Kiss_Bang (Lost Devils MC #1) - Madison Faye Page 0,1

types to his brutal, no-holds-barred fights—fights to the death if need be. Guys like Carlos and his buddies come for the cheap seats, but it’s men like Jorge who fly in on private jets for the boxed seats furnished with full bars, cocaine, and girls. In the ring, death is a master, and in that ring, I am death.

“Hey, asshole! Chupame la verga! Hey! Suck my dick!” Carlos coughs up phlegm, and I hear him spit it before I feel it hit the back of my arm. A low growl simmers in my chest, and he cackles.

“Rise and shine, bitch!” The baton clanks on the bars, and I smile.

“El hefe wants you ready. Tonight, you’re the star, si? Tonight, you fight good.” He laughs. “Maybe the boss gives you a pillow if you play nice.”

Nothing Carlos or his ilk says or do ever gets through to me. It never hurts me. But today, there’s more of a reason to ignore him. Today, there’s more of a wall between us. Because last night, something changed. Last night, hell blinked.

There were four of them last night, and they were armed. The crowds jeering, the thrown beer cans and pesos—the smell of blood and sweat and dirt. But the stacked deck is an illusion—a show for the men who want to bet and drink. Four is no match for me, even armed with bats and knives. I’ve taken twice that before.

The first went down too easy. He had tequila on his breath—liquid courage that only got his arm snapped in three places before his neck followed. The second went face-first through the plywood siding.

Don’t feel bad for them. The men I fight are rapists, and murders, and child molesters. Most people who cross Jorge himself are killed or tortured and then killed. It’s only me that he keeps chained like a dog, and it’s because of the fights. The ones I fight against he buys from the local jails.

The third got a hit in, but I had him pinned, one hand around his neck. And that’s when I saw her.

A rose in the desert

A bloom in the burnt, charred remains of a life ripped from me.

A softness in a cruel world of pain and death.

Raven hair, soft, full ruby lips, and the brightest, most piercing blue eyes on any girl in the world. Last night, I saw an angel, and this devil blinked.

That blink is what got me the bat to the back of the head, too. I stumbled, and I fell, and the two left jumped up to take me out. I looked up, and that angel up in the glass boxed seats was gone. And it was that dream being ripped from me that that had me lurching to my feet with a low, savage growl. The two last attackers were snuffed out in seconds. No fanfare, no showy bullshit. Just two flicks of my wrists, and two harsh snaps of necks.

So, no, Carlos hasn’t woken me. I haven’t slept, not with her in my head. For the first time in almost two years, I saw beauty in a place that snuffs beauty out like a match. And now, she’s all I want. Now, for the first time since the old me died, I want to live tomorrow. I want to take another breath.

For her.

“Hey, cabron!” Carlos mutters. He raps the bars again, and again, I grin in the darkness.

Carlos is getting angry, and angry Carlos is sloppy Carlos.

…Sloppy Carlos is standing past the line.

I move in silence in the darkness, and he never sees me coming. My hand shoves through the bars, and he screams, but it’s cut off as my hand closes around his neck. I growl and yank him hard against the bars, and there’s a crunching sound of his nose breaking, and maybe some teeth. Then there’s the sound of more men yelling and running down the hall. Too many to know their footsteps, but I know them all at this point.

Batons slam into me, a taser sends lighting through my arm. But I just grin, silent, squeezing. But finally, one of them jams a taser against my neck, and I lose my grip. I stagger, and when another taser hits my knee, I drop to the ground. They yank Carlos away, who’s coughing and choking through his partially crushed windpipe, and screaming in Spanish.

One of the other guys swears and yanks a glock out of his belt. But suddenly, there’s a barked word in Spanish, and