back.
Every inch of my body burns.
I glance at the wall behind the big fucker’s head, where the time stares at me in big, red, blinking numbers.
Fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds since the match started.
Another three minutes and twenty-four seconds, and another two grand will be added to my wallet. If we last to the twentieth, five grand will be added.
They want a show, not a quick knockout. But if one of us is still standing by the twenty-fifth minute, people get bored, and the money stops coming. This isn’t boxing. There’s no break every three minutes. So we’re tired and sloppy, but it still makes for a good show.
Vargas’s fighter looks even shittier than me. The guy is probably the best fighter that gang has. He’s strong but slow. His right hook is deadly, and my head is still swimming after failing to block one. But I’d wager that Bella has better endurance than him.
The bigger they are, the faster they burn.
He swings, narrowly missing my nose. With his arm suspended and flank open, I pivot on the balls of my feet. My kick flies into his ribs. It isn’t enough to make him stumble, but it takes him by surprise. I use the shock to land a punch to his cheek.
That’s the beauty of street fights; there are no rules.
Big guys like him prefer boxing, all hands and no feet. Until now, he thought I was a boxer, too, just a slippery one. Hopping from foot to foot, dodging more hits than I’m throwing to tire him out.
After fifteen minutes, he’s just found out that I am a slippery asshole who can kick. Guys like him are the same, all about smashing with zero tactics. Muscle and brawn, but no brain.
Spittle explodes from his mouth guard, and he blocks the next kick in time. None of my hits are doing anything but annoy him, but I’m just doing it so he finally moves, and I can go back to seeing Bella behind him.
My stomach sinks even further to my feet when he does move.
She’s not there.
It’s been four minutes.
She’s still not back.
Where the fuck did she go with Damien? Did they get a drink? Go to the bathroom? Are they in my changing room? I told Damien I didn’t want her leaving the building without me.
For the first time since the fight started, I look at Rico. Unease settles low in my gut. His annoying grin isn’t plastered on. He isn’t even looking at the action.
Something is wrong.
I can fucking feel it.
I go back to our dance, keeping one eye out for Bella. But as the seconds crawl by, the rock in my stomach grows heavier. And when Damien comes back to his seat, shaking his head at Rico, the rock sharpens and pierces my skin.
Bella isn’t with him.
He isn’t with Bella.
The second they glance at me, I know. I just fucking know it.
Something’s wrong with Bella.
A demon takes over me. A beast. I don’t see anything else anymore. I don’t know how I do it, not even sure if my limbs moved or if everything unfolded through willpower alone. I barely see The Unseen Destroyer fall to the ground beyond the red haze over my vision. The referee calls my win, but I couldn’t care less.
One second, I’m in the ring, and in the next, I have Damien in my clutches. Rico tries to pull me away, but it’s useless. Bella is the one thing I’ll never let go of.
“Where the fuck is she?” I roar. Damien—the fucking asshole—is calm as ever. “She said she went to the bathroom. But she’s not there.”
Nothing else he says registers because, from the corner of my vision, I notice someone looking at me. Not just anyone. Him. Vargas in the flesh. The man smiles ear to ear, staring straight at me.
I lurch in his direction, but someone holds me back. I swing my elbow and twist my body to try to break out of their grip.
“Don’t be stupid. They’ll fucking kill you,” one of the brothers hisses in my ear.
Vargas doesn’t look away, challenging me to take him on. He watches everything play out like this is going according to his plan.
If she’s hurt, I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll kill all of them.
If she’s dead—
It hurts to even think about it. There’s no story where Bella ends, and I don’t go with her.
Bile rises in my throat. I lunge for the asshole, only to be held back. “You better not have fucking touched her!”
“Shut the fuck up and go find her,” Damien growls.
Vargas just laughs. Laughs.
My chest tightens. My blood is no longer red and hot; it’s black and electrified. There’s one thing on my mind, and it has everything to do with Bella.
Damien—the useless fucker—is right. Attacking Vargas will do nothing. It won’t help me find her, and I’ll have to get through his men to get to him.
One of his men walks toward me, but Damien steps in front of me before I can rip his head clean from his fucking body. “Call off your dogs, Vargas.”
The cartel boss just laughs, as if this is all a fun game to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn and start running without listening to the words. He’s stalling me.
Someone’s hot on my heels, but I don’t care to see who. Because if it’s one of Vargas’ men, there would be no running; I’d be fighting like my life depends on it—because her life depends on it.
I don’t know my way around this place. I shouldn’t have brought her. I shouldn’t have thought she’d be safe if she came.
Damien yanks me in a different direction from where I’m going. “Not there, I’ve checked.” He points to another corridor. “There’s an exit over there.”
I check inside every door I pass, yelling her name over and over again. Energy that didn’t exist during the fight rages through my veins, and I sprint for the stairs. I don’t know how long ago someone got to her, or if she’s even still in the building. How many men did Vargas bring? How many were sitting with him? When did he get the balls to pull something like this off?
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Bella!” I yell when my feet hit the first step of the stairs.
This hurts more than being shot in the chest. I’d rather take a bullet a thousand times than for Bella to get hurt. In my head, I keep hearing the same thing, over and over again.
Bella is going to get hurt, and it’s all my fault.
I knew Vargas was there, and I still brought her. I knew Vargas’s base is Chicago, and I still came. I underestimated them. I knew Vargas could be a threat, and I did nothing. I practically handed Bella over to him.
