Suddenly a security guard grabs me and drags me out of the ring. I fight him like my life depends on it because Dom’s lifedoesdepend on it.
“Let go of me!” I shout but he doesn’t budge, dragging me towards the back of the room. “He’s going to get hurt. Someone has to warn him!”
“He’s boxing, sweetheart,” the security tells me. “That’s how it works.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I argue, still struggling in his arms. “Rafe has brass knuckles on!”
“That’s against the rules,” he tells me.
“I know, jackass! That’s why we have to stop them!”
“Listen,” he says and a scream escapes my throat in an animalistic cry as Rafe’s fist crashes into the side of Dominic’s face, taking him to the floor with a spray of blood. “Holy shit…” the security guard says, letting go of me. The whole room goes quiet and I don’t know if it’s shock and realization of what is actually going on or if everything has turned to white noise in my head.
I step forward at the same time as he lets go and between the sudden release and watching Dom hit the floor, my legs give out and I land on the concrete, flat on my belly. Then, everything goes black.
Chapter 41
Dominic
The ringingin my head is a piercing, slicing, searing pain going from my temple down to my jaw. I’m pretty sure it’s not just the residual sound of the fight ring bell.
“Easy,” the doctor says when my eyes flutter open. My immediate instinct is to sit up, but two hands brace me by the shoulders, holding me to the stiff bed. that can only belong to a hospital.
“What the hell happened?” I demand, and I feel the doctor’s hands brushing my face.
“You were in a fight,” the doctor says calmly. It’s then I realize the hands in front of my face are sewing stitches into my cheek just below my eye. I also realize that I can’t see out of my left eye or open it for that matter.
“Jesus,” I say, cringing. “How bad was it?”
“I mean, it’s not good,” he says calmly. “I’m surprised it wasn’t worse, considering the brass knuckles.”
“Brass knuckles?” I ask, and slowly little slivers of the fight filter back into my pounding brain.
Rafe.
The fight for Golden Rule.
The hit that took me to the floor and knocked out my lights.
Mila trying to stop all of it.
Mila.
“Where is she?” I ask. The last thing I remember about Mila is her trying to jump into the ring, warning me about Rafe, and then being dragged away by security.
“I need you to hold still, Dominic,” the doctor says. “I am nearly finished, but if you keep jerking around, my work is going to be sloppy. And I–” he says before snipping the last of the stitches. “Do not leave scars.”
“Did a girl come in here with me? Looking for me?” I ask as more memories flash like a strobe light in my mind.
The security guard dragging her away. Mila fighting him, trying to get to me. Him letting go and Mila falling. Mila hitting the floor, flat on her stomach.
“She’s pregnant,” I say. “She’s pregnant, and she fell. Her name is Mila. Mila Rojas. Is she–”
“She’s in L&D,” he says, peeling his gloves off.
“Labor and delivery?” I ask, shoving myself up on the bed and grabbing the guard rails when my head swirls and my stomach turns. “Why is she there? Is she in labor?”
“Precautionary, if I had to guess,” he says.
