, what looked to be apartments above it all, and one or two spots that went unused.

I have been inside the bar—slash the couple of rooms the Henley clan has taken me into.

But never the others until now.

When Damon told me that Luna’s go through trials before being accepted by the club and given the title of Luna, I had questions, obviously.

Hearing Damon talk about the relationship of a Luna to her mate—that’s what he called it, not me—it sounded a lot like marriage.

Just without the white dress.

I left it alone, thinking I would ask more later, but like I tend to do since the crash, I forgot, and now find myself in a metal cage with a slot at the top, black tape wrapped around my hands, a mouth guard, and Damon Henley looking at me like I am in some deep shit that he can’t get me out of.

The rest of the Henley boys look the same if I’m being completely honest.

Dane looks like he is about to start crying, Daxon, who has stayed away from me since I decimated his nipples and kicked his balls clean off his body, is now at Damon’s side and rushing out advice that I think is being spoken in a language other than American English.

Darrion has set up his medical station and has a table covered in sterile clothes in this room we are holed up in.

The bar was empty when we came out. With the king leading the way and Damon holding my hand, it felt like I was his lifeline to planet Earth.

I kind of got the feeling he was contemplating whether he wanted to throw me on his bike and ride away into the sunset, never to be seen again. He gave off the vibe like he gave his next breath.

Reluctantly.

The parking lot was packed, and everyone involved with the club was loading up in the gym. I guess I drew quite the crowd.

I got a look at what I was walking into before Damon pulled me into a side room where we could hear everything but got our privacy before the match.

A cage.

Like a legit metal cage, a door on the side that I would be allowed in, under the ropes, and acting as a barrier between Damon and me for the duration of the fight.

I couldn’t help the image of Mick Foley in his red plaid and frizzy black hair that hung to his shoulders that made it to the forefront of my thoughts, even though I should have been paying attention to the men who were showing me different moves and how to block attacks.

With the tap of static through the speakers, I looked out the blinds to see what was happening now.

Lucien, strutting around like he was the cock of the walk, of course. I swear he reminded me of Negan whistling with that barbed wire bat going “eenie, meenie, miney, mo” on “The Walking Dead.”

I wish that damn tiger would have jumped out and got more than his damn toe no matter how good of a guy he is now.

~He took my Glenn!~

~Fuck Negan and fuck Lucien.~

The silver metal bleachers went shoulder to shoulder with the audience ready to see what this was going to turn out like.

I knew Lucien thought of me as not much of a fighter.

Am I some bare-knuckle brawler like Brad Pitt in Fight Club? ~No.~

~But, I am a fighter.~

One that doesn’t take shit from the likes of Lucien Henley or any other fucker who thinks themselves the one to take my Angel from me.

With a white table pressed against the black skirt part of the ring on the outside, the Henley elders took a seat.

They had other chairs, I’m sure meant for the boys. They couldn’t find the fucks to give though, seeing how all of them were now fixing something to help me.

Dane was playing with his computer so I would have music to walk out to.

Daxon giving me pointers on where to aim and how to block my vital organs.

Darrion pulling out his medical skills to ready himself for when I would need them.

Damon held me.

His chin on my shoulder with his face tucked away in the crook of my neck and his arms blended to my waist like a second skin.

He had already taken my ponytail down and given me a flat bun.

He explained this way it was harder to grab a hold of.

~Smart right?~

My man isn’t just a gorgeous male Adonis.

He is also a sexy smarty pants.

Lucien stood on a chair with a mic dropped down from the ceiling like old school WWF announcers in the tuxedos and porn stashes.

The same smugness that Vince McMahon held, he started his speech off with a loud “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

That made the place turn into a church on a Monday morning.

“Today, I have the show of the year for you.”

The eye roll I gave moved the Earth on its axis from the force of it.

The crowd yelled “hell yeah!” and whoops of encouragement.

Damon held me tighter like he wanted to be my shield and protect me from what was coming, even with him knowing I would kick so much ass in his name.

He looked exhausted.

And worried.

Also pissed.