I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.
I didn’t even tell the cops about Bella, just so they wouldn’t bother her, and twenty minutes ago, I claimed her in front of Vargas and every other fucker in the warehouse. How stupid can I be?
The emergency exit door swings open. I don’t feel the cold, or the glass digging into my bare feet, or my pounding heart. My entire body is attuned to her and the sound of her muffled screams in the distance.
But I can’t figure out which direction it’s coming from. “Bella!” I roar.
Then she lets out another scream.
Damien isn’t behind me anymore. We’re both racing through the empty streets toward the noise, using her blood-curdling screams and moonlight to guide us. I push myself harder, and so does he. The closer we get, the clearer the sounds become.
Grunting. Scuffling. Crying.
Then she comes into view, body half dragged along the ground by the fist in her hair toward the rugged van. She isn’t making this bastard’s job easy, clawing his arms, kicking at his feet to trip him, mouth snapping against the gag to try to bite him.
Then he hits her.
And I explode.
I fucking lose it.
“Bella!” I roar.
The asshole hurting Bella snaps his attention to me. He throws her to the side, and she lands with a scream, just as someone else comes running out of the van. My heart rattles in its cage when she looks at me with tears streaming down her face, a concoction of emotions swirling behind her red eyes. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. I want to put a bullet in myself for it.
The fucking cunt who hurt Bella snarls as he charges forward. I meet him halfway. I need this asshole to pay. For a split second, pride blooms at the sight of Bella’s art on his skin. Three bloody slashes run diagonally along his cheek.
He’s bulkier than the guy in the ring, faster too. I don’t dodge his first hit in time. He doesn’t miss my throw either.
Behind me, Damien grunts as he exchanges blows with the driver while a gun lays abandoned on the street.
Then the light from the streetlamp glints against metal, flashing through the air and onto my forearm. I snarl from the pain that thunders across my flesh as I collide my own fist against his jaw. We dance around a couple more hits, but there’s nothing that will save him from me.
He’s fighting to stay alive. I’m fighting for Bella.
There’s no strategy or tact in my punches as I knock the knife out of his hand. My muscles move in pure rage. I can’t feel the pain in my arm anymore. Every hit lacks its usual thrill, and it doesn’t matter how many times I kick him or feel his bones crack, the surging, white-hot anger doesn’t dissipate.
He made Bella bleed.
He tried to take her away from me.
He hurt her.
The driver pulls me off him, but someone tackles him a second later, leaving me to continue with my assault on the man who hurt her. He reaches for the gun, but Rico grabs it before he can, going to help his brother.
I yank the man back to me by the collar of his shirt and descend my fists on any part of him I can reach. The fire isn’t doused when he’s on the ground, and I’m seconds away from killing him with my fists alone.
I put Bella at risk. I got her hurt. I failed her. I need to kill them all.
“Roman, stop!” Damien tries dragging me off. The mother fucker isn’t conscious, but I’m not finished. He needs to die for what he did. They all need to fucking pay. “Take your girl and get the hell out of here.”
My girl.
I whip around to find Bella sprawled on the ground, leaning against Rico for support. Why the fuck is he touching her?
The harsh moonlight isn’t enough to see the damage clearly, but what I can gather makes me want to keel over. Tears stream down her face, tangling with the red droplets falling from the split in her soft cheek. The delicate skin of her hands is bloody and bruised, too.
Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.
Bella is hurt, and it’s all my fault.
Bella is hurt, and she’s leaning on Rico.
“You’re bleeding,” Bella says to me, voice hoarse.
I’m on my feet, taking long strides toward them. “Get the fuck away from her.”
Rico leaps up, hauling Bella with him before holding up his hands. “Chill the hell out, bro.”
“I’m not your bro. This happened because you two fuckers left her alone,” I snarl, as I pull Bella to my side. Exactly where she’s meant to be. Where she will always be.
“Stop treating me like a child,” Bella snaps and crosses her arms. Her voice lacks genuine anger with her shuddering breaths… She sounds broken instead.
Fuck.
“Not right now, Bella.”
“Fuck you, Roman,” she sneers, breath shuddering.
Roman.
She said Roman.
No. No, she wasn’t thinking about it that way. She’s just saying the name because it’s what she calls me when she’s angry. She doesn’t want to end this. Us.
“We need to get your inhaler. If they hadn’t fucking left you alone, you wouldn’t be hurt.” She doesn’t believe my words. Neither do I.
I can’t blame them when I’m the one who should have known better. This is the second time I’ve put her in danger.
“No. This happened because you brought me here,” she cries, then steps back to cough. “And look at you.” She waves at the gash in my arm, but I don’t feel the pain.
In the distance, the sound of a door crashing open has the two brothers snapping their heads. Bella doesn’t seem to notice or care. She’s too busy staring me down.
Rico throws my duffle bag at me, somehow getting into my locker while everything else was turning to shit. “Cash is in there.”
“Leave before more shit hits the fan,” Damien growls, already walking away with Rico.
I curse under my breath and reach for Bella’s elbow, but she yanks herself out of my reach. “I know where the car is.” With that, she spins on her heel and starts running, leaving me behind in the darkness. I follow behind her, fumbling with the bag to get her inhaler as the sound of her ragged breaths fills the night air.
If she thinks she can run away from me, she’s wrong.
If she thinks that one word will make me leave, she’s fooling herself.
I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.
