Page 116 of The Beast

She looks pointedly at me.

I brush away tears. “He thought I shot him. He actually believed I could do that.”

“Yeah, well, if you’d seen him then, you’d know what a mess he was. He could barely breathe, much less think straight.” She grins. “And now he knows better.”

I manage a half-smile.

“For what it’s worth, I never believed it.”

My brows rise. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Hopeless romantic, I guess. The way he talked about you—it was clear he thought you hung the moon. So of course I had to believe you thought the same, too, and it was all a big clusterfuck. Like Shakespeare or something.”

I actually laugh. “Professors all over the world are cringing at the thought of works like Romeo and Juliet being categorized as a clusterfuck.”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m right.”

And, yeah. Maybe she is.

“I’m glad I was right,” she says quietly. “I’m glad you found each other again. He’s been half a person for years. Walking around with a hole in his chest where you used to be. And now...” She gestures vaguely at me. “Now he’s got a chance to be whole.”

Below us, the crowd is getting louder. The fight before Gabriel’s is brutal—two massive men trading blows that would kill an ordinary person. One of them goes down after what feels like hours, blood streaming from a cut above his eye, and the crowd roars its approval as he’s dragged from the arena.

I’ve never been so grateful for violence in my life. It gives me somewhere to look that isn’t Anissa’s too-kind face. Something to focus on besides the tears burning behind my eyes.

Anissa’s fingers twine with mine.

Then the announcer’s voice booms through the speakers:

“Ladies and gentlemen...the main event. You know him. You fear him. The owner, the champion, the man himself...THE BEAST.”

The crowd loses its mind.

Gabriel steps shirtless into the pit, and I don’t recognize him.

Gone is the man who held me two days ago, who agreed to do this together, who whispered “day by day” against my hair.

In his place is something else entirely. Something cold and controlled and utterly terrifying.

The Beast.

His opponent is bigger. Taller, broader, with arms like tree trunks and a neck thick as my thigh. He looks like he could snap Gabriel in half without breaking a sweat.

Gabriel doesn’t seem concerned.

They circle each other, testing, feinting. The crowd is screaming, but I can’t hear them anymore. All I can see is Gabriel—the fluid grace of his movements, the predator’s focus in his eyes, the coiled power waiting to be unleashed.

The big man lunges first.

Gabriel sidesteps, drives an elbow into his opponent’s kidney, spins away before the counterpunch can land. It’s beautiful. Brutal. Like watching a dance choreographed in hell.

“Breathe,” Anissa murmurs beside me. I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

The fight lasts longer than I expected. The big man is skilled, and lands several blows that make me wince, including one that opens a cut on Gabriel’s lip that sends blood streaming down his chin. But Gabriel keeps coming. Keeps pressing. Keeps finding openings where there shouldn’t be any.

And then, suddenly, it’s over.

One moment they’re trading blows, evenly matched, both breathing hard. The next, Gabriel’s behind him, arm locked around his throat, squeezing with a cold efficiency that makes my stomach turn.