“It’s okay, Angel.”

My fingers rubbed against his.

“Today, as a challenging trial for Lunaship, we have in our clutches—Savannah Madis.”

He uses a cheerful tone until he gets to my name, which he drags out like the Tiger King does Carol Baskin’s.

The crowd booed.

They can suck my metaphorical dick.

“I can’t wait for the money shot on this one.”

Damon managed a smirk for me.

It was true, I hoped I got to witness the mic drop on those audience members when they saw I wasn’t so easily dismissed.

I wanted to look Lucien Henley in the eye when I walked out of the cage and onto the next trial.

I wanted to say, ~Nice try, uncle. Better luck next time.~

I wanted to spit at his feet and show him the bird. I wanted him to be the one I fought.

I wanted to put him in his place.

Under my shoe, like the fucking cockroach he was acting like.

“Now, we know she’s not going to make it, don’t we? Madis blood isn’t strong enough for this life. They’re too weak for what we do.” Lucien was baiting me, this I knew.

It still managed to piss me off, especially hearing the roars of agreement coming from people who didn’t know my family or what we were capable of.

I wanted to scream about what a childish bitch he was being for acting so passive-aggressive about my dad leaving the club with my mom and going off to have me.

I wanted to scream: ~Shut your bitch ass up, Uncle Lucien,~ but I held my tongue.

Pinning a mental note to bring this up with Damon and see what he knew, or any of the boys actually.

For the time being, I would bite my tongue.

Because, like all things in this life, actions will always be louder than words.

He will hear the same thing.

~They all will.~

Damon offered some soothing words, telling me to block it out and how he believed in me and how proud he was that I was going to be his Luna.

Again, my heart had a direct hit.

Damon could be the sweetest Angel when he wanted to be.

“Who would like the honor of making a Madis tap out? Who volunteers as tribute?”

~Really Luci?~

~Really?~

The crowd went wild.

Men and women jumped from their seats and made noises I would compare to the movie ~Gladiator.~

Lucien’s smile would have been bone-chilling if I wasn’t already barely containing the hellfire he was so blatantly fanning.

Like the devil is made out to be, I could see it in Lucien’s face how much he was enjoying this, and would with every hit my opponent would land.

I don’t understand it, but in a way I do.

Didn’t I do something of the same thing?

When my Uncle Jonah had gotten a busted nose by Calian Barns and I got the opportunity to wreak some Savannah-style justice on the only piece of him I could, his nephew, Malachi, I took the opportunity.

I did end up with Calian on his knees with my nine-year-old self wailing down on him.

I don’t know why Lucien hates me.

I do, but again, I don’t.

He hates the last name. He was friends with my dad to the point of vice presidency.

He was my mother’s stepbrother.

My maternal grandmother’s stepson.

What happened between them that made this level of hate still linger?

What made him hate us?

And how do I fix it?

“Who to choose, who…to…pick?”

He ran his eyes over the crowd in a game-maker-type style.

“Where’s Grave?” Lucien addressed the crowd.

All the Henleys in my room go as stiff as the marble statues in Athens.

“Well, that’s not a good sign, is it?”

Damon turns me into him. Looking down at me like this might be the last time. His dark eyes no longer reminded me of the night sky. This time, they reminded me of a lake.

A black lake that the moon was so often using as a mirror whenever she saw fit.

“You need to quit. We don’t need the club to accept you. We can figure it out. We—”

My lips crashed to his, my taped hands finding a way into his hair as I kissed the worry from his body.

“I am not going to quit. This is a part of you, Damon. I can’t accept the glitter if I don’t get the dirt. I just have to run out the clock and not submit. I can do that.”

Our silent conversation, Damon telling me he loves me and asking me why I would go through with this.

My silent answer, relayed in the kiss I burn him with.

~I love you. I would do anything for you.~

This may have started as my Lunaship for Damon, but Lucien turned this personal.

It’s true I was here to get my title, but that was only the bread of this shit sandwich.

The biker king wasn’t fighting this hard because he didn’t disapprove of the deputy chief’s niece, nor was this anything about ~who~ I was.

