I watch Copper drop onto the floor. Another man falling unconscious inside the ring.
A quarter of the crowd roars with victory. The brothers beside me join in, but I can’t bring myself to do the same. The people who’ve bet on the underdog are few and far between. Only a handful of the men’s eyes are burning with excitement, their lips pulled into smiles stretching from ear to ear.
I’m frozen in my spot as Roman winks at me and slinks back into the darkness, leaving behind the crowd to collect their winnings or mull over their losses, and for the very pissed-off Bratva to drag their fallen man out of the ring in shame.
A prickle of awareness heats the side of my face, but I can’t spot anyone looking at me when I turn.
I’m running on an adrenaline high like some junkie. My veins are buzzing from the fight, turning my blood both hot and cold. The brawl was vicious, but it doesn’t feel like it’s close to being over.
Rico’s arm curls around my shoulders, crushing me against him as he leads us to the same door Roman went through. “How good was that, aye? You know, I was thinking, if you want a tattoo too, just give me a call. Imma set you up with a real good deal.”
He slips a piece of paper into the pocket of my hoodie, and his older brother mutters, “Fucking idiot.”
Rico smiles stupidly and continues, “Promise I’ll be gentle with you, chica. I have what some people call magic hands.” He winks as he rakes his gaze up and down my body.
“Because one day they’ll disappear.” I force a chuckle at Damien’s response.
“I’m too fast for that.”
I roll my eyes without meaning to.
Rico scratches my head like I’m a dog. “What? You don’t believe me? Come to one of my matches and you’ll see your pretty boy ain’t shit. I’ll win every match just for you, bella.”
It’s odd, but I kinda like it. The only person I’ve had this dynamic with is Mickey, which makes me feel compelled to say, “I don’t know how you’re going to fight if Roman cuts off your hands.”
He smirks as he pushes the door open. “I can take Riviera. How does the saying go? Win the fight, win the girl?”
“I’m not an object.”
“Don’t need to be an object to be a prize, muñeca.”
The idiot with the death wish doesn’t let go of me as we round a corner into the room where Mickey is wiping his body with a damp towel. His eyes brighten when they find mine, only to turn pitch black when they go to the arm wrapped around my shoulders.
The smile he draws on his lips is easy, but there’s no mistaking the deadly intent radiating from him in suffocating waves.
“Bella and I have been getting real close.” Rico curls his arm so I’m pressed even closer to his body.
He’s going to die today.
Roman’s lips peel into a smile that’s all teeth as I try to wiggle away. “Do you know what’s going to happen in ten seconds?”
Rico leans his head against mine. Surely there are easier ways for this idiot to die—ones not involving me.
“Enlighten me, hermano.”
I look at Damien, hoping—praying—he’ll step in. But apparently, his phone is more interesting.
“You have four more to get your hands off my girl, or I break them,” Roman says with deadly calm.
Rico—oh, Lord, help me—shoots me a lopsided grin and lifts his hands. “These magic hands? My Bella over here was just learning about how good they are.”
My Bella.
Oh no.
I shriek as Roman snaps, lunging across the room faster than lightning. Rico rips away from my side just as quickly. Neither lands a hit because Damien is there in a flash, throwing his brother through the open doors like a rag doll.
I press myself against the wall, trying to blend in with my surroundings—not like it does anything.
Rico, the fucking lunatic, laughs as Roman roars, “I’m going to fucking kill you, somaro.”
Donkey.
His limited vocabulary would be laughable if he didn’t look like he was possessed by a demon, held back only by Damien’s hand wrapped around his throat.
“You should ask Bella what’s in her pocket,” Rico goads.
“Shut the fuck up, Rico,” Damien growls and turns his attention to Roman. “Chill. You’re scaring your girl.”
I’m not scared. Not of Roman, at least.
Of the conflict? Yes.
Of accidentally being caught in the center of it? Yes.
Am I still on my adrenaline buzz? Yes.
