“Shit,”I gasp. “Little brother? Won’t he retaliate?”
Pops was always concerned with starting a war. Every movement, every strike was calculated with risk weighed. He kept me locked away because of the very real fear that I would be targeted as revenge should he mess up.
“Eh, Roman started it.” We look to the stage as Killian and Maeve debate quietly. “He killed a kid that your sister gave her protection to. She was just finishing it. An eye for an eye.”
My heart breaks for the child—or as much of it that can. I’m not exactly right in the head.
Leaning back, I let him take some of my weight, my feet aching. A room full of killers, men who hurt women like me, and one of the biggest threats is lazily drawing circles along my hip.
Hayes Monticello is one of the most dangerous men in our world. And I feel completely safe within his arms, with blood running close to our feet. It’s not the first time he’s made me feel safe—but it is the first time I’ve sunk into it, let it wash over me and inhale it into my lungs.
“Now what?” The air shifts and we tense, feeling it happen. “What’s happening?”
Hayes barely moves. “The vote.”
Maeve takes a bucket full of written names, and I cock a brow at the anticlimactic charade.
“That’s it? Pull a few names out and they get to compete? Seems a little too easy considering we just watched my sister kill a man.”
Hayes lets me go, stepping to the side to remove his jacket. Next he rolls up his sleeves of the grey Henley, tribal ink on display. Hungrily, I take it all in.
Then, on his forearm, I notice an old raised scar, covered in black whirls and sharp lines. Before I can ask, he hands me his gun.
My mouth parts. “What do I do with that?”
Silently, he cocks an eyebrow as I gingerly accept the weapon. “Try not to shoot yourself.” He slides brass knuckles on to his left hand. “Keep it pointed down and away from you. I don’t care if you shoot anyone else. Actually,” he pauses, rubbing his chin. “If you’re going to shoot someone, aim for Linwood.”
“Hayes!” My hands shake. It’s odd that a gun freaks me out when I’ve used medical instruments to dissect flesh without issue. “What is going on?”
“You’re holding my gun. I can’t bring it into the fight.”
“Fight?”
Maeve clears her throat, standing. A piece of paper is held between two fingers. “First round. Donovan. Hayes. You’re up.”
As a collective, the crowd steps away, a ring forming. Another man, not quite as big as Hayes, steps forward. With short cropped blond hair, a pointed chin and sky-blue eyes, he scans my fiancé with something akin to apprehension.
He’s afraid of Hayes.
Hayes brushes a kiss to my temple and I jump. “We really need to work on that.” He pushes me closer to the stage. “Go up there. I won’t be long.”
My knees knock together as I climb the stage to stand beside Maeve. No one stops me, in fact, most give me a wide berth.
“Five minutes.” Maeve waves her hand and a whistle sounds.
Both men charge. Hayes gets the first hit, the weaponry on his hand knocking into Donovan’s face. A stray tooth flies across the circle, the ping lost to the roar of cheers and shouts.
“A grand on Donovan,” a man bets next to Killian, voice lost to the crowd. All three of us watch the fight as the two men trade vicious blows. Donovan lands a stomach punch on Hayes and he doubles over. Wincing, I hold my mouth and try not to shout out.
“I’ll take that.” Killian laughs as another hit knocks Hayes’ head back. “Donovan has no chance.”
The runner shakes his head ruefully. “Are we watching the same fight? Hayes is getting his ass handed to him.”
The reaper raises a brow. “You’ve clearly never seen the hitter in a fight. He doesn’t go down so easily. Especially when he has something to prove.”
Maeve watches the clock, counting the seconds. I shift, body so tightly wound, I feel like I’ll break if touched.
“What is happening?” I whisper as our shoulders brush. The scent of blood carries on the air and I inhale through my mouth. “How is this voting?”