Lucien Henley was trying to punish me for the crimes he held my father and mother guilty of.

This was about ~what~ I am.

A Madis.

A loud and proud Madis that wasn’t going to lose.

Not my Lunaship, not my trial, not to some hardass called Grave—and especially not to the puppet master Lucien “bitchass” Henley—saw himself to be.

This was about standing up for my family.

For whatever reasons, they had to leave this town, goodbye, and hide it from me.

For my family, I will ~not~ lose.

After all, a goddess never falls at the hand of a peasant king, do they?

“Grave is a rage-fueled fighter. He starts off calm, but with every hit, he gets more and more pissed. Avoid him at all costs. If he gets his hands on you, he will go for a break. An arm bar, leg lock, something to make you tap. If you don’t, Darrion will have a bone to reset.”

The evil smile on my face didn’t go unnoticed by my angelic coach.

“Why?” Daxon huffed, thinking I must not be taking this seriously at all.

“I’m practically bionic. I highly doubt he can break metal.”

I chuckle at how they visibly relax at the news.

Looking back out the window, I see a stocky man come out of the crowd and step into the cage.

The back of him showed very little. From what I could tell, he wasn’t terribly tall or outrageously built. His hair was pretty much the same shade as mine, he looked older than me, but not as old as Lucien.

Maybe in his early to mid-thirties.

I couldn’t tell much from the back of him.

“Now we have an opponent, where is our contender? Who’s ready for this? I know I am!” Lucien riled the audience back up.

Daxon hugged me even from around Damon’s hold.

“For what it’s worth, I’m betting on you.”

He nodded and went to the door before I could say anything.

~These boys.~

~Dear Lord, these boys!~

Darrion going beside him and giving this look to Damon that made me think of all the times I had done the same thing to my baby brother when he needed his shots or anything that was for the best but sucked to go through either way.

Dane hit the keyboard and Queen’s song “Fat Bottom Girls” started booming over the speakers.

Laughing out my approval, I took Damon’s hand and told Dane thank you.

Daxon opening the door, he made the first step out with Darrion taking the lead, Damon and I hand in hand and at each other’s side with Dane at the rear.

I hummed along to the classic song and met the roar of the crowd with nothing but sheer determination and my head held high.

They sneered insults down, calling me every name in the book and telling me how I wasn’t going to be walking out of the ring.

Dane stuck closer to me when someone tried to throw popcorn.

I felt like the enemy even though I wasn’t.

They just didn’t know it.

They would soon enough.

~They all would.~

Daxon stood on the left side of the steps to the cage, Darrion on the right.

Dane standing behind us.

Damon held me close, breathing in at my neck before kissing me and opening the door. Damon held my hand as I went up each step like a gentleman would his lady.

I doubt it’s been done here, I don’t mind being the first. Never have.

Slipping under the ropes and taking the back corner, I didn’t notice the cage door shutting or the boys coming to my side from behind the cage.

I focused on the way Grave looked at me.

The way his hazel eyes widened at the sight of me and how he immediately looked at Lucien.

I guess he wasn’t expecting a freshly eighteen-year-old girl.

Maybe he had some qualms over fighting with a female.

Lucien poured himself a shot of gin, then another that he held in the air and yelled through the cage and from his ring side seats, “For you when you win,” at Grave.

I noticed this animosity between the two. Even with the craziness that was going on all around us, I could see the two having a stare down.

I don’t think Grave appreciates being put in this position.

Grave’s shirt was gone and so were his shoes.

I also happened to be in my bare feet.

An ironic coincidence, seeing how this was how I normally fought in the ring and it looked like he did too.

Granted I haven’t been in a cage fight ever, or a bare-knuckle type with people watching like this.

I have been in my share of fights.

After Uncle Jonah pulled me off of Calian Barns when I was nine, Dad and Uncle talked Mom into letting me take boxing classes at the rec center.

They thought it would work as a way for me to channel my emotions and help teach me control over my impulses.