Roman’s piercing eyes turn on me, and I try to melt into the wall to escape it. He holds his hand up in surrender and ignores Rico when he says, “We’re going to share a seat tomorrow.”
Mickey winds me when he practically slams my chest against his. Strong arms encircle my rigid body, and he flattens his palm against the small of my back so there isn’t an inch of space between us.
The room is quiet, filled only by the sound of my racing heart and Roman’s rough breaths against my hair as he desperately gasps in my scent as if I were a drug.
“Did you doubt me?”
I peer up at Roman through my lashes. Splaying my fingers over his damp skin, I lightly trace the hard ridges of his muscles.
He shudders slightly. “I told you I’d do anything for you. Don’t you ever doubt when I say I’ll win for you.”
Rico wolf whistles behind me. “I’d win for you too, chica,” he pipes.
“Shut the fuck up,” both Damien and Roman bark.
Rico scoffs. “Anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole, Riviera?”
“All the time.”
Mickey lets me pull away from his hardened body, but he doesn’t let me get far, slipping in front of me to act as a makeshift barrier between me and the guy he called donkey. Out of nowhere, three near-naked girls and a man wearing a cheap suit pour into the room.
“What a fight, am I right?” the lanky guy bellows, waving several wads of cash in the air.
The girls giggle in unison as the guy throws a couple wads at each man in the room, all catching it with practiced ease.
“Good show, good show. Let’s aim for double tomorrow, aight boy?” The man throws Mickey the remaining bills. “Same time tomorrow. More blood. Make it messy. People eat that shit up, eh?” He tilts his chin at Roman with a shit-eating smile. “I’m headin’ off. Gonna go make some more people rich.”
Then the man exits the room, winking at a blonde as he leaves the women behind. Rico snags one of the girls before she sets her sights on the reigning champion. The other girl latches onto Damien, but he couldn’t look more disinterested.
The last girl has the most stunning golden hair I’ve ever seen, trailing down her back in big, luscious waves, which pair perfectly with her glittery, backless cami. Her bright blue eyes train on Roman, and she stands straighter, pushing out her breasts and elongating her neck like an animalistic mating ritual.
She’s a breathtaking peacock or a flamingo with her long legs and delicate curves proudly on display. In comparison, I’m a common, everyday, trash-living pigeon; loose-fitting jeans, an oversized hoodie, and red chucks.
My insecurities fly out the window when a red-tinted film drops over my eyes. The blonde bombshell sidles up to Roman’s side and feels up his abs, completely ignoring my existence.
But I say nothing.
Do nothing. I bite my tongue and watch. She doesn’t owe me anything. It’s not my job to stop her.
“Need a hand taking the edge off, handsome?” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Roman’s hand is on her forehead, pushing her back until she’s a full arm’s length away.
“Not interested.” A missing blotch of makeup the size of Mickey’s thumb marks the middle of her forehead. She blinks up at him in shock, but I have to hand it to her, she recovers quickly, plastering a saccharine smile on her irritatingly pretty face. Whether desperate or stupid, the woman reaches for Roman’s arm again.
This time, his lips crash into mine instead of moving her away. Like always, there’s nothing gentle about his kiss. It feels less like a claim and more like he’s making a pledge. He isn’t just declaring that I’m his, but he’s also mine.
Roman abruptly pulls away, leaving me breathless and my lips bruised. “Don’t touch me again. This is your only warning.” He levels her with a blistering glare that makes her rock back a step.
The blonde gasps before tucking tail and scurrying away to leave me with an amped-up Roman. Rico’s tongue is too preoccupied to notice the turn of events. As for Damien… well, he checked out the second he got paid.
“You can’t hurt her.” My voice is a combination of a plea, order, and scolding.
“I wasn’t,” Mickey says, offended. “If she tries anything stupid again, I’ll dump water on her head or something.” He angles my chin so his lips brush against my cheek. “We better get your sexy ass out of here before I fuck you while everyone watches.”
My eyes widen as heat instantly unfolds low in my belly.
