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  CRAVE

  Copyright © 2015 Margaret McHeyzer

  All rights reserved. This book is copyrighted. Apart from the fair purpose of private study, research or review as permitted by the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced without written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Interior Formatting by Tami Norman, Integrity Formatting

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Master Table of Contents

  Grit

  Chef Pierre

  Smoke and Mirrors

  More from Margaret McHeyzer

  Grit: Prologue

  Back when it all started

  “Get the fuck out, you useless piece of shit!” he screams at me, rousing me from slumber.

  “What?” I ask, completely disoriented as I try to blink sleep away.

  “I said get the fuck out of here. Move your skinny, worthless ass out and stay out,” Dad spits, as he drags the dirty blanket off my body, shocking me awake.

  “What did I do, Dad?” I stand from the sunken mattress on its noisy box springs and look for a hoodie to pull on.

  “No way do you take anything with you. I fucking warned you. Now get out,” he yells, face red as he stands face-to-face with me.

  I can smell the smokiness of the cheap whiskey he drinks. It mingles with his usual bad breath. He chest-bumps me back so I can’t get past him and stands with his hands on his hips.

  “What did I do?” I ask again.

  “I told you; you need to bring in one thousand a week. You only gave me nine hundred this week. I’m sick and tired of carrying your useless ass.”

  “Dad, the kids at school aren’t buying. The last lot of E you gave me to sell was shit. No one wants to buy from me.” I manage to pull a hoodie on and zip the front up.

  “That’s your problem, not mine. It costs me money to feed you, to clothe you, and to keep you alive. Seeing as you’re not making me any money, you’re better off dead as far as I’m concerned. Your cunt of a mother begged me not to kill you, so you’re lucky I’m letting you live. But let me tell you, Jaeger, I’ll be happy to make you my first victim,” Dad says as he sways slightly from the alcohol and whatever else is in his system.

  “I tried hard, Dad. Please don’t kick me out.”

  “You got five minutes to pack your shit and get the fuck out.” He turns and walks out the bedroom door.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  I’m barely sixteen years old, with not a single dollar to my name.

  Every cent I earned went to Dad. He supplied the drugs and made me sell them for him.

  Where the hell am I supposed to go?

  I grab my ratty backpack, and shove every broken possession I have into it. I’ve got a pair of ripped jeans, a couple of t-shirts and a couple of hoodies. Not much, but it’s all I’ve got.

  I quickly fasten my backpack and frantically look around the room for something of value I can pawn.

  Can’t take the springy, noisy bed–it’s too big to carry and filthy.

  Can’t take the old color TV–it doesn’t work.

  Can’t take the wardrobe–it’s too heavy.

  “You better be getting your scrawny ass out of here,” I hear my father’s voice from the family room, slurring loudly.

  I put my hand on the doorknob of my bedroom door, open it and walk through it, knowing this is it for me.

  I now have nowhere to live, nowhere to stay, and no one I can trust.

  As I take my last trip down the hallway from my bedroom to the front door, I hear my drunken father yelling at my mother. When I look into the family room, Mom’s slumped on the old, worn, discolored sofa, probably passed out from some ill-fated hit she’s taken.

  Dad’s yelling and spittle is flying out of his mouth. Mom is completely oblivious to him. Maybe she took this hit to escape him; maybe she took it because she doesn’t want to see me go. Either way, she can’t help me now.

  “Bye,” I say in a small voice to no one.

  “Don’t ever come back,” Dad says over his shoulder, completely disregarding me, like I’m nothing to him.

  I turn the handle on the front door and look back down the hallway toward my bedroom.

  This really is it.

  As I walk out into the blackness of the night without one gleam of light, a sense of desperate bleakness overcomes me.

  I look down at the old, shabby Timex watch I got for my tenth birthday, and see it’s just before 3 a.m. It’s damned cold outside. The fall winds are picking up and there’s dew on the sparse lawns in the ghetto I’m being chucked out of.

  I need to find somewhere I can rest, even if it’s just for the night. There’s a bridge at the other end of town where I know the homeless sleep. It’s not usually patrolled by police, and it’s definitely not safe. But for the rest of tonight, I’ll have to call it home.

  Four years later

  I can hear them.

  Chanting.

  They’re calling for me.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  Hundreds, maybe even a thousand voices. All blending together, shouting in a chorus, singing the hypnotic sound of my name.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  “You ready?” Aaron asks, coming through the door.

  “Yeah. Sounds like a hungry crowd out there tonight.”

  Aaron looks at me with a sinister glint in his eyes. “You win, it’s worth just over thirty grand to you. You lose, you’re leaving in a bag.” Aaron’s been setting up these fights since he watched me take down someone twice my size in a back alley one night.

  He approached me after the fight was over, as I was counting my roll of twenties. He told me he could make me ten times the amount I held in my hand, if I just paid attention and kept my head on straight.

