Kian
We arrived at the old, abandoned warehouse standing above the Cage. Dad knocked on the heavy iron door in some secret code, then waited.
There was a scraping of metal, and then a strange pair of eyes appeared behind the open slit in the door.
"State your name and your business here," a male voice commanded in a blunt, gruff, Hispanic accent.
"Razor, and I brought my boy for the inauguration," Dad replied.
The viewing hole was slammed shut, and a moment later, the door was pulled open. "Go on through," the same guy spoke.
He was dark and exotic, and his eyes were like pools of molten amber with black vertical slits for pupils.
"Is he a . . .," I whispered to Dad.
"Shh, Kian; yes, he's a cat shifter," Dad answered, keeping his voice low. "Mind your manners," he reprimanded. "It's rude to point and stare."
"I've never seen one before," I chatted excitedly.
That was the truth; I hadn't. What I had learned at school about the cat community was that their numbers were few. They were highly religious, worshipping the Moon Goddess faith the same as a Christian devotes themselves to their God. Bears were more relaxed when it came to our beliefs. We were predominantly atheists, choosing to believe in what we could see and touch. Wolves worshipped the Goddess, too, but were not as fanatical as the cats. The fox shifter community worshipped money and not much else. I couldn't blame them. Given half a chance, I think I would too.
"What's a cat shifter doing in a place like this? I thought they were against gambling?" I questioned, looking up to my father with inquisitive eyes.
Dad answered me like any father feeding knowledge into the innocent mind of his young offspring, "Faith doesn't put food in your belly, son. A man's gotta eat. The cats have it worse than most. Sure, they pool their resources together and ration it out fairly. But where there's easy money to be made, men turn a blind eye to faith and focus on a fistful of green," he answered, patting my shoulder.
We walked down a dingy industrial staircase that spiraled down into Satan's asshole. That was how it looked from the top, peering down the center cavity, right down to the bottom level. The hazy red lighting from the room beneath filtered out through the doorway like the fiery pits of hell. Raised voices and laughter could be heard as well as the sickening sound of flesh colliding against flesh.
"You okay, son?" Dad inquired, probably noticing me stiffening.
"Yes, Dad," I stammered, a little unsure of myself. "I mean, I think so."
He ruffled my hair. "I got you, all right?" he reassured me. "You may not think so now, but you'll thank me for this someday. Times are changing, Kian. You gotta be prepared to defend yourself at all costs. I may not always be around to defend you. Hunters are coming into these parts thick and fast. You have to be prepared for a surprise attack," he forewarned.
We reached the lower level, the home of the Cage. The coppery smell of blood and sweat filled my nostrils, almost causing me to gag. Bodies stood around me as tall as my old man, obscuring my view. Dad muscled his way through, pushing past with his broad shoulders with me in hot pursuit. Finally, he stopped where he needed to be, shaking hands with a couple of guys I didn't recognize.
"Hey, Razor, I see you brought your boy," one of the shady-looking men spoke.
Right from the get-go, I pegged him as a hustler. The kind of guy who had the gift of gab and enough confidence to power a rocket ship to the moon. I bet if he told folks he had shaken hands with the Goddess herself, they'd believe him.
Dad pulled me in front of him, bringing his shovel-sized hands down on my shoulders. I felt my knees give way with the impact.
"Sure did, Chance," Dad answered with a distinct air of pride.
It figures a guy like him was named Chance. I could tell by the fickle look in his eyes that he was a walking probability. I waited for him to speak as his eyes flashed down to me in a twisted game of “what the fuck does he want? Roulette?”
He must've sensed the distrust seeping through my narrowed eyes, and he breathed out a chuckle. "The resemblance is uncanny, Razor," he remarked, grinning up at Dad.
Dad nudged my head from side to side as he affectionately ruffled my hair. "He's gonna be the best there ever was. Even greater than me and his grandpappy."
Metaphoric dollar signs lit up Chance's eyes. He clicked his tongue and some heavily made-up chick wearing the smallest pair of denim cutoff shorts, a glitzy bra top, and silver-heeled sandals strutted over and planted a kiss to his cheek.