What they didn’t understand then was, it wasn’t that I was angry or impulsive in the way a kleptomaniac can’t resist pocketing things they don’t need.

That’s why the classes didn’t help me.

At least not then.

~They’re coming in handy now, though aren’t they?~

“The rules are as follows: only way to win is by submission or knock out. If neither accedes before the hour mark, this trial will be over and a new opponent will step in. Other than that, there is no rules. Hit the damn bell.”

A loud ping beats at my ear drums.

Grave steps out of his corner. Going to the side, his eyes take in my every move to size me up and see what he was working with.

I’ve seen it a million times before.

This was basic in the beginning.

I stepped out, letting him curl around the ring and push me into his side.

Each step was calculated.

His breathing was slow, short and through his nose. His body weight was uneven and he looked at me like he wasn’t happy about doing this.

~Good.~

I could work with that.

Daxon said he was a rage-fueled fighter.

Meaning he acted out in raw emotion.

So, he might have some muscle, but this was most likely going to be like all the other little boys that stood before me.

The last one getting an educational life lesson at the mercy of a twelve-inch pink dildo.

~I wish I kept that bad boy holstered.~

Like I was taught, my stance was powerful, even and fluid.

My chin tucked down, my eyes right above knuckles and my knees apart.

My right leg placed behind my left with my big toe lining up with my heel.

My breathing was steady, coming out through my mouth with my clenched jaw and around my mouthpiece to sound like a hiss.

I had no problem with this guy, but unfortunately for him, he was still getting taken to the Thunderdome.

I let him come to me, he could use all the energy he wanted. It would only help his inevitable defeat.

Blindly he shot out a jab that I blocked and kindly sent back his way, following a right hook then a left and a sweep of my back leg while he went into defense that caught him at the temple and knocked him on his ass.

Why didn’t I follow Daxon’s advice?

Because I wanted to show off.

That’s the truth. No matter how shitty that sounds, it’s the truth.

Acting like a fever, I come on fast and strong.

Before he hit the mat, I was on him like a duck on a June bug and rained fists of fury on him. Not at his face, since he held it together enough to block. I went after his ribs, his stomach, and his throat for what I could manage.

My knees finding the split in his crotch, I let them dig in and keep his legs spread apart while one split his cheeks and the other acted like a push pin and nailed his sack to the white mat.

His torso staying exposed, I lit it up and turned it red.

With alternating between my hard jabs at his upper body and the not so random toss of a punch at his face, I kept him down while tenderizing his meat before I dropped his ass on the grill and barbecued him.

I wanted nothing more than to make him tap in under five minutes just to piss Lucien off and show off for my Angel, who I could feel watching me.

A bang at the side of the cage made my attention waver.

In that split second, Grave took advantage, a hard hit to the right side of my jaw that made white spots blink into and away at my vision.

He knocks me off, flipping us and trying to take Damon’s rightful spot between my legs, but I caught on in time and brought my knees to my chest, Grave getting my bare feet in a donkey kick to the stomach that sent him tumbling back enough to let me get away and back to my feet before he could come after me.

The red on his chest like my favorite shade of lipstick, I left my kiss to his collar.

I’m sure I held a mark from that right cross. If he had gotten me down it would have been hard to get out.

That was too close.

My eyes locked in on Grave and the way his jaw now set, the lock in his shoulders, and the way his breathing changed—I could see his switch getting flipped.

I was pissing him off.

That much was clear.

He was turning into a better fighter.

~That’s not good.~

~Not good at all.~

I need to move this along.

His stance changed, his eyes turning cold, and I think I might have seen a twitch forming at his eyebrow like a ticking time bomb that would soon explode.

He came for me, red and pissed.

His left cross was met with my good knee at his kidney, with me swiping out of the way and latching onto his shoulders as I turned us, kneeing him into the corner where he had nowhere to run.

Again and again I did a full-body crunch that let my knee collide with him in the same spot.

I send kidney shots like hearts on Facebook.

One right after another.

