I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is Noah really going to fight this guy? He’s twice Noah’s size; he looks like he eats people for breakfast.
“Who do we have here?” comes an oddly familiar smoked-up female voice from the side, and I turn toward it. A mighty woman to match Noah’s physics with short, spiky hair is staring at me with an open interest. “Does your wife know about your new friend?”
“She knows about everything, Rebecca.”
I feel my eyes widen to the point of falling out of their sockets. This is the Rebecca who’s been calling Noah? I hardly can imagine them together, unless it’s to spar for dominance.
“I bet she does,” Rebecca laughs, not shifting her attention away from me.
“Hey, Rebecca, we need you here,” someone calls her from the crowd.
“Saved by the bell,” she snorts, and disappears amid the excited bodies.
Meanwhile, George signals the match to begin, and the room falls deadly quiet, tension thick enough to choke on. The giant lunges at Noah with a wild swing. I instinctively grip the arm holding me.
“Don’t fret, No One,” my captor says into my ear. “You are with me.”
Noah moves fast. Way faster than should be possible for someone built like a refrigerator with abs. He dodges the first punch with a sidestep, then lands an uppercut so clean and brutal that I hear the other guy’s jaw click together from across the room.
The crowd explodes, fists pumping, beers sloshing. Noah barely reacts. He keeps moving, ducking and weaving, taking a few hits but dishing out twice as many. He’s methodical, almost clinical, like he’s working through a complex spreadsheet with questions, and the answer is always more violence.
Something ugly and hot twists in my chest. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m watching a massacre in slow motion; the very man who talks about buildings with souls is turning another human into ground beef.
When Noah’s fist lands on the guy’s face with a particularly disturbing sound, I let out a loud gasp. Even in the room full of yelling people, he hears me.
His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. I freeze, and all color drains from his face. His gaze flicks to my arm, where the man’s grip suddenly tightens.
Noah’s eyes narrow while his chest expands. His expression is pure, unfiltered rage.
Oh boy.
His focus—and rage—are on me, and he doesn’t see the giant’s next move.
“Noah, look out!” I yell, but it’s too late. The giant’s fist slams into Noah’s head with a sickening thud, and he stumbles back, suddenly looking disoriented and gasping in pain.
My stomach drops. This is my fault.
Noah straightens, grimacing, and for a moment, I swear he’s going to storm over and drag me out by my hair. Instead, he shakes his head, lips pressed into a thin line, and refocuses on the fight. His movements are slower now, he shakes his head once again, but he dodges another hit, barely staying on his feet.
“Come on, King!” I shout before I can stop myself, my voice echoing over the chaos. It only makes things worse. He shoots me a sharp, furious look. He’s not just mad—he’s livid.
The giant swings again, and Noah takes a hard hit to the ribs, stumbling dangerously close to the crowd’s edge. He’s losing his footing, losing control, all because I’m here distracting him.
My heart pounds. I want to help, but I’ve already done enough damage. I’m the reason he’s getting pummeled.
“Looks like your boy needs a little nudge,” the voice next to me whispers as the grip on my arm tightens painfully, and I let out a sharp cry. I don’t mean to sound so weak while Noah is getting his ribs rearranged, but it happens.
Noah’s eyes snap back to me, his face hardening with determination and something else—something scary, something I’ve never seen before.
He pushes off the crowd he nearly falls into, his eyes blazing fury. His fists fly with renewed energy, faster than before, and the crowd roars, their cheers echoing off the grimy warehouse walls as he lands punch after punch on the giant’s torso, sending him staggering back.
One final uppercut to the jaw and the giant crashes down like a ton of bricks. The warehouse erupts, but Noah? He looks like he wants to murder me.
George raises Noah’s arm in victory, but Noah barely notices because his glare is fixed on me. His face is bruised, a cut above his brow leaking blood, and the way he’s clutching his side says he’s hurt. Badly.
I want to back away, but there’s nowhere to go—just the cheering crowd and the man holding me hostage by his side.
Noah storms toward us. The man’s grip on me loosens—his painful pinch was momentary, reverting to a hold after Noah noticed my cry. Weird.
