“Hello, sweetness…” Darragh said, his eyes sliding over Ingrid with a revolting, slick appreciation. “My, my… look who’s out on the town.”
“Darragh,” I said, my voice coming out as a low, dangerous warning.
He didn’t look at me. He stepped closer, his goons shifting in sync. He leaned down slightly, trying to catch Ingrid’s eye. “I do hope Tristian’s been taking good care of you. You looked awfully cozy together during your meal. And so in love! Isn’t that precious? Couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. It brought a tear to my eye, it really did, eh, boys?”
He reached out, his hand hovering near Ingrid’s shoulder. I stepped into his space, my chest nearly brushing his, forcing him to look at me. My blood was beginning to simmer.
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I hissed.
Darragh chuckled, a dry, hollow sound. He backed off an inch but the smirk stayed. “No need to be so hostile.”
Then he stopped smiling.
“The clock is ticking. Fight’s Friday, lad.” His thumbs hooked into his belt loops, fingers finding the buckle. “You’re fighting for me. Under my terms, my conditions.” His fingers tapped the pattern of the dragon. The forefingers of each hand clinked against that polished silver buckle.
In spite of the rage running through me, I felt myself stiffen. The scars on my back stung, the phantom stings crawling on my skin. Maybe it was real or maybe it was only in my mind. I imagined blood trickling from the welts, marring the tattoos I’d hidden them within.
“I should fucking destroy you,” I muttered, low.
Darragh smirked. “But you won’t. Better men than you have tried, son.”
He looked back at Ingrid, his smile turning predatory. “It’d be a shame if I had to come find your littlegirlfriendto get your attention, wouldn’t it? She’s a lot more fragile than you are.”
I wanted to tear his throat out right there on the sidewalk, but I felt Ingrid trembling against my side. I couldn’t turn this into a bloodbath in front of her. So I held in my anger, a satisfied smile gracing the bastard’s lips as he watched me stand down.
“Atta boy. See you in the ring, Tristian. Don’t be late.” He gave a mock salute, signaled to his dogs, and disappeared into the back of the SUV.
As they peeled away, the street went quiet. I was shaking with a mixture of rage and helplessness. The walls were closing in, and it was finally clear just how I’d dragged Ingrid inside them with me.
“Tristian?” Her voice was tiny, laced with fear.
I took a deep breath, forcing my features to soften as I turned to her. I tucked a stray hair behind her ear, my hand still slightly unsteady.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I led her to my car and didn’t say another word, my mind already spinning with how I was going to handle the man who now knew the one thing he could use against me.
Chapter twenty-five
Tristian
Ishoved the last box of old flash sheets and stencil paper into the corner, the cardboard scraping against the floor. The back closet of the shop was a graveyard of abandoned ideas—broken tattoo machines, half-empty ink bottles, and sketches I’d started in a different lifetime. It mirrored the state of my head: cluttered, messy, and haunted by old mistakes.
Once I’d finished, I straightened up, wiping the dust and grease from my palms onto my jeans. Stepping out, I stopped by Kane’s station as he scrolled through his texts.
“What did you find out?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low rasp.
He sighed, running a hand down his face as he lowered the phone. He’d been sniffing around quietly, trying to see what strings Darragh was pulling in the background, what his angle was. “Darragh is going to make fifty grand right now with the bets against you if you lose.”
“Fifty grand,” I echoed. The number was obscene, way more even than I’d get for winning the whole night. Insane what sort of betting went on in the underbelly of the fight scene.
Kane nodded grimly. “On the night of the fight, it is only going to grow. I’m guessing his take-home is gonna be another ten…”
I felt a bitter laugh surface in my throat. “That jackass offered me twenty grand to throw the fight, while he’s going to clear triple that. Whereas if I win…”
“Fifteen K, maybe,” said Kane uneasily. “And your integrity, or whatever.”
“But Ingrid won’t be safe,” I muttered.