  At the time we met, I was fighting to eat and to pay for a place to lay my head each night. Now I do it strictly for the money. Fights like tonight’s are fights to the death. They don’t happen often, but when they do, they’re worth big cash. But the price is bigger for the loser.

  Rolling my shoulders as I walk around the room, the chanting grows louder.

  I straighten my back, throw a few air punches and get my mind right.

  Aaron knows the drill.

  Leave me the fuck alone.

  I close my eyes for a moment and crack my neck to the right, then to the left. The blood in my veins pumps loud and strong through my entire body. The vibration of excitement is so forceful I can feel it pulsating in my eardrums. It’s almost like the heavy beat of bass when you walk into a nightclub.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  My heart hammers in my chest.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  My anxiety reaches a fever pitch.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  My nerves are completely exposed, raw.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  Anger rips through me.

  “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” I say, my tone deadly. I mean every fucking word. My opponent will die tonight.

  Kill or be killed.

  For thirty grand, it’s kill.

  “I’m
ready.”

  Aaron walks ahead of me to open the door and steps aside for me to go first.

  In tonight’s fight, there will be no taped hands, no gloves, and no protection of any kind.

  Kill or be killed. A fight to the death.

  I start walking and Aaron moves swiftly to walk in front of me. The stretch down the cold, dim corridor that leads to the underground space where the fight is being held is short and sterile.

  Kill him.

  I can’t hear the crowd anymore. In this room, on this stage, there are only two people. Me and him. I don’t know who he is; I’ve never fought him before. And after tonight, I won’t fight him again.

  I hone in on him, and immediately I see it in his eyes. Death. My death.

  But just behind him, I see her. And instantly her flaming, wild, red hair is everywhere. She’s clinging to a man who looks like he’s old enough to be her father. She’s cowering back from the ring and appears fearful and frightened. She doesn’t belong in a place like this. What the hell is she doing here? Who the fuck is she? One look, though, and I know I can make her moan while I taste her pussy, licking her, enjoying her. I want her.

  Smash.

  A fist connects with my jaw and my body gets slammed back.

  I stumble back a few steps, and in those few seconds she’s wiped from my mind. Now my focus is on the fight. I need to win.

  I regain my footing, and bring my hands up to cover my face. I take an agitated, menacing step forward. My left uppercut connects with his chin, and I follow with a right into his stomach. He steps back, obviously winded.

  I pounce while he leans forward to get his breath. I hold him down with my right arm and keep my left arm pounding into his face and his chest. He moves back a step, breaks my hold, and aims a roundhouse kick at my head. My body snaps to the left as I bring my arm up to block what's coming at me.

  But he manages to sidestep and come around behind me, landing blow upon blow to my ribs. I feel one snap, but I manage to hold in the excruciating pain. I need to get him off me.

  I turn and jab him with a right. He comes in close and grabs my left leg, smashing it with his shin, then turns and takes me down. He’s on top of me now and really starts laying into me. My eyebrow splits and blood spills out everywhere.

  Now I’ve got him in my guard. My legs lock around him. With a burst of effort, I force his arm inside, across his chest and down between my knees. I bring my leg up higher and lift my hips clear off the ground. Locking my ankles behind his head, I bite down heavy with my left leg, pull on my right shin and incapacitate his arm. I pull down on his head and apply pressure on his neck. Slowly the flailing eases. He can’t escape a triangle choke hold.

  I administer more tension to his neck by lifting my hips further and flexing into his side. He can’t get out. I’ve got him down. The blood flow to his head is restricted; he’ll pass out in seconds.

  His eyes drift closed and his body becomes lax against my legs. I tighten the triangle until I know for sure he’s out.

  I relax the hold and get up.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  I hear them again. I look up to see where she is, but she’s gone.

  I kneel down next to the limp body lying on the floor.

  I take his head between my hands and look into the broken face of the fool who chose to fight me.

  With a turn and lift of the head, his neck cracks and all the life in him is gone.

  “Jaeger, Jaeger, Jaeger.”

  Standing up, I swipe my hand across my face and flick the blood off me. Without any remorse, I leave the corpse and turn to walk away.

  Aaron’s by my side the moment I step off the small stage.

  “There’s a guy who wants to meet you.”

  “This isn’t a meet and greet. Tell him to fuck off.” I wipe some more blood away.

  “It’s worth six figures, Jaeger.”

  I stop walking before I reach the door that leads into the cold corridor.

  “Okay. Show the fucker in. And find me the redhead who was standing over near the exit. I need a slut to open her legs.”

  “What redhead?”

  I look back at where she was standing, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I’m glad she’s gone. I shouldn’t want her. She’s probably too good for this shit, for a place where the stench of death hangs so strong in the air. “Doesn’t matter, just find me a slut.”

  Grit: Chapter 1

  5 Years Later

  “You don’t need a condom, baby. You can trust me,” the slut says in her husky voice, looking up at me.

