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The truth is, I don’t know. I don’t even know what the hell just happened.
“Holy shit! He ended that fight in, like, thirty fucking seconds!” Shane laughs, boastful.
I don’t say a single word. I can’t even react. I mean I want to—but I can’t.
And what’s worse? As soon as the referee calls the knockout, Drake storms for the exit of the cage. He comes down the steps, looking directly at me—no, wait. He’s looking at Shane.
Shane is completely oblivious to it all. He has no idea what the hell is going on, he’s just pretending he does. He probably thinks this is all for show. He has no fucking idea what that fighter meant to me.
Oscar and Otto jump in Drake’s way just in the nick of time, holding him back with their large hands to his chest, most likely telling him to calm down.
Drake is livid, his green eyes hot like emeralds in a fire, his hands balled into tight fists. His upper lip peels back, his body vibrating with an amount of fury I’ve never seen before.
Blood is on his shoulder and chest.
He. Is. A. Beast.
He is wild.
And… oh my goodness. I can’t believe I’m even admitting this, but he is so damn sexy. Sexier than I ever imagined him to be.
“Maybe we should go to the bar.” Kylie grabs my arm as she glances at Oscar. He’s giving her a blatant, agitated look. A “get her the hell out of here” kind of look.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Kylie leads the way, peering over her shoulder at Drake and Oscar along the way. I tell Shane I’m going to the bar, but he completely ignores me. He’s too busy watching to see if The Slayer will recover. He won’t. I know he won’t.
Doomsday never loses. Not even to giants.
To our luck, the announcer calls the fight. They claim Drake the winner, but even as we get down the aisle and closer to the exit, I can still feel his eyes on me. I can feel the formidable heat of them.
I take a glimpse over my shoulder, up at the screen, and I see those hard, bright green eyes. He takes the thick winner’s belt with the gold plate, but it’s the last thing on his mind, I bet.
Actually, I know because he’s focused on one thing outside of that cage.
Me.
Chapter 26
Jenny
My fingers wrap around the half empty glass.
The coolness of it on my fingertips comforts me, the three drinks I’ve just downed relieving small ounces of stress.
“Drake has gotten crazy, huh?” Kylie says, looking at me. “I didn’t think he’d get all wild about your presence, but whoa. Maybe he’s on steroids or something now.”
I roll my eyes. “I think it would have been a better idea for me to just stay away from the fight, like I already had planned.”
“Well, you were there, so that plan has long flown out the window—or the cage, I should say.” She snorts as she picks up her shot glass of tequila. She chugs it down, sucks on a lime, and then gasps loudly.
I focus on her with narrowed eyes. “Why are you doing tequila shots? And how have I just noticed that you ordered tequila without me?”
She shrugs. “Ordered it when you went potty. Your glass was still full.”
“I could use a shot after what just went down in that stadium.”
Kylie looks at me, pressing her lips. She starts to speak, but then something appears on the TV screen, catching her attention. I look with her, instantly frowning when I see what has caught her tongue.
“Oh, God,” I groan.
“Oh my God. Look at him!”
Yeah. Look at him.
Drake is on the TV screen, now wearing a black hat with the Kings Crown logo on it. The hat shields most of his face. He’s holding his belt, jaw locked. He’s not smiling. That does not surprise me at all.
The cameras are flashing. He’s been cleaned up a bit, no more blood from another man on his chest.
“Hey, bartender! Can you turn that up?!” Kylie shouts over the counter. The bartender cranks up the volume loud enough for us to hear over the gambling guests. As I look around, I realize every section of the bar has it turned to this very interview.
The people in the crowd where Drake is are shouting to have their questions answered.
He sits down at a table, drops the belt, and then points at one of the journalist. “You,” he mumbles.
“Hey, Doomsday. What was all of that about at the end of the fight? You know, running out of that cage and staring at the crowd. Were you making a statement or something?”
Drake presses his lips, eyes hard on the journalist. “No statement. Just business. Next,” he mumbles. And then he looks at someone else with his or her hand up.
