Fighting Fate (Fighting Series) (Fighting #6)(7)

“What do you think?” I drop open my jaw and show him my tongue.

His eyes flash with something tender a second before his eyebrows drop low and he radiates fury. “How are you going to explain this to Blake?” He spits the words from his mouth. “No, better yet, how am I going to explain this to Blake?”

My spine stiffens and I scowl back at my grumpy best friend. “I’m twenty years old, Kill. Pretty sure piercings are my choice now, not his.”

He tilts his head, and the deadly look in his eyes almost makes me flinch. “It’s not the piercing; it’s the why.” He growls the last word.

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, like I’d ever tell Blake I’m getting my tongue pierced as a gift to a guy.”

Tom chuckles. “Lucky guy.”

Killer glides—really, it’s like he floats—to his feet and stares me dead in the eyes. I catch my breath at the overwhelming intensity of his face. All that dark hair, framing amber eyes, and he has the kind of skin most women would kill for. “Do not ask me what I think about the tongue piercing you’re getting to suck your man off on his birthday, Ax, because you know my answer is going to be I don’t fucking like it. Not one fucking bit.”

My cheeks flame, and I’m not even really sure why. I’m a legal adult. If I want to get my tongue pierced, I can get my tongue pierced. “It’s not like that’s the only reason I’m—”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He runs his hands through his hair.

“Are we doing this or what?” Tom holds up his black-rubber-gloved hands. “I’ve got another appointment waiting.”

“Yes, let’s do it—”

The sound of a beaded curtain being thrown aside calls my attention, and the last thing I see is Killian’s back as he stomps from the room.

“Looks like someone’s jealous.” Tom positions himself in front of me with clamps in hand.

Jealous? No way. Killer has had plenty of opportunities to accept my pathetic attempts to throw myself at him, and he’s always played dumb. He’s smart, talented, and lining up to be the next Universal Fighting League superstar. The last thing he needs is an average girl with average intelligence and zero goals in life hanging on his arm.

“Let’s get this over with.” I open my mouth and squeeze my eyes closed, wishing like hell I had Killian there to hold my hand.

Since the moment my life fell apart, he’s been there for me. I’ve depended on him so much I don’t think I can go through more than a headache without him. I don’t want to admit to myself that his disapproval is giving me second thoughts about the piercing. It’s time I thought on my own, made my own choices and my own mistakes, rather than sitting back and paying for everyone else’s.

I stick my tongue out and the cold metal of the clamp declares its intention. I scrunch my eyes and squeal as the sharp sting of a needle pierces my flesh. A quick rush of adrenaline and power races through me.

There’s no way Clifford won’t fall all over me now.





Two





Killian





“I swear if I didn’t know better I’d think you were juicing.” Blake glares at me through the mirror while I crank out a few more curls to finish my set.

“You know I’m clean.” I drop the dumbbells on the rack while frustration and guilt war in my chest.

I upped my weight, grinding the hell out of my body to blow off the shit with Axelle. What the hell is she thinking? As much as I wanted to slap her silly for getting her sexy-as-shit tongue speared through, I can’t deny the little flick of her tongue with that pink ball she flashed me when she walked out of the piercing room had all the blood collecting between my legs. If Blake only knew the reason for my all-out workout tonight…he’d fucking kill me. He’ll find out soon enough, and then he’ll fucking kill me for allowing it to happen.

All for that fuck-wad Clifford.

The only thing that brought me a little peace of mind was the moment the aftercare instructions were explained. No kissing or oral sex for two weeks. I had to hold back from doing a victory dance right there in the piercing place, but I didn’t hold back my laughter.

So much for Clifford’s epic birthday present. That greaseball fucker can’t even kiss her now. At least…not on her lips. Motherfucker!

“We know you’re clean.” Jonah pops up from the bench next to mine, dropping his weights to the mat and wiping a towel over his face. “But your gains are impressive.”

Six days a week in the gym, two-a-days on Saturday, times that by three years…what the fuck did they expect? They dangle UFL dreams in front of me. I’m not the kind of guy to brush that shit off. Hell, I’ve been the UFL’s biggest fan since I was sneaking in my living room to watch the fights from behind my dad’s La-Z-Boy.

“Thanks…?” I move to the heavy bar and drop down beneath it, bracing my hands for the optimal position.

“He’s been holding his own with Rex lately too,” Blake says to Jonah, like I’m not even here.

I blow out three quick breaths then push the bar off the rack.

“No shit. And Cam said Kill’s ready for a fight.”

My arms wobble. A fight?

“Heard Webb is ready.”