Chapter 95 One month with the Mafia boss: Day eight
1:34 a.m.
The Pit – Underground Fight Club, abandoned meat-packing district.
The air down here is thick with blood, sweat, cheap vodka, and the metallic tang of adrenaline.
Chain-link cage in the center, concrete floor stained dark from years of spilled everything.
The crowd is a howling animal, tattooed enforcers, off-duty cops, rich kids slumming it, women in leather and diamonds screaming for violence.
Kazimir is shirtless in the cage, knuckles wrapped in black tape already soaked red.
His opponent is a 120-kilo Serbian monster with a shattered nose and murder in his eyes.
Round four just ended. The Serb is swaying. Kazimir isn’t even breathing hard.
Nyra watches from the front row, pressed against the cold metal links.
She is wearing nothing but one of Kazimir’s oversized black hoodies and a pair of barely-there lace panties he picked out himself.
No bra. The hoodie smells like him and it’s the only thing keeping the crowd from seeing the fresh bruises blooming across her thighs from last night.
The bell clangs.
The final round is slaughter.
Kazimir moves like something mythic ducking a haymaker, driving an elbow into the Serb’s temple, following with a knee to the body that folds the man in half.
The crowd roars louder with every blow. When the uppercut lands and the Serb hits the concrete unconscious, the noise is deafening.
The ref raises Kazimir’s arm. Blood runs from a split above his eyebrow, down his cheek, dripping onto his chest.
His gray eyes find Nyra through the links instantly.
He doesn’t wait for the cheers to die.
He vaults the cage wall, lands in front of her, and drags her inside by the front of the hoodie.
The crowd parts like they know what’s coming. Some cheer louder. Some start filming on phones. Kazimir doesn’t care.
He slams her back against the chain-link, the metal biting cold into her shoulders through the thin cotton.
One hand fists the hoodie, yanks it up to her collarbones, baring her to the waist. The other rips the lace panties clean off.
Nyra’s breath catches. The cage still reeks of violence.
Blood spatters the floor beneath her bare feet. The crowd is a wall of sound around them.
Kazimir’s mouth crashes into hers. He bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, licks it away, growls against her tongue.
“You watched me break him,” he rasps, voice raw from the fight. “Now watch me break you.”
He spins her, slams her front against the links.
The metal is freezing against her nipples, her belly.
The crowd on the other side is inches away, faces pressed to the fence, eyes hungry, phones up. She can feel their breath.
Kazimir kicks her legs wide. His fight shorts are already tented obscenely.
He shoves them down just enough to free his cock.
No warning. No prep. Just the blunt head nudging her entrance and one savage thrust that buries him to the hilt.
Nyra screams.
The sound rips out of her, swallowed by the roaring crowd.
He is scalding inside her, stretching her open, the angle brutal with her pinned to the fence.
Every thrust rattles the chain-link, making her breasts bounce against cold metal.
His hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise.
He fucks her like the fight never ended, all that pent-up violence pouring straight into her cunt.
The wet slap of skin on skin is obscene over the crowd noise.
“Look at them,” he snarls into her ear, yanking her head back by the hair so she has to face the spectators.
“They just watched me destroy a man. Now they’re watching me destroy this perfect little pussy. And they know they’ll never touch what’s mine.”
Someone in the front row reaches through the links, trying to brush her thigh.
Kazimir’s hand shoots out, grabs the wrist, snaps it backward with a sickening crack. The man howls and disappears into the crowd.
Message received. The rest keep their distance, but their eyes devour her. They wished they could fight Kazimir to fuck her.
She was too sexy and they couldn't keep their eyes off.
Kazimir’s pace turns feral. One hand snakes around her hip, fingers finding her clit with ruthless precision.
The other wraps around her throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind her eyes.
“Come,” he commands. “Come on my cock while they all watch who you belong to.”
She shatters.
The orgasm hits like a freight train, back arching, cunt clamping down so hard he groans, squirting down his balls and thighs in messy pulses.
Her scream is raw, lost in the thunder of the crowd.
Kazimir follows seconds later, slamming deep and spilling inside her.
He grinds through it, emptying every drop, marking her from the inside out.
When he pulls out, come drips down her thighs in thick rivulets, mixing with the blood on the floor.
He turns her, presses her back to the fence, and kisses her slow and filthy while the crowd slowly quiets, stunned into reverence.
He pulls the hoodie back down over her trembling body, zips it up to her throat like armor.
Then he lifts her over the cage wall again, carries her through the parting sea of bodies toward the exit.
People reach out to touch him but he ignores them all, eyes only on her.
In the back of the armored SUV, he cleans the blood from his face with a towel, then pulls her into his lap.
She’s still shaking, aftershocks rippling through her every few seconds.
He cups her chin, forces her glazed eyes to meet his.
“Eight days,” he says quietly, thumb stroking her swollen lower lip. “Of showing the world what they can’t have.”
Nyra leans in, kisses the split above his eyebrow, tastes copper and victory.
“Take me home and break me again,” she whispers.
Kazimir smiles, “Already on our way, kotyonok.”
The SUV pulls into the night, leaving the howling crowd behind.
Kazimir’s heart was beating real fast while Nyra was doing all she could for some cash.