I dodged easily, spinning out of reach and readying my own hit. It was so fast he didn’t register the blow until I made contactwith his ribs. A slight crack and groan echoed out but I was already moving and so was he.
At least this would be a challenge.
We circled again before I feinted right and slammed left. The grunt he let out this time confirmed what I suspected. He had an internal injury he hadn’t healed from and each blow to his right side was making it worse.
I used that information against him, striking again, then kicking his feet out from under him and bringing him to his knees.
As soon as he hit the mat, I let loose, raining blow after blow until the world faded away. Warm blood splashed against me, his breathing wet and wheezing.
The crowd went wild, screaming encouragement as the man curled into a ball to protect himself.
I had a way of reducing seasoned fighters to this pathetic display.
“Enough.”
Dimitri’s Russian accent cut through the noise, stopping me mid-punch. Silas’s guards moved in instantly to retrieve him. I straightened, cracking my neck, not bothering to look at the crowd as I returned to my keeper.
“Another win for us, my boy,” he said with a rasping chuckle. “They bet against you this time. He had a reputation, too. Fools.”
I snorted. “Some reputation. Didn’t take him long to fall.”
“No. They should learn by now not to bet against the Hellhound.”
I rolled my eyes at the name, but his expression turned serious.
“Someone’s here to see you, kid. I told him to wait until after the match.”
“Who?” I demanded. “You know I don’t talk to fans.”
“Not a fan,” he corrected. “The police. They demanded to see you between fights. You’ve got five minutes.”
Stupidly, hope filled my chest as I scanned the area until I spotted the officer.
“Did you find her?” I demanded as I stalked forward.
His face was grim, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what came next.
“We did,” he confirmed. “I’m sorry, son, but you can stop calling. She’s gone.”
“Let me see her,” I demanded, my chest puffing out in challenge. I would’ve felt it if she were dead. Iknewshe wasn’t. He was lying.
“We have the DNA test to prove it, but you weren’t a registered pack. Her mother signed off on it. We don’t need anything else from you. This was just a courtesy.”
“Courtesy my ass,” I bit out. My vision darkened as I surged forward, but Dimitri grabbed me, dragging me back before I could make contact and wind up in a cell.
“It’s not worth going to jail over,” he snapped. “Stop.”
“It’s not worth it?” I demanded. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Have your fight. Take it out on him. Then you can tie up loose ends.”
He knew exactly what loose ends I meant. One I’d been watching just as closely, ensuring she didn’t run from me like the rodent she was.
The next fight was an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t feel the burn or ache of my muscles. My fists moved on instinct. I dodged without thinking, pouring my rage into every blow.
I didn’t stop until my opponent was a bloody pulp beneath me, his breath a wet rattle like all the men before him.
My body was coated in blood and grime from the cement floor and sweat. Bruises and cuts bloomed across my arms, but none of it mattered.
