My body deflates as I sigh. Fucking hell.
The dimwit ref throws Kingsley’s hand up in cheer. “Give it up for King!”
“I almost thought he wouldn’t pull it off,” Thomas says as we watch men haul Victor away.
That’s what I was afraid of, too, but he proved me wrong. He always proves me wrong. I need to stop underestimating Kingsley.
“I wonder what the punishment will be for Victor’s little stunt,” he says.
Not sure what consequences they have set in place here, but it doesn’t matter. Victor wanted to kill Kingsley. He almost did kill him, and he could try to again. He brought out a knife and turned the fair fight into a trap, and had King not been on his A game… fuck.
Gripping my shorts, I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm me. All I can think about is making Victor pay for pullinga stunt like that. I want to break his fingers off one by one for trying to touch what’s not his.
I don’t know what it is about the man of few words. He’s a pretty boy with more issues than I’d ever guessed, and his silence makes me want to beat his head in, then suck him off until he can’t stay quiet no matter how hard he tries.
Which means the only one who can touch him is me.
“Tommy,” I say sweetly, meeting the eyes of my younger brother. “Cancel your plans for tonight. We’re spending the evening with Victor.”
Unkempt hair, sour expression, so much muscle that there’s no way he isn’t on something—there he is. Victor Plaster.
He’s in the bedroom of his apartment, drinking what’s probably his fourth beer of the night based on the dozens of empty bottles scattered around the room. He’s cleaned up his wounds from the arena and is now lazily watching TV in his bed like he didn’t try to murder someone for a petty win.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Thomas whispers as we peer through the bushes.
I’ve never been more sure of anything.
Victor soon nods off with a beer in his hand and the TV blaring. Tommy gets the window sill open in a quiet snap, and suddenly we’re in Victor Plaster’s bedroom.
We’re immensely quiet, and he sleeps like a log, so he doesn’t even stir when I climb onto his bed and lie beside him. How the hell is he sleeping like he’s had a hard day at work? This shit is like lying on a rock.
“Victor,” I sing. He doesn’t budge, so I raise my voice. “Victor, rise and shine.”
His eyes flutter open, but he’s way too dazed to tell what’s up as he licks his chapped lips. Growing impatient, I sit up, grip his blue pajama shirt, and pull him toward me. Victor yelps as if someone broke into his home. Oh, wait.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” he shouts.
I smile like the sweet, innocent man I am. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here just for you.”
Victor gives a harsh push to my chest and rolls off the bed. He goes for the door, but Thomas is already there, ready to slam his fist into his eye, sending him tumbling to the floor.
I dust my hands on my shirt. “You tried.”
“Fuck you,” he spits. “Tell me what you want.”
I crouch down beside him. “I don’t want a thing.”
Victor stares at me, dumbfounded, and sweat drips from his forehead. Must be from fear, which isn’t something I expected to see out of him.
“Are you with Tanner?” he asks after a second. “I told him I’ll have the money by next week. He said it was fine.”
Ah, Victor must be in debt. Then why is he spending his free time fighting and not working to get the money? Ridiculous.
“Tanner? Never heard of him.” My fist lands on his jaw, making his head fly to the side. “I only know you and what you did at the fight tonight.”
His eyes widen as he remembers. “Man, I was just trying to win. I wasn’t gonna kill the guy.”
“Yeah, it sure looked like it,” Thomas scoffs.
