Kitten

Prologue: Sweet Little Thing

Moxley tended to bite. Which he knew was Bad Behavior. He couldn't seem to help it sometimes, but the rest of the time he did it for fun. He already knew he was going to get smacked across the face for something, why not make it something interesting?

His teeth had sank into a variety of things over his notable existence. Skin, cotton, jeans, ropes...only one time had he latched down on something he regretted, still remembering the stabbing pain in the roof of his mouth and tongue from the barbed wire.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight made him want to be on Good Behavior. Maybe even Best Behavior.

She was beautiful. Wasn't all makeup and smoothed corners like the women they always pushed in with him. Wasn't bold and brazen. She looked petrified, like she'd been caught out after dark. His stomach turned, wondering where they had gotten her.

What they expected to happen to her.

Normally, the primped and pretty girls they'd shove into the cage with him were followed by his actual opponents for the night, loud and angry guys (who may or may not own the girls, not that Moxley cared all that much). Normally, the girls would saunter to him, hips swaying in a mesmerizing fashion that would have him gone before they would kiss him or touch him. Smatterings of tenderness, mixed with ugly groping and cooing about how scary he was, how terrified they were of him. Mox was used to that shit, the bitter crap, the lines they'd feed him before he'd have to fight for his meal or for his money or whatever the hell they were holding over his head this time...

This one wasn't moving, though. She just stared at him, frozen, while the crowd shifted restlessly in eager anticipation for something, anything to happen.

Moxley huffed, the chain on the collar around his neck rattling as he jerked his head to the side and studied the girl. She flinched at the speed of his motion, her hands balling into fists. His smile was slow, but it crept out all the same. He crouched in his corner of the cage and refused to move towards her.

He'd be fucking damned if this one wasn't actually fearful of him, and he'd be damned again if he aggravated the situation with his haphazard, stiff movements and wild eyes. One brave soul out in the crowd called, "Get out of there, little girl, before something bad happens to you!"

For whatever reason she shook her head and stepped towards where Moxley was kneeling. And then took another step. Closer. Moxley could see a bruise on her arm. Closer. Her eyes were all puffy. He started to grind his teeth.

Mox was used to the abuse. He was used to getting threatened and battered if shit didn't go right. It came with the territory. He was an asshole and probably deserved the whippings that landed. But...bruises looked wrong on some people. Especially pretty girls.

Yep, I'm definitely an asshole. But what the hell was she dealing with that was so bad she ran to this place? He wondered, staying as still as he could while the crowd grew more rowdy. She was almost on top of him. If she reached out she could grab a handful of his hair or tear his eyes out with minimal efforJesus Christ, I have to stop thinking like this.

She hadn't said anything yet, literally just...standing beside him in his corner. Slowly, so slowly, Moxley leaned over to rest his forehead against her leg. A shiver ran through her, but she didn't move. Mox rubbed his jaw over her leg for a minute, relishing the soft feel of her skin on the barely-healed gash under his chin.

He got to his feet, still moving as carefully as he could manage. He towered over her. But then, he towered over most people, didn't he? Moxley brushed his nose against her own, snorting when she flinched back. Probably expecting him to bite. She didn't know he was on Best Behavior. "Shhhh." He said quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between her own. He knew now was the point when she was supposed to be fondling him, supposed to be getting him riled up for the fight. Instead she was still, so still.