CHAPTER6
Drake had never apologized for the life he’d lived. It had been harsh but it had not been without the benefits of learning how the world truly worked. It wasn’t some fairy tale unless it involved titled peers. Even then, it was damned hard. There was so much expectation put on those that lived in their gilded palaces to carry on the line while keeping the coffers full. Many noblemen he knew were inclined to drink and gamble to sustain the pressure they were put under to be perfect. Although Drake didn’t have to suffer begetting an heir in a loveless marriage.
He fought for one reason alone.
To survive.
There were many times he’d lost himself in the bottom of a bottle, trying to forget his circumstances.
As he looked at the sympathy on Miss Davies’ face, he hated the map of hardship on his body and decided that once this match was over, he could deal with a strong Scotch. The raised disfigurements on his arms and torso told the sorrowful tale of a man who had escaped death from a sharp blade too many times to count.
Oddly enough, his face had escaped too much trauma. His nose had only been broken once and had healed rather evenly. His hands, however, bore the violence that he’d endured over the years.
After stripping down to nothing but his trousers, he handed the discarded articles to Amos and then he headed for the pit without another glance back at Miss Davies. He didn’t want to see her pitying expression when she saw his back. The crisscrossed scars were always good to remind him of his true place in this world, of what he was. A killer, a criminal.
A fighter.
He didn’t have to push his way through the crowd. They patted him on the back as he passed with encouraging shouts. It wasn’t his first time here and no doubt, it wouldn’t be the last. He was destined for this sort of existence even though he tried to live better. His past was difficult to ignore when it kept showing up on his doorstep with such pristine determination.
He jumped down into the pit and moved his neck in a circle, attempting to rid himself of the tension that was starting to tighten his muscles. He had never blinked about entering into a bareknuckle match before but knowing that Miss Davies was looking on made the tendons in his shoulders and back tense with awareness. He had hoped to be spending his evening exerting himself in a different manner but he supposed it was all for a good cause. Amos’s son, Devon, was a young man with a hot temper but not quite enough stamina to back up his actions. He could be tough when the situation warranted it but in the case of fighting Bear, there were very few men who succeeded.
Drake had won a match against him but not without a couple of broken ribs and a finger to show for it. As he faced the dark-skinned man now, he had to wonder if he would be so lucky this time. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t back down from any fight, even if it might kill him. Some had lost their lives in the pit and the only recompense they received was a disgruntled crowd who had placed their bets on the poor sod—and lost.
Standing tall and proud, Bear gave a broad smile when he saw who would be standing in the place of Devon. Drake answered with a formal bow. “We meet again.”
“Indeed,” Drake returned smoothly, and then he ran toward the man.
In this battle there was no defining bell when the match was to commence. This was a game without rules and the violence was all too real.
As Drake ran his right shoulder into Bear’s torso at full speed, the only thing he managed to do was cause the giant of a man to stumble. He was easily a head taller than Drake and filled out enough for two men. And when the first blow came at his ribcage, he was prepared for the strike. The breath instantly escaped his lungs. As he tried to regain his full capacity for breathing, he countered with a stiff uppercut that sent Bear’s head backward. He added another left cuff to the side of his face.
Bear just smiled wider, blood staining his teeth as he came back at Drake with a devastating blow to his solar plexus—if it had made contact. Drake was familiar with his fighting style so he quickly dropped down, kicking out his leg against the other man’s thigh as he did so. The grunt of pain was not enough to stop Bear as he lunged for Drake. He put his huge arm around Drake’s neck and began to squeeze.
Spots danced before his eyes but rather than give in to lack of oxygen, he allowed his body to go completely limp, temporarily taking his attacker off guard. It was enough for him to loosen his grip while Drake slid to freedom. Jumping up, he kicked off of the edge of the pit and with a roundhouse, his shin made contact with the side of Bear’s temple.
Again, the man staggered, but he didn’t fall. It wasn’t going to be easy to fell a tree like Bear but as Drake allowed his smile to widen, he offered the man a wink as he threw out an elbow to his throat as the true battle began.
* * *
She couldn’t watch.The noise inside the room was so loud that Fleur could hardly maintain her own thoughts. Or rather, the horror that was taking place.
It wasn’t as though she particularly cared for Mr. Porter—Drake—but neither did she want to see anyone hurt. And faced off with such a burly man there was surely no way that he could win a match. It was like David facing off with Goliath. And unless Mr. Porter had a slingshot, then the odds were decidedly not in his favor.
It didn’t help that Amos was looking on as if he hadn’t just sent Mr. Porter to his demise and would sleep soundly knowing that he had his death on his conscience. Frustrated with it all, she moved toward him. “Aren’t you going to do something about this?”
He ignored her completely. He didn’t even glance over at her to acknowledge that she had been speaking.
With a huff, Fleur started to pace. She held the dagger in her grip and wondered who she might hit over the head with this to cause this insanity to cease. She despised violence of any sort and this was the worst kind—fighting for the pure sport of it.
Another roar erupted from the crowd and she felt sick to her stomach imaging what might be taking place in that miserable pit. No doubt it wasn’t going well to the man she had come there with. The question was, dare she try to go ahead and make her escape now? But at the same moment the thought entered her mind, she had no idea where she might go. She had no family to turn to other than her brother and he was more or less being held hostage by Harriette.
Anger boiled up within her at the memory of the courtesan’s betrayal. She had believed her to be a true confidante if not a friend and to be treated in such a manner made her wonder if she could trust anyone—especially Mr. Porter.
Fleur supposed she should be thankful that she wasn’t lying with the scoundrel. Instead, he was being pummeled to death in an illegal fighting pit beneath an illicit pub in the darkest part of the West End of London. She shook her head, wondering how she managed to get herself in such a situation.
And then she remembered. She hadn’t done anything.
Flavian was the reason she was standing here in a concealing shroud, for fear that if anyone actually saw her, she would have to worry about more than Mr. Porter’s lewd advances.
