“Doesn’t mean I would.”
“See that you don’t.” I glare at him. “She’smine.”
“She could’ve been mine,” he bravely retorts, straightening his shoulders.
“We both know that,” I agree. “But she chose me.” I back down, sighing. “I don’t want to fight you. And as pissed as I am, I don’t want to take it out on her either.”
“You won’t. And I would never cross that line, bro. She’s your girl, and I’ll keep her safe.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Go.”
I nod and exit the kitchen, grabbing my jacket before leaving the house.
“This place is a shithole,” Hunt exclaims, as we step into the grungy bar on the outskirts of town. Lighting is dim, but it doesn’t disguise the shabby décor. Paint peels off the walls, and the scuffed hardwood floors have seen better days. The mismatched tables and chairs only add to the whole look and feel of the place. Several heads turn in our direction as we walk in, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“It’s a typical biker’s hangout. What’d you expect?” I say as we walk toward the bar.
“It’s a far cry from New York,” Hunt says, maintaining his usual unruffled manner.
“It’s more real than any of those bars we used to go to,” I say, leaning over the counter to capture the blonde bartender’s attention.
“Hey there, handsome.” She blatantly eye-fucks me as her eyes roam my body, but she does nothing for me. There is zero action happening in my pants. I wouldn’t mind a fuck because it’s been weeks, but the only woman I want underneath me is the current source of my pain. “What can I get you?”
“I’m looking for Mike.”
She eyes me with even more interest as she crooks her finger at me, motioning me closer. I prop my elbows on the counter and lean in. Her breath falters a little, and her eyes glaze over, but I’m not here to fuck some random chick.
I’m here to pound some random fucker’s face until he’s barely breathing.
That’s the only way I’ll get my rage under control.
“Mike!” I snap my fingers in her face.
“Impatient much?” She smirks, not intimidated, and I must be losing my touch.
“Always,” I growl. “Now where can I find him?”
“Head back out the door, take the alleyway, and knock on the brown door at the rear of the building.”
I stalk off without thanking her, and Hunt follows behind me.
“You sure you want to do this?” Hunt asks, scanning the room once we’re inside. It’s a much smaller venue than the usual warehouses I fight in, but I’ll take what I can get.
A ring is the focal point in the space, and two burly guys are beating the shit out of one another, watched by boisterous, drunk dudes. There isn’t much standing room, and the crowd thrusts and sways, shouting obscenities and encouragement.
The betting is laughable compared to the circuits I’m familiar with, but I don’t care.
It’s not about the money for me anymore, and even when I was fighting for my brothers, to ensure we had enough cash to look after them, it was always more about the high.
I know I’m a sick fuck.
But I’m the product of my upbringing.
Still, it could be worse.
After what I’ve heard about Parkhurst, I think I drew the long straw.
There’s no telling how fucked up I’d be if we’d stayed in Rydeville and they had forced me into that depraved world.
I glare at Hunt, and he laughs. “Try not to kill him,” he says, as the previous fight ends with one guy hauled unconscious from the ring.
