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She kept her expression impassive. She wasn't sure what reaction would make sense anyway. Congratulations, bloodthirsty exultation like those around her, disappointment, horror, disapproval? Desire, need. Interest.
Deep, abiding interest.
Because she felt all those things, she showed none of them. No way was she revealing any of it until she could make sense of that cacophony of response.
He rubbed a hand over his chest, and slid his slickened palm down into the front of the shorts, giving his cock a hard, lubricated tug that had the women squealing with feigned shock, edged with pleasure, and the men guffawing. She didn't think he even noticed. He curled his lip at her in a sneer.
Nasty, wretched boy. There wasn't a punishment in the world that would turn him into something worth having. Or was there?
She considered keeping her cool mien in place, but decided differently. Yawning, she glanced at her wrist as if checking the time, even though she wore no watch. The muscles around his right eye tightened. Then the sneer became a dangerous smile, until her runner returned to her, a hundred-dollar bill in hand.
"Think you had some vital inside info, mama," he said affably, putting it in her outstretched hand and clasping her wrist. He executed a calculated and skilled stroke across her pulse. But behind the flirtation, there was real curiosity in his eyes. "How did you know?"
"My secret," she said, offering a feline smile and extricating herself from his hold with the ease of long practice.
"Secrets only add to the spice." He winked. As she tucked her winnings away into her bra cup, he made no pretense of not looking at the swell of her breasts. "Let me know if you want to take me out for dinner with those winnings, mama. I can earn them back."
Though she tossed him a dubious look, she couldn't help smiling. "Boy, I would break you like a twig."
"No way, baby. I'm like Stretch Armstrong, full of surprises." He did a Michael Jackson snake move and left her chuckling. "Don't be staring at my ass now if you don't mean it."
He gave his pants a hitch as he moved away, showing the first evidence of a butt being there. It was a compact one, if on the narrow side for her tastes. She sent him off with a wave and another laugh, then her gaze went back to Marius and his superlative ass.
He looked as if he'd been tracking her conversation with the runner, his mouth firm and hooded eyes still fixed on her. She formed one word, not knowing if he'd make it out or not in all the noise.
"Focus." A command, demand and imperative. If she couldn't break him out of the session mode in which he seemed to be stuck like an engine on high-rev, she could try to modulate it by treating him as if he was still in session. He stared at her a long moment. She could almost feel the heat of his body against her, the power of it quivering, wanting...something.
His gaze flickered. From this distance his eyes seemed far darker, dominated by pupil and shadowed by the dark line of his brows pulled down over them. He nodded to her, a barely imperceptible move, but one that shot heat straight to her core. He spoke his own response. Two words she recognized, having seen them on countless lips before, but never containing the impact they had on her in such unusual circumstances.
Yes, Mistress.
The bell rang, and Killjoy was in the ring.
He wasn't as big as Tank, but he was a far faster and more calculating fighter. Tank had likely been chosen as a dramatic opener, one whose size and strength were intended to wear Marius out, not defeat him.
So it was possible more than banked rage had taken him down. If her boy was this good of a fighter, he had tactical skills as well as brawn. Knowing the skills of all coming against him, Marius had addressed Tank the best way to conserve his energy. It hadn't been without cost, though. When he'd made the winning punch, she'd seen a shiver of reaction go through the shoulder, all the way up the neck and across the back. A Mistress watched for those signs of strain. And Marius had started the night bruised and battered.
; It didn't matter. He couldn't afford to coddle himself. Even though the dramatic nature of the opening hadn't displeased them, for this next fight the crowd would demand more time to savor. Marius and Killjoy didn't disappoint.
He and the other man circled one another, grappled, kicked, punched, wrestled. She heard the people around her debating fighting styles, martial arts and boxing terms that went over her head, but she got the gist of it. Both men were well-versed in a variety of styles, including street brawling, as Tal had said.
They came together, grunting and straining on the concrete, and then danced back again, sometimes more bloody and bruised than before. In the two earlier fights, it seemed the fighters had divided their time between the battle itself and playing the crowd. These were two gladiators unaware of anything but the task of defeating the other. As the blows grew faster and the fight more intense, the cold knot returned to Regina's stomach.
Killjoy pinned Marius against the cage with a clang of metal, landing several, horrible thudding blows in his mid-section. Marius twisted free and shoved him back, plowing into him and taking him down so they tumbled and rolled, bones jarring against the blood-and sweat-stained concrete. When they were back up again, some of the blood was on Marius's shoulder tattoo, making the leather armor artwork look even more real.
Killjoy's next face punch took Marius to his knees. Regina found herself straining against the rail, gripping it in tense fingers. What did she hope for here? That he lost, before more serious damage was inflicted upon him? Or that he'd get up, succeed over impossible odds, because something inside her wanted that for him? Because under the arrogant prick routine, she sensed a soul needing to prove something.
It was the wrong way to prove it, no matter what it was. Fuck it, she wanted him out of that ring. But her wants didn't count here.
Snarling, Marius swept his opponent's leg and flipped them both, landing on Killjoy. Using elbows and fists to good effect, he spun around to straddle him, punch his face, his torso. He went after him like Rocky Balboa after a slab of meat. Blood, more blood, and then a muffled shout from Killjoy that had several brawny men lunging into the cage to pull Marius off Killjoy. Marius shoved away from them immediately and paced the other side like a caged animal as they carried Killjoy out. His teeth were bared again and he was snarling a word she couldn't make out until he looked up at her with eyes made up of hellfire.
"Next."
Did he view Mistresses the same way?
He hit his chest with both open palms, a quick, demanding slap, and shouted it even louder, until the crowd, probably even those betting against him, were chanting it.