"What do you want, Chance?" she asked in a voice that was sweet but far from innocent.
"Lexi, this is Razor's boy . . ." He paused, waiting for me to give my name.I scowled up at him. "Kian."
Chance flashed me a grin. "We'll have to change that, but it'll do for now." He turned to the woman whose blue eyes raked up and down me with something that resembled pity.
She shook whatever thoughts she had away, giving a prolonged blink before popping her gum, sucking it back inside her glossy red lips, and then smoothing down her peroxide-blonde hair.
"You want it cut short to the scalp like the others?" She cocked a questioning brow to Chance."Yeah, make it quick. We don't have all morning." He jerked his head, signaling for her to hurry her ass along.
She rolled her eyes, holding out her hand for me to grasp like I was some five-year-old. I ignored the gesture and walked alongside her instead.
"You're gonna be a handful around here, I can tell," she commented dryly.
My behavior was coming off as rude, but the truth was . . . I was scared shitless. It was a mask I wore like a suit of armor. This was Kian Jones shutting down and letting fuck knows what take over the driver's seat. Something dark manifesting inside me was scratching at the door and was itching to get out.
Kian My eyes focused on my reflection in the grubby, mottled mirror, ignoring the dark clumps of hair that fell to the floor like feathers from a plucked turkey. The noisy vibration absorbed through my skull each time Lexi dragged the clippers over my scalp. When she was done, I ran my hand over the millimeter-long stubble, feeling the coarse texture against my palm. The boy staring back at me was skinny and gaunt, like some sick kid in the hospital who only had months left to live. "You look bad-ass," Lexi complimented. I eyed her with intrigue, trying to work her out. "Thanks," I replied, unsure how best to respond to her comment. She met my gaze in the mirror and smirked. "What?" She pressed me for an answer, seeming wise to my silent analysis. "Just come out and say whatever it is you want to say, little bear. Don't be shy because it doesn't suit you." She placed a hand on her cocked-out hip, delivering a bucket-load of sass. "Little bear?" I scrunch my face, highly offende
Kian "You're up next, little bear," she muttered sadly, turning her gaze away. I locked eyes with my pal, Jaxton, who was standing over by his father, the President of the Roughnecks biker gang. His nickname was Throttle. I didn't ask why. A wide grin stretched across Jaxton's face as he bounded over to me. "Kian!" he called out, looking happy to see me. I slid down from the stool, clearing the short distance to greet him. "You suit your hair short like that," he remarked, pointing to my scalped head. "But I don't." He gestured to himself with an indignant scowl. "I look like a boiled egg," he complained. Jaxton's blond hair used to hang in wavy strands, reaching down to his shoulders. His momma let him grow it long so he could tie it back in a hairband. Just how his dad wore his. Now a mixture of light versus dark was being swept up from around the stools to where it was all pushed into a shaggy pile against the wall. "Dad says we're gonna be fighting each other in the Cage," J
KianMy feet rooted to the spot as he began to circle us, pacing the ring with observational eyes, scanning for any sign of weakness. "Your fists and shoulders should be up, with your chin and elbows down, eyes up," he barked out the instructions.I swallowed away the dryness as my eyes locked onto his, distrusting and cautious."Good," he voiced confidently. "Always keep your eyes on your opponent. Because if you don't . . ." He twisted his body in a sharp turn, taking a swipe at Jaxton. Jax must have watched him in his peripheral vision and managed to nimbly dodge out of his way."Smart move," Ricochet praised. "Now, I want you all to form pairs and face one another." He walked around us, correcting our posture. "Place your feet diagonal, a little more than shoulder-width apart and bend your knees. Your strength is here, in your core," he coached while tapping my midriff. "Better balance equals greater mobility." He began to demonstrate using actions. "Dominant hand forward. Take sh