I could hear his breathing become brittle and break off into jagged puffs of glassy shards, like air that would cut and sting with every inhale and burn with every exhale.

This was hurting him.

Taking its toll on him.

How was this the ~rage-fueled fighter~ they warned me about?

This is child’s play.

His head came forward right as my knee crashed into his side.

Headbutting me in the forehead and following me into the daze he created by wrapping his hand around my throat and lifting me off my feet.

Dangling in the air, I claw at his hands.

Panic settling in with the pandemonium from the onlookers, I don’t know what to do. As if the flow of oxygen was stopped with my train of thought.

Black stars fell into my sight, a ringing in my ears, and this throbbing coming on like a snowstorm in the night.

One second it wasn’t there, and the next it was everywhere.

~Get it together.~

~I can’t lose.~

Like a light bulb going off above my head, I get an idea.

Like a lot of the men that catch a female by the throat and hang her in the air, they do it up and not out.

My hands gripping his arm to steady myself, my legs come up, and I land a drop kick to the center of his chest, making him lose his breath and hunch forward.

His hold on my neck loosening, I scramble away. Sucking in oxygen with such force I fall to my knees, sending my head in a spin that makes me sick.

Like I’m on the tilt-a-world at the fair, I go round and round, just along for the ride and not the one in control.

The sounds from the audience cut in and out like a video freezing and skipping.

I feel like I could throw up.

A splash of nausea licks my stomach from inside out.

My eyes opening, I manage to lift my face up to see Damon hitting the cage and yelling something that I can’t begin to comprehend.

I can see the worry and the franticness he is trying to warn me over, but whatever it is, I can’t hear him.

The ringing in my ears has started like the last bell to end the school day, except I can’t find my way out of the damn building.

Damon hits the cage hard enough to rattle it, pointing behind me, but it’s too late.

I feel Grave take me by the ankle and drag me into the middle of the ring.

My dress folded up under me to leave my front bare to the mat.

I’m limp.

I know I need to snap out of this, I know I have to act, but that’s all I can get through to my dazed self.

The acknowledgement of what I need to do but I can’t get anything else out.

That is until the pain of what Grave has done hits me like a lawn mower kicking out a heavy rock through its blades and straight through a car window to shatter the glass.

I scream out in agony.

Feeling him bend my bad leg out and twist with the kick he lands to the artificial knee cap brings tears stinging to my eyes.

My fists pound at the mat and thrash, but it does nothing for him to land another and another kick down to my bad knee.

I bite my bottom lip to stifle the screams I so badly want to let out.

“Savannah!” I can hear Damon’s voice.

“Let her go! She gives! She taps! Let her go!” He bangs on the cage, I can hear his voice falling away with another kick coming down on my bad knee.

“Grave! Grave! Grave! Grave!”

The crowd chanting from every corner boosts my opponent’s ego.

He drops my leg, stalking me in a circle.

Strolling around my body in slow, taunting strides.

He walks in front of me, looking down at the pathetic heap I have turned into.

Tears streaking my cheeks, I can’t even cradle my leg.

It hurts so bad I think cutting it off would be better than this.

“Tap, kid. Don’t make me break it.”

His fists turning white at his side, his hazel eyes look almost calm.

Mine like stormy waters.

“Fuh—fuck you.” I bite back the pain.

My voice jumping with the agony he has created.

Grave smiles, one side pulling harder on the one.

“You can’t move. You’ve lost, kid, just give up.”

Sniffling, I pull on the best stone-cold bitch face I can and stare him in the eyes.

“Momma didn’t raise a quitter.”

Grave scoffs and lets it turn into a dry chuckle.

Bending down to my level, his lopsided smile turns almost deadly.

“Momma didn’t raise a quitter? Probably because ~momma~ spent all her time on her knees.”

~And just like that, the pain was manageable.~

Grave stood back up, turning his back on me to go to the corner closest to us and start addressing the crowd.

Hearing him call out my mother’s name, asking the club what she did to pass the time and how the answers were vulgar and descriptive responses made me pull it back together.

Grave went on to ask about my dad.

