And she’s realizing she liked the taste.
"What are we doing here, Gabriel?" she asks, her voice tight. It’s cute that she’s nervous.
"You’ll see," I answer, cranking the wheel toward the industrial district. "We’re almost to Dunn Street."
She looks out at the darkened warehouses, the chain-link fences topped with razor wire. "This doesn't look like a church."
"It is for men like me."
I pull the car up to a parking lot behind a nondescript steel door at the back of a brick building. It used to be a textile factory before the jobs dried up and the drugs moved in. There’s no signage. No valet. Just a massive man standing under a single, buzzing yellow bulb.
I kill the engine.
"Leave your phone," I order. "They don’t allow them inside.”
Blair hesitates, her hand hovering over her purse. "Is this safe?"
My seatbelt clicks open. I turn to face her, the leather creaking beneath me. "No. It’s not safe. It’s the most dangerous room you’ll ever walk into."
Reaching across the console, I trail a finger down the side of her neck, feeling her pulse jump against my skin. "But you’re with me. And as long as you’re with me, you’re untouchable."
She searches my face, looking for the lie. She won't find one.
She leaves the phone.
The driver's side door opens, and the air here smells different than it does on the mountain. Diesel fumes mix with wet cardboard and the metallic tang of ozone.
Blair steps out, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Her hand slips into the crook of my elbow without me having to tell her to do it. She knows the rules of this world instinctively: stay close to the biggest monster in the room.
The bouncer nods as we approach. He doesn't ask for ID. He knows better. The heavy steel door swings open, and the wall of sound hits us.
It’s a deafening roar. A low, guttural vibration of hundreds of men and women shouting, swearing, and betting.
We step inside.
The warehouse is cavernous, the space dominated by a raised ring in the center bathed in harsh white floodlights and surrounded by chain link fencing. Shadows swallow the rest of the room, thick with smoke and the smell of cheap beer, expensive cologne, and fresh blood.
Blair stiffens against my side.
She tries to pull back, but I’m not letting her go. I slide my hand to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide to press her into me.
"Breathe," I murmur against her ear. "It’s just noise."
We move through the crowd. The sea of bodies parts. These men—criminals, hustlers, adrenaline junkies—know who walks among them. They know that while they might run the streets, the pavement they stand on belongs to men like me.
Romeo Hudson stands near the ringside.
The man who runs the Savage Society’s interests in the underground leans against a support pillar, looking bored as he swipes his messy curls off his forehead.
He sees us. His eyes flick to Blair, then back to me. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
"Hollis," he greets, his voice smooth, carrying over the noise as he reaches out a tattooed hand to shake mine. "Didn't think we’d see you tonight."
"Guess I’m full of surprises," I say, stopping in front of him.
Romeo glances at Blair. He doesn't leer. He assesses. He looks at her like she’s a weapon I brought to the table and he’s wondering what her purpose is.
"And who’s this?" Romeo asks.
