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Everyone stands to their feet, cheering and shouting as Adrik and him struggle. This man is huge, bigger than anyone I would ever want someone to fight. Adrik is strong, but I don’t see this ending up in his favor.
Somehow he seems to have the upper hand, delivering blow after blow to the man, finally pinning him down to the ground. Blood begins to splatter the floor around the man's head, and it’s about this time that I process what the hell is going on.
Adrik isn’t just fighting this man, he’s about to kill him.
13
ADRIK
“Stop!!” Espie’s voice is faint in the background, screaming, pleading for me to break out of the trance I’m in, but I can’t. This fucker under my punching fists can’t call the woman I brought here sexy and be a decent human being. He should be put down, just like they do with dogs when they make fatal mistakes.
His brawn has served him no purpose under the weight of my skill. So blood splatters as I pound him into the ground, determined to finish him.
Crack after crack, I know his bones are breaking, and the crowd is cheering and no one is stopping me because this is Russia, not some LA bar for pompous rich boys. The scum has nearly gone limp under me, giving up the fight or going unconscious. Either way, he’s close to dying, and I won’t stop until he’s lifeless.
Everything in me that stirs my anger, that's calloused me, that's broke me, is coming out with every violent maneuver. As it so often does, my fights always turn this way. They start out for a reason I deem worthy but in the heat when I could pull away, back down and let them live, I push forwards. It’s vengeance that dries me, and winning always alleviates that for a moment, though transient.
Dark spots begin to cloud my vision as I continue to pound him into something unrecognizable, blood splashing up at me like I'm slapping the top of a deep pool, and then someone leaps on top of me. Their body collides with the back of my head and I grab them as tightly as I can and throw them off me towards the fireplace, then the cheering stops.
A sick feeling begins to ignite in my stomach as I capture the worst scenario imaginable out of the corner of my eye. Espie, flying backwards through the air, landing with a thud against the edge of the fireplace, motionless on the floor. I turn to her before I even realize that I'm moving, reaching her just as the edge of her dress begins to catch fire. I tear my jacket off and toss it to the ground, stomping out the fire before it gets any worse.
I can’t tell if she’s burnt or bleeding, but I scoop her up in my arm, eyes bleary because how the fuck did I get so out of control? Somehow, I went from avenging her, to hurting her within a matter of moments. The crowd parts for me, allowing me to head straight for the door.
“Barth!” I scream through the quiet town mostly asleep except for the lively pub. “Barth!” My voice cracks and a car whips around the corner. I can’t tell if it’s mine because snow has begun falling again, but as it approaches I see its wide outline, the dark green paint, and I know it is.
The second it pulls up, I lay Espie on the back seat, climbing inside and pulling her onto my lap.
“Step on it.” I say when he’s paused too long.
“Yes sir.” He turns the car around, and we go as fast as we can in this weather, back up the mountain. While we drive, my heart pounds in my ears that have begun to buzz. My bloody hands pull up her burnt dress, inspecting the bottom of her legs to make sure there are no marks.
I don’t pinpoint any in the dark, but it’s no relief. She’s still unconscious, and I’m still so fucking idiotic for doing what I did– ruining the night with my temper. But that asshole would have gotten away with being an empty-headed pervert if I hadn’t done something.
“Fuck.” I slam my fist against the window, and Barth knows by now not to comment while I’m still seething. We’re parked in the garage before I realize we’ve even passed through the entrance, and I immediately get out of the car, pulling Espie close to me again and carrying her inside.
I march in the direction of our rooms, stopping for no one, not even looking at the eyes of all the boys, curiously watching my frantic movements. Thankfully, none of the boys are hers. I’m fucked if they see us because Espie in danger is a bigno nofor Vince and his disciples.
Seducing her is the only way to break myself out of this contract without a war ensuing, hurting her is probably the best way to make an even bigger enemy of a powerful mafia family. And that comes back on me. Fuck, I really am fucked.
We’re nearly to her door, and then I realize if I bring her to Olive like this, it’s like tattling on myself that I can’t protect her, and she goes home.Otetsshoots me dead, and our families reignite a bloodbath of a war that no one will survive from. At the top of the steps, I sprint down the opposite end of the hall and take the elevator to the fourth floor.
There’s a suite there where my parents would stay when they weren’t at odds. I vaguely remember how to get there, and turn down a couple of hallways when I reach the level, wandering around until I see double doors. White ornate wood with pearls fastened in it, tells me I must be in the right spot.
I barrel to it, holding Espie tight to my chest and pulling the doors open. It’s dark at first, but when my eyes adjust, I can see the large bed with a canopy, a fireplace and several tall trees where small birds flit about, and bookcases stuffed from floor to ceiling. There are a few seating areas around the room, but I take her straight to the bed, laying her down gently.
How could I let this happen to her? Fuck. I fucking hate her most days, but this could be bad, horrible if it gets back to the wrong ears. Still, something else seems to be bothering me about this, something that is more than a duty to keep her safe because of our contract. But I won’t acknowledge it because these types of things never pan out well.
Something as fleeting as feelings are nothing to be tampered with. Because they are just that— fleeting. Not to mention, probably induced by other variables.
She’s hot, nice to look at. That’s all. Yet as I watch her sleep– her long lashes touching her soft flushed cheeks, her thick brows relaxed and unaware, her red lips gently parted– I get this rush. This urge to kiss her that freaks me the fuck out so much I have to pull myself away from her.
“Pajamas. She needs pajamas.” I nod to myself, changing the subject to get the hell away from my alcohol-adrenalin-rush cluttered mind. That’s all it is, a bad combination and probably an overdue smoke.
I head to the closet where rows, and rows of clothes that haven’t been touched in years, occupy the entirety of it. None of which are for sleeping, by the way. I exit and head to the bathroom, where in the center there is a large island. I open some drawers until I find an almost Victorian looking white nightgown with puffy long sleeves and a small bow at the hem of the frilly bust.
“Sure, why not.” I say to myself and sprint out of the closet, to an empty bed.
“What is this place?” My heart skips as Espie whispers, rubbing her head and turning away from one of the windows.
