The rest was lost in a blur of violence. Tristian landed a sucker punch that nearly took his opponent’s head off.
And just like that, the Reaper had arrived.
He moved with a terrifying cruelty, landing another two jabs and an uppercut that sent The Killer reeling. He stumbled, his eyes glazed, but Tristian wasn’t done.
My hands flew to my mouth as Tristian unleashed a barrage—ten, no twenty blows back to back, driving his opponent into the corner.
The ref’s whistle shrieked, but Tristian was deaf to it. He was a machine of destruction. Face, chest, stomach, jaw. I heard the sickeningcrunchof a nose breaking. The crowd was a riot of noise, but no one moved to stop him.
Tears blurred my vision as Tristian delivered a final, crushing blow. The Killer crumpled to the mat, out before he hit the floor.
Tristian didn’t celebrate. He ripped his bloody white gloves off, the Velcro tearing loudly, and hurled them at Darragh’s feet. When the ref raised his hand, Tristian didn’t look at the crowd.
He looked at me.
His face a dark scowl, Darragh turned and walked away into the shadows without a word.
Tristian grabbed his duffel bag and vanished toward the locker rooms.
I pushed through the sweating, shouting crowd, my heart in my throat as I followed him. I was terrified. Seeing that much power, that much rage, was paralyzing, but the need to be near him was stronger. I needed to know he was still the man who held me.
Tristian walked into the locker room, and I slipped in after him. He fell heavily onto the bench and began unwrapping his hands, his breath coming in deep, jagged lunges.
“Go home, Ingrid,” he muttered, his back to me.
I took a trembling step closer. “You won...” I whispered.
He spun, and the anger in his eyes made me flinch.
“I was supposed to lose,” he admitted.
I bit my lip, my fingers tangling together. “W-why?”
He let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
I moved until I was only inches away, the scent of sweat and leather thick between us. “Did it have something to do with me?”
For a long moment, he just stared, gaze lost into the floor. Then, finally, he said, low, “It was to keep you safe.”
“Safe from Darragh?” I asked.
Tristian’s silence was all the confirmation I needed.
The fear that had been holding me together broke, and I threw my arms around his neck, my face buried in his chest as the tears finally came. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his heat, and I choked back a sob.
“H-how hurt is he?” I asked. “That Killer guy?”
“He’ll be in the hospital for a while, doll...”
“Is that what he would’ve done to you?” I asked, my voice thick.
Tristian shook his head. “Not tonight. Maybe in future, if I let Darragh push me around for long enough. But I’m not going to do that. I can’t.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whispered, and I meant it with every fiber of my soul.
“I didn’t want you to come,” Tristian growled. “I almost killed a man because of what he said about you... and I failed to keep you safe.”
I shook my head, holding him tighter.