Kian Dad was always saying how he hated growing up dirt poor. He gave it his best shot, but drink always got the better of him. I hated living in poverty too. Maybe Dad was right. Maybe getting good grades wasn't enough. The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor. Nobody was going to give me a handout in life. Those of us who live in the slums of Forest Hills were regarded as “the scumbags of society”. You didn't see the clan leaders investing any cash into our neighborhood. We were out of sight, out of mind. We didn't get the fancy parks and picnic greens like the clean part of town did. Kids here played out on the streets, drawing over the pavements with chalk or smashing bottles at the side of the road. Those said roads were not maintained like the ones in town. Ours were crumbled and full of potholes. Around the picture-perfect suburbs, they had convenience stores, bakeries, a cafe where people would sit outside and chat. Over at our side of town, we had one corner store that sto
KianThe hot sun fried the sparsely covered lawn, turning the grass a murky shade of brown. I wiped my sweat-coated brow with the back of my hand, then continued to push the lawnmower over the raised tufts of grass. This part-time gardening job may have made me a hit with the stay-at-home moms, but at sixteen years of age, it was still a case of “look all you want but keep your cougar paws to yourselves”. I was still a minor in the eyes of the law."Kian, do you want a cold glass of lemonade?" Mrs. Banks asked while pausing in the doorway and taking a good old look at all my hard work and effort.Since her heart attack six years ago, I had been keeping a closer eye on her and took on all of her strenuous chores. It was Mom's drug dealers who had caused her sudden attack. The shock of them kicking down my front door and barging their way through my house caused Mrs. B to act impulsively in defense of my mother. From what I was told, they had given her a bad scare, and after they left,
KianMom's phone chimed a few lines from a girly pop song. She fished it out from the front pocket of an apron that she'd thrown on and answered with a beaming smile stretching across her face."Hey, handsome, guess what I'm doing right now?" She giggled as the recognizable rumble of my father's voice uttered something dirty and suggestive.I scrunch my face with repulsion."No, you perv," Mom replied flirtatiously, "I'm cooking on your barbecue," she told him, to which I heard him protesting playfully that it was his toy and how it would earn her a good ole' spanking when he came home from work.I almost choked on my steak and had to get Mrs. Banks to pound her palm against my back.Mom rolled her eyes, then held out the phone. "Your dad wants to talk to you," she informed me, the girly smile still lingering on her lips as if she was deliriously happy.I took the modern device, which was a Christmas present from me to her, and answered with a "Hello?""Was that you choking?" he asked
KianThe boys were hanging around the lockers when I arrived, some half-dressed and some walking around in towels. One of the guys scrubbed a hand against my buzzed hair as I passed while another tossed me a bottle of shower gel."You're so gonna get laid after this," another crooned, making a riding bull gesture.I grinned, rolling my eyes as I stripped to my skin and palmed the metal push-tap. There was a brief blast of cold water, then the temperature heated against my skin. I dipped my head under the faucet and let the flow cascade down my body. Time ran away with me while I stayed under there, hitting the tap to keep up the constant flow. The laughter of the boys started to fade away as I became lost in my thoughts, replaying the whole game from start to finish in my mind. Whether it was on the playing field or inside the Cage, the euphoric feeling of victory was still the same. I needed to win. I had to chase the feeling like an addict needing a fix.The scent of testosterone,
KianHer words spurred me on, just like the sexy little cheer chants that were designed to tease us. I gripped her hips as I pulled back, my face contorting with pleasure as I felt her walls constricting around me, then slammed back into her. My own groans escaping through my lips while repeating the action, finding a steady rhythm."Just like that, don't stop!" Stacey cried out, both of us becoming more vocal as we reached our crescendo.Sparks were flying through my veins. Not the forever love kind, but the thrill of a good fuck. Stacey Rayne really was a good fuck, not that I had anyone to compare her to. A gradual wave of euphoria began to build in my balls, boiling over the rim like an active volcano, erupting through the length of my cock, and filling the condom with hot, sticky cum. Stacey's pussy walls hugged me tighter, an ear-splitting scream rattling around the tiles as her body shook with the force of her climax.I gave her ass a playful slap. "Same time tomorrow?" I sugg