“What? You think I wouldn’t have the energy to make you scream after I almost kill someone? Baby, that was an appetizer. You’re my whole meal.”
I breathe in short bursts against his face. “But…” I gulp. “I’m still sore.”
He rakes his teeth along my jaw. “Who said I need to fuck you to make you come?” He chuckles darkly and grabs a handful of my ass. “If only you knew about all the depraved things I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”
I bite my tongue when he pulls away with a devilish smirk. It’s impossible not to let his hungry eyes affect me. Especially when said eyes are paired with a bare chest, deep V, and a bulge tenting his boxing shorts.
Really, I’m fighting a losing battle over here.
He adjusts himself and throws on a top and jacket. None of the men acknowledge each other’s departure as Roman pulls me in the opposite direction of the arena to a set of stairs leading to a fire exit.
Before I realize what’s happening, he throws me over his shoulder. “You’re not walking fast enough.”
I shriek, but I don’t fight him. I can’t believe he’s real and this is happening. This man has survived prison, worked for a cartel, walked into a ring to fight the best, and came out victorious. He killed the people abusing me, took me away from a life that wasn’t leading anywhere, and set up a house just for us, all so we could have our own slice of paradise. Above all of that, he chose me.
Every single time, he chose me. He does it all for me. How many times has he risked his life, just to spend the money on something that would put a smile on my face?
He’s real, and he wants me—not my flesh, me. He could have anyone and anything, and he still chose me.
I’m breathless with the weight of the knowledge when he buckles me into my seat. Mickey goes on, recounting the fight and reliving every moment of it, but I’m still stewing in my disbelief.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to win again,” he says with confidence I don’t feel. “And when I do, I’m dedicating my victory to you.”
Tomorrow.
Another day, another match.
I don’t need him to fight for me or for us. Not if it means that I could lose him.
“It’s not just a fight, Mickey.”
He squeezes my thigh. “It’s business, Princess. Those men walk into the room knowing they could lose money. I’ll be okay.” He bites the inside of his lip, smiling to himself. “I like it when you worry about me.”
I sigh. “There has to be another way to make money without putting a target on your back.”
“Didn’t I promise you this will be the last one? I’m going clean after this.”
“You have an itch that always needs to be scratched.”
He can dream all he wants about keeping his fists to himself, but the liquid pumping through his veins is ninety percent bloodlust. He can’t just quit. Because then he’ll realize that a starved lion will eat anything. Someone will set him off, and we’ll end up in the same place, amongst the same crowd. And maybe he’ll end up in prison again, and I’ll be alone. Again.
“How will you stop it from festering?” I add.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as tension gathers in the air. “Do you know what happens when you fight in prison?”
I shake my head.
“They put you in a box,” he starts. “Four walls. Six feet wide, twelve feet long. One bed, one toilet, one sink. There’s a blurred window the size of my hand, so I can’t see out of it. You don’t talk to anyone, don’t see anyone, don’t have anything in there to make the time go by. You just sit there. Sometimes it’s cold, and sometimes the air conditioning is conveniently broken. Then the lights go out.” He laughs half-heartedly to himself. “What do you do when you have nothing to do all day? You sleep. What do you do when the lights go off and there’s nothing but silence and you can’t sleep anymore?”
My fingers tremble as I wrap them around his hand.
“I thought at twenty years old, a basement would be nothing more than a room. But some basements are rooms, and some are prisons. The only difference between the two is what I bring inside.”
Tears gather on my lower lashes. Squeezing his hand, I bring it to my lips and press a kiss to his bruised knuckles.
“I went in the box once, then never again. Any fight I got into, I didn’t start. Any energy I needed to burn found an outlet that didn’t involve anyone else. Flat hands, my shrink called it.” He turns to me so his silver eyes can sear into mine. “I won’t go back into the box, Isabella. I stopped once; I can stop again.”
“I believe you,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the top of his knuckles.
“I’m not leaving you again. I promise you. This is it. Tomorrow’s win will set us up for the whole year. Just trust me, okay?”
“I do.”
