They don’t know. They’ll never know.
My lungs drag in air like I’ve been under water for too long. The cage in front of me comes back into focus. Two fighters move in circles around one another. One looks carved out ofstone, muscles rippling, eyes pinpricks in a glassy stare. Every movement is too fast, too strong, like his body’s running ahead of his mind. The other sways on his feet, arms heavy, guard slow to rise. I’ve seen exhaustion before. I fought through it myself. This isn’t that. His timing’s broken, legs rubber like he’s fighting against more than just the man in front of him. The fighters in that cage aren’t competing. They’re pawns. And I know it because I’ve been one.
Dante’s hand is steady at my back like he’s holding me together. The heat of it pulls me out of my head, and when I glance up, he’s not watching the fight. He’s watching me. That look, like he’s seeing a part of me I’ve never shown anyone, burns hotter than the crowd’s roar. I hate it. Hate how close he comes to seeing the truth I keep locked down.
“Hellcat,” he says finally, his voice low enough to get lost in the noise. “You’ve been here before.”
It’s not a question.
The words gut me sharper than the memory. For a second, the walls I keep tight around myself shift. My body tips closer, just an inch, steadying against the heat of him. His chest is solid at my shoulder, his hand a brand at my spine. I let myself lean into it just for a breath, just long enough to find my footing.
I pull it back as quick as it came, my jaw tight. “Doesn’t matter where I’ve been. What matters is that no one else ends up there.”
His thumb presses firmer, like he heard the slip but isn’t going to call me on it. No judgment. No pity. Just that steady heat, grounding me in a way I hate and need all at once. And in that beat, I know that he sees more of me than I meant to give.
A roar spikes from the cage, and I look up just as a woman in nothing but sequins and stilettos steps through the cage door holding a placard above her head. Her heels click sharp on the concrete, her smile plastered wide, but her eyes are empty. Thecrowd whistles and jeers, dollar bills waved like flags, and she parades herself around like it’s all part of the act.
Dante’s hand stays steady against me, but I feel the shift in him. His shoulders tighten, head dipping just enough that his mask shadows his face. For the first time since we came down here, he’s not projecting confidence. He’s hiding. Like there’s a chance someone in this crowd knows exactly who he is. And that rattles me even more than the memories.
His body goes rigid beside me, every muscle wired sharp. I follow his line of sight, expecting another threat in the crowd, but it isn’t the spectators that have him locked up. It’s the prep cage just off the main ring.
A girl stands inside, swaying on her feet, pupils blown wide and glassy. Her arms tremble as she tries to keep them up, her knees buckling under her own weight. She looks strung out, forced upright by nothing but fear.
Dante’s breath cuts rough through his teeth.
“Alicia.” His voice rumbles from deep in his chest.
My gut twists when I realize she’s no stranger. His hand leaves my back, curling into a fist at his side. Fury rolls off him so hot it raises the hair on my arms. The crowd erupts as the cage door screeches open. A handler shoves the girl forward, barking orders she’s too far gone to follow. Her head jerks like it’s tethered to invisible strings, body fighting itself more than the ring in front of her.
“Jesus,” I breathe, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
I don’t know what they pumped her full of… opiates, tranqs, benzos maybe, something to drag her under but keep her body moving like a puppet on strings.
Dante doesn’t move, but I feel the tension in him like a coiled spring. His mask hides his expression, but I don’t need to see his face to know what’s written there. The guilt in his posture. The rage in his breathing. The way his fingers flex likehe’s already imagining wrapping them around someone’s throat. He’s shaking with rage.
I should tell him to hold the line, to stay covered until we know more, but my chest is tight, my own pulse jagged, because I can’t look away from her either. She’s not just fighting for survival, she’s being fed to the wolves, and the wolves are wearing suits and masks in velvet booths, drinking champagne while they watch her break.
The prep cage door clangs shut behind her, and Alicia stumbles forward into the ring, blinking hard like she’s trying to force her body to obey. Her hands shake when she raises them. Her movements are slow and heavy.
Across from her is another woman, who looks like she’s carved out of raw muscle, her frame is broad, her arms roped with veins that pulse beneath oily skin. Her jaw flexes, square and clenched, and her eyes burn with a glassy fever.
She looks juiced, the complete opposite of Alicia. She moves in sharp bursts like she doesn’t know the meaning of restraint.
A whistle cuts sharp through the noise, drowning the crowd for half a beat before they surge back louder. Bars rattle a second later, and then the bell clangs, pulling every eye to the blood about to spill.
Alicia staggers into a guard, but it’s sloppy, her legs dragging like she’s fighting underwater. The crowd knows it. They smell weakness. Jeers and cheers rise like a tidal wave.
The juiced fighter launches her fists cracking across Alicia’s face in a blur. The sound pops like a gunshot. Alicia reels, knees dipping. The crowd roars their approval.
“Take her head off!” a voice bellows from the booths.
“She’s already done,” another slurs, laughter riding the air.
I bite back bile, my fists clenching. The poor girl is barely holding herself together. Every jab she throws floating weak, her body betraying her. The other woman doesn’t let up. Shehammers a hook into Alicia’s ribs, then another to her face, snapping her head sideways. Alicia sways, glassy-eyed, her arms barely rising before they fall again.
Beside me, Dante braces hard against the rail. His shoulders lock, his chest rising fast with ragged breaths. I feel the fury pouring off him, sharp as a blade.
I lean closer, my voice low so only he hears. “You go charging in now, we’re both dead before we reach her.”
