“I don’t want to know their names or for them to know mine. I don’t want them to show up until I absolutely need them. Andas soon as the haze is over, I want them to leave. The less time I have to spend with them, the better. And condoms. They have to wear condoms.”
“The three of them can make sure all that happens. Now eat,” Torin whispers as he removes his hand and picks up a slice of pizza.
I can do this. I just need boundaries.
Chapter 19
Roman
Istand in the locker room, the raucous cheers from the crowd filtering into the room. The fucking asshole is going down tonight. Hancock is going to wish he never dared to utter my name or my pack’s from his mouth. Fucking pussy isn’t brave enough to say it to my face. He had to run around like a scared cat to the few followers he had.
“It’s crowded as hell out there tonight. You didn’t tell us you were the featured fight, Roman.” Nash says, as he finishes wrapping my knuckles. Holden keeps checking his phone with a sour look on his face each time.
“What’s your problem?” I ask him.
“Nothing. So, what exactly did this guy say?” he cleverly asks, changing the subject.
“Fucker claims I only accept matches with people I know I can beat. That I pay off the ref. It didn’t bother me at first because it’s all bullshit.”
“What changed?” Holden asks, as he rummages through the bag we carry with us to ringside that has water, towels, and medical supplies just in case we need them.
“He started running his mouth about our pack. How we don’t have an omega. No prospect in one. That Holden is a product of one of our fathers cheating, and they adopted you and made up the story about your parents to cover it up.”
“Fucking annihilate him,” Nash growls, his alpha dominance radiating from him.
“Oh, I plan to. The fucker will be lucky if he has any teeth by the time I’m done.” I let out a low laugh as I step away from Nash.
I need to get my head in the game and work through my pre-fight ritual. Beginning with flexing my knuckles and clenching my fists. I bounce lightly on my toes; every muscle in my body is wired, alive, waiting. Sweat beads along my hairline, but I don’t bother wiping it away. My chest rises and falls fast, and each inhale catches the metallic taste of blood from the last fight.
A throat clears, and I turn to the door to see Hal, the bouncer. “Hey Roman, they’re ready for you.” I nod and he turns, heading back down the hallway.
Holden and Nash step over to me, each of them placing a hand on one of my shoulders. “Drag it out. Make the fucker feel every ounce of pain you’re about to give him,” Holden says through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I plan to. He may get one or two hits on me, but that’s it,” I mutter, my head fully in fight mode.
I step out of the locker room into the hallway, my brothers falling in step behind me, flanking me. The hallway narrows and darkens, the muffled thrum of bass swelling into something primal. The crowd wants blood, and I plan to give them more. As we step into the underground arena that the club plays a front for, I’m hit with a roar from the crowd. The place is so packed that the bodies are crushed together. Smoke and beer hang thick in the air, clinging to my skin. Faces blur in the neon glow, somejeering, some hungry, all of them wolves catching the scent of blood and they're hungry for it.
I push through, the crowd parting just enough to let me pass. Hands slap at my back, voices call my name, others curse it. The sound is a storm—shouts, laughter, the metallic ring of chain-link rattling from eager fists beating the cage walls. Each step winds my chest tighter, sharpening my focus until the chaos isn’t chaos anymore—it’s fuel, feeding the fire already raging in my veins.
And then I see it. The cage. Once we’re inside, there's no stepping out until the fight is over.
It looms in the center of the floor, brutal and unadorned, lit by harsh overhead lights that only emphasize the steel of the bars. The concrete floor inside is stained with the ghosts of old fights, and it smells faintly of iron and sweat even from here. Around it, the crowd surges, their roars bouncing off the walls, a living current pulsing through the room. Instead of intimidating me, it only pumps me up. I’m ready for this. I thrive here. My way of getting out all the anger and aggression within me. And tonight, I have a lot to disperse.
I roll my neck and shake out my arms as I step up to the cage. Holden and Nash head to the corner that’ll be mine, but on the outside of the cage. The only people allowed inside are the fighters and the ref.
This is it. The cage isn’t a prison—it’s a crucible. And I’m about to walk into the fire.
Hancock steps up to the door, a smirk on his face. He thinks he’s going to be the winner, but he has another thing coming.
“Let’s head inside and go over the rules,” Chad, the ref for the night, tells us, opening the cage door.
“Rules?” Hancock questions, but Chad ignores him and I love it.
“Inside,” Chad states again using his alpha bark, aiming it at Hancock.
Once we’re inside, Chad locks the gate behind us and heads to the center of the ring, placing his fingers in his mouth letting out a piercing whistle that quiets everyone.
“Good, now that I have your attention. We have a surprise for you all tonight.” The crowd lets out a roar and he motions for them quiet. “Tonight’s fight will be to knock out. It won’t end until someone is out cold.” Then he smirks and adds, “or he’s dead.”