Calling out what my dad was known for.

Hearing the crowd call him a snitch and backstabber, I forced myself off the mat.

With every slanderous claim, I rose higher.

~I have three rules.~

~Don’t fuck with my family.~

~Don’t fuck my stuff.~

~Don’t fuck with me.~

And Grave…had done all three.

Wobbling to my feet, fighting the pain off and embracing what would come from this, I raised my head high.

My metaphorical crown sturdy, now that my horns were bare and kept it in place.

Grave turned around to see me back on my feet and hands raised ready to take him on.

His lopsided smile was gone, replaced with one that looked genuine.

If I had seen it elsewhere, I might think of it how my dad would smile at me for never giving up.

Lucien stood up, calling out Grave’s name and instructing him to finish me.

My knee was crying out in pure pain.

It hasn’t hurt like this since fresh out of surgery and I was learning to walk again.

Tears welled up at the brim of my eyeliner and threatened to spill over.

Repositioning my stance was miserable.

I choked on a sob when I gave the itty bitty amount of weight to it.

Off center and uneven, I still managed.

My breathing now ragged, feeling like it was coming from the leg in question.

I tucked my chin in outright defiance.

My hands at my cheekbone and ready to set sail, I beckoned him forward.

“Bring it, bitch,” I shot back his way.

He charged me.

Going to tackle me at the waist, I made it worse before I could make it better.

As his body speared into mine, I brought my bad knee up and forced it to connect with his face.

I could hear the crack of his nose breaking over the thud of my back hitting the mat.

Pulling absolutely everything left in me, I mustered up enough pain tolerance to drag myself on top of him and finish my attack.

Pounding at his face, painting the black tape on my fists to crimson red, I turned the crowd silent yet again.

At first, Grave tries to block me, but after my tenth or twelfth hit, they fall away.

Adding another, and another, he goes limp.

Feeling a burn in my arms and the fear of not being able to win, I double down.

Their words scream in my head.

The blood of this man stains me.

Exhaustion hits me harder than any of his hits, even with the count of what he has done to my knee.

I slow down and slowly come to a stop.

His face is busted up, cut open, and blood splatters the white mat.

My hands rest beside me.

I take in a heavy, suffocating gulp of air to feed the starving lungs in my chest.

I look up from the unconscious man under me to see Darrion holding Damon back with the help of Daxton and Dane working as a cage in their own way.

All four sets of eyes stare back at me.

Taking the holes of the chainlink-like cage around me, I force myself to my feet.

Letting the gasps of pain through since I don’t possess the ability to muffle it any longer.

Every step, even with the help of the metallic helper, I make whimpers and hisses until I get to the door of the cage.

Damon is the first one to it, unlocking it and slipping through the ropes.

His arms come around me to carry me out, but I stop him.

“I have to walk out, Angel. They have to see it.” I take his hand in mine and don’t wait for him to argue.

My hair falls from the bun he gave me before this whole ordeal.

Daxton offers his other hand as I come down the steps.

Darrion moves past us to check on Grave.

Dane bolts to his laptop and hits play on my song.

~Fat Bottom Girls~ plays over the deafening silence to make me laugh internally.

At Lucien’s table to my left, blocked by Daxon, I stop and let go of both of my boys.

I stand taller, gaining the composure of the goddess that I am.

Limping to the table of his royal highness, I stand proud.

The shot glass full of gin he poured for Grave goes untouched, I grab it and toss it back.

Flipping it over, I leave it on the table.

Lucien’s glare could cut glass, but I haven’t the ability to give a fuck.

If only Lucien could hear my silent words.

~I look forward to the next trial. Soon, I’ll be your daughter-in-law. Not just your step-niece. You ungrateful piece of dog shit.~

Turning slowly, I make my way back to Damon and Daxon.

Letting Queen fill the silence.

I walk away from the cage.

The crowd.

The blood.

The king of hell.

They all watch me walk off and out of the gym.

When we get to the street, I collapse into their arms.

Damon cradling me up to his chest with Daxon going in front of us.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Savannah.”