Kitten

Chapter Seven: Good Bad Dog

Having her watch his matches was...touch and go. Mox felt sometimes that it was cruel to put her through that crap, make her watch him win or lose. Never mind that it was how they'd met all those months ago. Some things didn't bear repeating.

Currently he was getting his head pummeled into the plywood after taking a thunderous Samoan Driver and regretting with all his heart that he'd agreed to this match with Younger.

It was an old, familiar sensation, the ringing in his ears and the red trickles that stung and blurred his vision. There was the coppery taste that turned his stomach if too much dribbled down his throat. The heave of breath in his lungs hurt; the roof of his mouth was raw from biting. Moxley was in a bad way and he was well aware that maybe, just maybe, letting Sami irritate Drake Younger right before their match might have been a terrible idea.

Never mind that he didn't know she was going to show up tonight. It was a surprise. She wasn't supposed to come. This fight was ugly and Mox felt every punch tenfold because he knew she was watching. She was watching him take the whupping from hell. Mox saw the look on her face and gritted his teeth. She had her hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes radiating panic. He knew she would ask him why he had signed on for more singles matches. He still had a few marks from Gage and Hatred.

Christmas was an expensive, pointless holiday. One that Moxley normally didn't celebrate. When he came home one night to a fucking tree in the apartment (a small one, but a tree nonetheless) and her on the floor patiently untangling a giant, shiny mass of lights, he realized that at least one of them thought Christmas was worth it. Even if Moxley didn't see the point of decorating or any of that shit, obviously she did. And since he loved her, that meant that he had to at least tolerate Christmas.

Singles matches were easier and easier to come by and the extra pay was good. Jon wasn't sure how many presents he was supposed to get her, wasn't sure what the protocol was here. She worked in an office so maybe some nice pens? A stapler? He had gone to the local Staples and spent twenty minutes staring at all the different pens and pencils. This one said smooth, that one wrote upside-down. Who needs a pen that writes upside-down?! Mox had thought in confusion.

Even Callihan had picked up a few matches, filling his time while Jon mused about pens with gravity-defying ink. They worked well as a team, but it was a relief to find out that they didn't necessarily need each other to get by. Sami held his own in every match thus far and Moxley felt an odd surge of pride for his partner and friend.

A bundle of florescent light tubes shattered across Moxley's back and he sprawled to the ground, barely closing his eyes in time to keep the powdered glass at bay. It dug into his palms and forearms as he floundered.

Never mind that he'd prepared as much as he could, training for three or four hours a day. He had even forgone time with Kitten (which probably explained her presence tonight). Callihan had helped but it wasn't enough, it just wasn't enough. Once Younger went on the offensive it was usually best to stay the fuck out of his way. Barring that, beg for mercy. The guy was deceptively quick and strong as an ox, with a temperament that closely resembled a threatened rattlesnake. Explosive, deadly, and smart.

Moxley refused to run or beg and he was relatively certain that his pride might be the thing that finally got him killed, as Younger's fingers laced through his hair. Drake hauled Moxley up like he weighed nothing, growling, "look at her," in his ear. Mox didn't raise his eyes. He didn't want to see her. Not like this.

I'm good I'm good.

Younger spat, splattering blood across Jon's face. "She's looking at me like I just stole all her toys. I can't believe someone likes you. The rabid-ass street dog. I ought to put you down. Make her watch. You ain't healthy for her and you know it, why the fuck d'ya think you--"