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“Are you ready for beauty versus the beast?”the announcer yells. “Fight!” He finishes with a scream before a bell rings in the distance somewhere.
My focus is on Bruno. He edges toward me, staying light on his feet as he works to get a feel for me and my fighting style.
He won’t find much. One of the first things I learned was not to project my moves, much like he is now. His left arm twitches a fraction of a second before he throws a solid punch at me. I just manage to duck before driving my fist into his stomach, followed by one to his cheek.
I bounce back out of range as he glares at me, the smirk long gone now that he’s tasted the hint of violence that lives inside me.
We circle each other, two predators weighing the odds as the crowd screams for more. I feint to the left, knowing he’ll anticipate it, and he does. I do a double bluff and feint to the right, too, before snapping out my leg and kicking him in the jaw.
When he reaches for my ankle, I flip backward out of his reach.
That just pisses him off. A tic in his jaw reveals a short fuse as his moves become more aggressive. His punches pack more power. Although I’m fast, a couple clip me—one in the hip and one in my shoulder—hard enough that I know I’ll be black and blue tomorrow.
“Having fun hitting a girl?” I tease, watching as his nose flairs. “Imagining I’m your ex, huh? I bet you’d like to teach her a lesson, wouldn’t you? Show her what a dumb bitch she was for leaving you for your brother.”
He jabs left, right, left. I block, taking the impact to my arms before I sweep out my foot and knock him onto his back.
He rolls away before I can pin him, so I carry on taunting him. “You’re a good-looking guy, so I’m sure it’s not that. And I bet you make a decent living fighting, so it’s not that either. I wonder what it could be?” I muse.
He growls and pounces on me, taking me to the floor. Before he can pin me, I flip him over my head and switch our positions. I grab his dick and squeeze hard, making him howl.
“Ding, ding, ding, we have our answer. I’m guessing your brother got the dick and you got the scraps. Poor little Bruno.” I emphasize the word “little” before drawing back my fist and punching him in the temple to disorientate him.
While he’s stunned, I move so I can wrap my legs around him in a north-south submission choke hold. I apply pressure to his carotid artery, pressing down on his throat to the point he can hardly breathe. He tries to throw me off, but I grip on as if my life depends on it and wait for him to tap out.
The fucker is stubborn and tries to break free. He pinches and scratches deep scores into my skin. My arms and legs begin to tire, but I refuse to let go. Eventually, his body becomes lax, but I don’t trust him not to fake me out. When he doesn’t tap out, I know I was right to be wary. With no other choice, I tighten my hold until he passes out.
With legs like jelly, I climb to my feet and hold my arms in the air to the roaring sound of screams and applause from the crowd. I ignore the shouts of “kill him” and look at my guys. Vega’s eyes are on my side. I don’t look, but I can feel the fiery burn where Bruno’s nails dug into me.
The pretty ring girl opens the cage as the announcer proclaims me the champ. I take a quick bow before heading toward my men, just as I sense movement behind me.
Before I even get to swing around, Graves’s face morphs from chill to deadly. He flies past me and takes Bruno, who was apparently about to take a cheap shot while my back was turned, to the ground.
I walk over and drop to my knees next to Graves as he pummels Bruno into the mat. Bruno’s face is covered in blood, and he’s hanging on to consciousness by a thread.
I wrap my hand around Graves’s bicep. “That’s enough,” I tell him quietly. Even over the impassioned screams from the crowd for more, he hears me.
“He’s a fucking coward.”
“And he’s done. Come on, you have your own match coming up.”
He looks from me to Bruno, reminding me of a wolf reluctant to leave his kill behind. Eventually, he releases him as I climb to my feet.
“I want to kill him. I don’t like his marks on you,” he growls, still kneeling, before pressing his lips to my side.
I bite back a wince as he pulls back and looks up at me with blood on his lips. My blood. I watch in fascination as his tongue glides across his bottom lip, tasting me. He climbs to his feet, slips a hand into my hair, and kisses me.
I can taste my blood on his lips and something that’s uniquely him.
“I need you,” he growls against my lips, his hand squeezing my hip.
“Fight first, fuck later.” I bite his top lip before pulling away.
He blinks, then frowns, looking around for a minute before taking me in with wide eyes.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I still for a moment, noticing once more that there seems to be a disconnect with him sometimes. Like, he goes offline for a minute. When he comes back, he’s disoriented and confused. He hides it well, but something is off.
