BUY Links below - Click on the Link for the retailer you prefer below! Available Now!!
Fighters take the ultimate prize for victory…
Underage KC snuck into the underground fight club called The Cage. But it was no ordinary fight club. The participants didn’t battle for titles or a useless belt to collect dust. The men and women brawled for only one thing. To be the victor and take the spoils of war they’d earned with their blood, sweat and tears. Not for money or jewels. They fought for the right to take the loser in any way—and any hole—of their choosing.
But KC was discovered by one of the bouncers and taken to a room with no way out. To the office of the owner, Creed, who held more than just her fate in his hands…
He’d seen hundreds of warriors find their way to his door with visions of grandeur and conquest. But it took a girl not yet a woman to remind him why he worked so tirelessly day in and day out. Her eyes. They would haunt him long after he threw her out of his arena and told her never to return.
Years later, they meet again, and KC is ready to take her place amongst his fighters. Creed wants nothing to do with the woman she’s become, but their fate has an interesting way of setting things right.
Consent has never seen this kind of fight club…
Reader Advisory – Her Creed rides a very thin line between consensual and non-consensual sex. Readers sensitive to portrayals of non-consensual sex should be advised.
Built with reinforced iron bars and a flat platform, The Cage spoke to KC. As she stared at it, a feeling of destiny swept over her. Fate maybe. She wanted nothing more than to be inside it. Fight inside it. Win inside it.
The arena housed more than just a simple underground fight club. The network of training centers that allegedly sent fighters there were legion. Fighters from around the world battled their way to this stadium to face the warriors from this ludus.
Many tried, but only an elite few fighters were selected to train there outside of Buffalo. This facility was rumored to be the best.
Any fighter worth his salt wanted to be good enough to earn the title Gladi-Raper.
No-holds-barred rules. No weapons. Think MMA on steroids, and that barely touched the surface of what went on inside the ring. KC stared across the dark expanse from behind a partial wall she’d found nearly a month earlier. Sneaking in hadn’t been easy. Staying below the radar of the men and women inside the building proved to be increasingly difficult. Yet, she couldn’t stay away.
Some kind of tournament was about to start. Spotlights mixed with strobes of color illuminated the ticket holders lucky enough to be allowed access into the arena’s seats. People had been filing in for close to an hour. Nearly all the seats around the ring were taken. Only a smattering of chairs here and there remained empty. Music, pumped in through a massive audio system, thumped in the open space. Like a pulse, beating through the crowd.
What she wouldn’t give to sit ringside and watch the fights.
Watch the winners take their prizes.
See the winners take the losers.
“Our seats are over here.”
Two couples moved closer, and she edged over behind the wall again.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs, and she tried not to pant. The last thing she needed was to be caught inside.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. Not old enough. Not allowed. Not invited.
Hadn’t ever stopped her before.
As long as she didn’t get caught. Getting caught in this building would be bad. Closing her eyes, she willed her heart rate to calm. She was seventeen. Almost an adult. The rules specifically forbade her from being a fighter until after she turned eighteen.
So all she had to do was get through another year undetected, and then she could apply. Didn’t matter how long she waited for acceptance. She wanted a spot, with a need bordering on obsession, and she’d keep trying until the owner selected her. The fact she didn’t have any real fighting experience didn’t give her much of a warm and fuzzy.
“Ladies and Gentlemen.”
Turning, she peeked around the end of the corridor again. The lights dimmed and spotlights illuminated two doors on opposite sides of the huge open space.
“Turn your eyes to the blue side.” Blue doors opened on the far side of the arena. “Welcome, from across the border, Bruuu-tus.”
The announcer’s voice rumbled inside her as he stood in the center of the ring stretching the names of the fighters along with her imagination. He wove a tale with his deep voice that she ached to watch come to life.
The roar of the crowd ignited her insides. A tall man with dark hair walked out clad in typical boxer’s attire—hoodie, taped-up hands, no shirt, boxer trunks, no shoes. His crew moved behind him. A trainer rubbed his shoulders and spoke in his ear as he approached The Cage.
The ring itself was like a boxing ring with ropes around all four sides, except for one piece of one section which was left completely open. When the Cage dropped down from the ceiling, enclosing the fighters and the referee inside, a corresponding door could be opened in the metal wall. People could still get in and out as necessary, but the raw feel of the imposing space with the metal down made her shiver.
Removing his jacket, Brutus’s muscles were shadowed from the lights above. His appearance reminded her of an angel’s, if not for the devil parked on her other shoulder reminding her exactly what he would do to his opponent if he won.
“And in the green corner, our very own Gladi-Raper, Kempest.”
People cheered and screamed, and no doubt money passed hands on who would be the victor this night.
Kempest emerged from his foggy entrance clad as a Gladiator. Shin and foot guards made of leather, chest harness, shield and sword. His loin cover was made of leather as well. Everything fitted to his body as if it were made for him. And KC knew it had been.
All of the Rapers had their own costumes. Their own…not persona...alter-ego, maybe. The person they became when they stepped into The Cage to fight for themselves, their ludus, their underground family.
Kempest climbed into the ring and bellowed to the rafters. He wouldn’t be allowed weapons or even extra protection during the fight, but what a sight he made, and what thunder he created as he pounded on his shield.
Elation raced through her as awareness of the coming fight shivered down her spine. Some kind of pride filled her chest though she didn’t know the man shouting in The Cage.
She wanted to be him. To stand inside the bars and roar her victory.
The announcer spouted off about the rules, but KC tuned him out. She knew enough about the rules not to care about them specifically.
Fights were held once a week. Fights could be between two males, two females, or one of each. They would continue until all fighters who qualified had an opportunity to fight. Pairings were usually random and selected by drawing names. All except the title fight, pitting the top fighter from the two top ludus against each other.
And the winner?
Winner takes all. Not just money or glory or a big belt made of precious metal.
No, the reward was much more important than any inanimate prize.
Sex was the ultimate payoff and the pinnacle of bragging rights for each of the victors.
“All right gentlemen—fight!”
KC focused on the ring again and noticed both fighters were stripped down to their shorts, and their knuckles were taped.
Short jabs. Duck. Kick to the ribs. A direct tackle. Brutus swept Kempest’s legs right out from beneath him, but somehow Kempest landed on top, and he got that look on his face the Rapers were known for.
Acute focus, speed and thirst for blood. Victory wasn’t in the pile of money they were to receive. Not a trophy or an endorsement or a trip.
Nothing like that would ever be important enough to be sought after by any involved.
Kempest threw punch after punch, and the ref was there to pull him off if Brutus forfeited the fight. But he didn’t.
Number One rule. Always win.
Number Two rule. Make the loser think twice before ever trying to best you again.
The winner took the loser any way they wanted. Right there in the center of the ring for everyone to hear. To see. To watch. To anticipate. To desire. To yearn for them and the passion of being taken. Owned. Forced to submit.
Tingling ramped up between her thighs, and her nipples tightened. The only thing that kept a moan in check was her goal to remain quiet. To stay undetected as the crowd cheered Kempest at the end of the round.
KC’s arms and legs twitched, and she wondered how long it was going to take her to rub one out when she got back to—
A huge hand latched onto the back of her neck and lifted her off her feet. “And who do we have here?”
Struggling meant nothing to the huge fucker who’d caught her unaware. No one should have been able to move that fast. Nor that quietly. Where he came from, she didn’t really care about. Who he was meant less than nothing to her.
On the other hand, what he would do with her would make a very lasting first impression…
Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.