Page 152 of Hearts Storm

The arena explodes as Ozzy Osbourne’s: Crazy Train shifts the energy in the room from hostile to borderline electric. Every single person in the arena is on their feet, screaming and pumping their fists in the air as Dex saunters out of the tunnel.

Dark hair cropped close on the sides and longer on top, his short, neatly trimmed beard frames a clenched jaw. His body is lean, corded muscle—not bulky like Kazakov, but sculpted. Every step he takes has him looking like a predator stalking its prey.

Eyes, dark and intense, scan the crowd as he makes his way toward the cage.

When his gaze lands on his brothers, he gives them a quick, respectful jerk of his chin before his eyes flick over to me. Brex shifts, draping his arm across the back of my seat.

Dex pops a brow, a spark of amusement hitting his eyes before his gaze lands on Ari, spark instantly snuffing out as he goes completely still. Jaw ticking, dark eyes lock onto hers for maybe all of two seconds before they quickly flick away.

As he enters the cage, I lean into Ari. “Have you two met yet?”

Keeping her eyes on Dex, she tracks his every move as he bounces on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders. “Nope. Mostly just communicated via email with his assistant, Jed.”

“He looked at you like he recognized you.”

Ari shrugs as a flush creeps into her cheeks. “I told you I’ve been to a few of his fights. Maybe he remembers me?”

Lips pressed together, my bestie is doing this thing where she tries to act like she doesn’t give a shit, but fails miserably. Ari doesn’t get flustered. Ari is the most composed person I know.

Something is definitely up.

Before I can press any further, the referee calls both fighters to the center of the octagon. They touch gloves, and the bell rings.

As soon as the fight starts, Ari jumps to her feet. “Let’s fucking go!”

Kazakov comes out swinging—wild, widow-maker hooks that practically whistle through the air. Dex slips by them with fluid, almost lazy movements as he circles patiently, letting Kazakov tire himself out. And any time Kazakov overcommits, Dex is right there with a sharp jab or punishing body shot that makes the Russian grunt.

It’s like watching a thunderstorm collide with a fucking tsunami.

The crowd roars as Dex ducks under a massive right hook from Kazakov, who follows up with a brutal thrust of his knee, catching Dex in the solar plexus.

Dex takes a knee.

“Screw you, Kazakov!” Ari screams. “Kick his nasty Russian ass, Dex!”

“Oh, shit! Is he hurt?” I shout at Brex.

Eyes narrowed, he watches as his brother stumbles to his feet. “Nah. He’s just feeling him out.”

“He’s waiting for an opening,” Logan calls over to me.

Sure enough, Dex circles left, moves still fluid despite the punishing blow he just took. When Kazakov charges again, Dex turns sideways and lands a devastating jab-cross-hook that snaps the Russian’s head back with every blow.

The arena goes nuts.

“That’s how you do it, bro!” Brex shouts.

Beside me, Ari is practically vibrating. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chants under her breath.

Dex presses his advantage, driving Kazakov toward the cage with a flurry of strikes, forcing the bigger man to tuck his arms in against his torso. For a second, it looks like Dex might finish him off, but Kazakov clinches, twisting his massive frame, pinning Dex against the fence.

“Shit,” Rune growls. “Classic, Kazakov.”

Heart in my throat, I watch as Dex’s rival lands several dirty elbows to his face.

Blood gushing from a gash above his eye, Dex suddenly drops his center of gravity and wraps his arms around Kazakov’s waist.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, gripping Brex’s arm.