Even though they’re not the headline event itself, winning tonight still means big money.
It’s also the first fight night that Mirabelle, Rage, and I have gone to since we all escaped. Ash and Griffin have come back to our motel room a little banged up a couple times, but they’ve won every single fight.
I’m pretty sure the two of them ham up how hurt they are just so Mirabelle will fussover them anyway.
To be fair, I do the same. What can I say, it’s nice to be taken care of. And I’d like to think I have a better excuse, considering I got fucking shot in the leg.
“Are you sure?” She asks, reaching out and squeezing my hand.
“I”m sure, Sugar. ‘Specially after Rage found me this barstool to sit on.”
Rage turns at the sound of his name, offering me a single nod before he turns back around, his gaze scanning the crowd around us. I’m glad he’s with us. There’s no safer place for Mirabelle to be than with Rage. Based on the way everyone seems to give the three of us a wide berth, I think everyone else knows that too.
I’m able to walk now, since it’s been two weeks since it all went down. It’s with a limp, but I’m glad to have some of my independence back. I know the guys are my pack mates now, but I felt like even more of a little kid when I needed their help to go to the bathroom and stuff.
Mirabelle’s brows are still drawn down with concern and she pouts, her bottom lip poking out.
“Now, don’t go making that face with that lip gloss on or I’ll be tempted to kiss it all off,” I murmur, leaning close to her so I can soak in her sweet strawberry scent. It’s like a breath of fresh air, being surrounded by so many people.
Something pulses in my chest. Warm and fuzzy.
Mirabelle’s emotions.
She’s flustered.
The bond between us has started to form. It’s still pretty weak, but it’s there. Well, it’s been there for her ever since she bit me during her fucked-up Franken-heat, but I didn’t get that luxury.
After two weeks of being stuck in a motel room together, though? It’s getting stronger every day.
“We’re in public!” She whisper-yells, glancing around nervously.
She’s gotten a decent number of looks, even dressed up in a hoodie and the leggings we got her on the first shopping spree we went on afterAsh and Griffin won their second match. I don’t blame them for looking, Mirabelle’s got this ethereal, effortless sort of beauty you don’t find in places like this.
But they look away real fast when they catch sight of Rage standing sentry next to her.
“People kiss each other in public all the time,” I murmur softly, my gaze dropping to her lips as I flash her a playful wink.
“I know you’re not completely good, I can feel it,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t distract me with compliments!”
“You sure? Pretty sure I just did.” I reach out and lace her hand in mine. “And I mean it, I’m doing fine, you don’t have to worry about me, okay? If anything, I’m worried about you. You never did super well with fight nights before.”
She visibly swallows before she shrugs.
“I’m okay,” she says.
“Okay, now who’s the one who’s lying?” I say, ducking down to meet her gaze. “Come on, Sugar, you don’t need to put on a front with me.”
“Ash and Griffin wanted me to come watch,” she mumbles, shuffling her weight from foot to foot, her new Converse sticking to the concrete floor beneath us.
“You could’ve said no, Sugar, they wouldn’t have held it against you.”
“No, but I want to support them! I just don’t want to watch them get hurt.”
Rage grunts and hands Mirabelle his phone, the notes app already open on the screen.
You don’t need to worry. They won’t get hurt.
“You can’t guarantee that,” she says, handing the phone back to Rage.