  “Just for that, I’m not screwing you. Keep your lips around my cock and shut the fuck up, or leave.” I look down at Julie, or Jennifer, or whatever the hell her name is.

  “You’re an asshole,” she mumbles around my hard-on.

  I pull my cock out of her mouth and sit down on one of the small sofas in my office. “I’m an asshole, am I?”

  “Well, yeah, Jaeger let’s face it. You pretty much are.” She sits back on her haunches and gives me a ‘what are you going to do about it’ look. Well, screw this bitch.

  “Don’t fucking move,” I say to her as I stand up, tuck my cock into my jeans and walk to the door.

  I can hear music coming from the bar area and Aaron, my VP, is sitting on a stool with another one of the club wenches kneeling between his legs giving him a blow job.

  Cindy–I think that’s her name–sees me and her eyes light up like a damned Christmas tree.

  “Hi, Jaeger.” She giggles and hops up from the sofa she was sitting on, comes over and wraps her arms around me.

  “My dick needs sucking.”

  “Oh, I’d love to do that for you, Mr. Prez.” She fucking giggles again.

  I take her by the hand and lead her into my roomy office, where Julie, or whoever she is, is still kneeling on the floor. I close the door and point to the floor between my feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cindy gracefully slides to her knees, opens my fly and wraps her plump lips around me.

  She’s doing a decent job, nothing overly fancy, just the normal bobbing of her head up and down the length of me. She adds in a bit of tongue swirling, some sucking and kissing my knob. She’s not the best I’ve ever had, but I suppose she’ll do.

  Julie moves to get up off the floor, but I stop her with just a look. “You wanted to spout off, so you miss out. Instead, you can sit there and watch Cindy fuck me with her mouth.” I grab Cindy’s head, weave my fingers into her hair, and really start going to town. I move her head the way I want it, until I’m thrusting hard into her mouth.

  “Let me join in,” Julie says in a hungry, husky voice.

  Ordinarily, screwing a few skanks together would be fine with me, but this bitch talked back and called me an asshole. So I’m showing her just how much of an asshole I can be.

  “No,” I manage to get out between moans.

  This Cindy chick is alright, she’s coping what I give her and she’s letting me fuck her mouth as hard as I want.

  My balls swell, my heart races and I shoot my load down Cindy’s throat. She swallows everything I give her, and when I pull out of her mouth and tuck myself away, she looks up at me with those big brown eyes, like she’s asking me for some sort of approval.

  “You can go, Cindy.” I turn around and walk toward my desk.

  “It’s Sandy, Jaeger,” she says as she gets up off the floor.

  “Sorry. You can go, Sandy.” Sandy turns around and walks through the door, closing it behind her.

  “Now, Julie,” I begin saying.

  “It’s Jennifer,” she corrects.

  Eh, fifty-fifty chance I’d get it wrong.

  “Okay, Jennifer. Get out. And by out, I mean get the fuck out of the clubhouse and don’t come back. You’re no longer welcome.” I sit in my comfortable leather office chair and light a cigarette.

  “What? Why? This isn’t fair. I promise I’ll do better next time. I’m so sorry.” She starts walking toward
me, but I put my hand up to stop her.

  “Because you’re no longer of use around here. Now fucking leave,” I say, finality in my voice. Julie turns and walks out the door, crying and sobbing as she leaves.

  I give her a minute to get out, then go to the bar area. Aaron no longer has a chick attached to his dick; he’s sitting on his stool nursing the bourbon in his glass. I pour one for myself.

  “Make sure she doesn’t come back. Tell the prospects to kick her out.”

  “Yep,” he answers casually.

  “We need to talk,” I say as I walk back to my office.

  Carrying his drink, Aaron follows me in, then closes and locks the door behind him.

  “What’s happening, brother?” He sits in the chair opposite me and brings one leg up so his ankle’s propped on the other knee.

  “Old man Ward’s skipped or something. He’s a week behind, so I’m gonna take a ride out there and kill him.”

  “When are you going?”

  “Leaving in the morning, taking Sarge with me. You got it here?” I lean onto the desk with my elbows, as I steeple my fingers together.

  “Yeah, you’re covered.” Aaron sits further back into his chair, relaxing.

  “I’m gonna take a couple of the prospects, too.” I sit back in my chair and bring my hands up behind my head and lean back in the chair. I look to Aaron, whose brows are furrowed together, deep in thought. “What are you thinking, VP?”

  “How much does Ward owe the club again?” he asks as he unfolds his legs and sits forward.

  “Just over two hundred.”

  “What’s the farm worth?”

  “Not sure. It’s just over ten thousand acres with around five thousand head of cattle. I’d say it’s worth six, maybe seven hundred.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I don’t know what condition it’s in. I haven’t been out there for a couple of months. Ward was paying on time so I didn’t need to go check things out.”