Drew paced like a caged tiger, all strength and focus as he scanned the crowd waiting for the next man to step up. He was tired, but his spirit was still there. He was determined to get us out of this.
“I doubt Trigger will let him walk out of here alive,” I said under my breath, all of my focus on Drew as he rolled his shoulders.
“Ayda, don’t be naive,” Eric hissed in my ear before coughing in pain. “Trigger’s not going to letany of uswalk out of here alive.”
The freezing fingers of realization worked their way down my spine as Eric’s words sank further than just the surface of my skin and began to take root there.
He was right.
When my gaze found Trigger shrugging his cut from his shoulders, I started to see all of this through the eyes of Eric, a sight that didn’t have the light of hope tainting the edge of it.
Jesus Christ, I was stupid.
It was all so clear to me now.
Travis was planning on taking on Drew in this last round, and he wasn’t intending on following any of the usual fighting rules Drew was adhering to on this battlefield he’d built. Trigger wasn’t going to allow Drew to walk away from this warehouse tonight no matter what happened, and he was going to make damn sure the boys and I would be another set of nails in that coffin for him.
“You heard the words from his mouth yourself. He lies,” Eric whispered as Trigger’s shirt came off and his scarred and tattooed chest appeared. A reaper with a scythe and assault rifle spread from the middle of his chest to his lower waist like a death omen.
Beating his chest with his fist, Travis released a sadistic laugh that made my chest ache in trepidation. I watched him wind himself up, pace along with Drew, his strides wider and stronger because he was fresh and full of energy. Then he pointed his fist at Drew—his eyes bright and full of murder.
“My turn, motherfucker.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed, and I wished I could know what he was thinking as he stared at Trigger through one eye, the other too swollen for him to see anything clearly.
“Cat got the Hound’s tongue?” Trigger asked with glee, his bounces energetic, his muscles sharp and flexing, ready for the fight.
Drew followed him, his gaze unwavering, going wherever Trigger went as he danced around, stretching his neck from side to side.
“This wasn’t part of the rules,” Drew pushed out.
“There are no fucking rules, pup. Not today. Not after you recently accused me of being a coward and avoiding a fight. What was it you said? That I slip into the background and shoot people in the back of the head because I’m too afraid to fight them man to man? Well, here I am.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Drew warned him.
“Damn, I do. I’ve waited a long time to sink a fist into your flesh.” Trigger smirked, and he lunged forward at once, his arm jabbing out sharply to hit Drew on the left shoulder, sending his body in a twist until he corrected his footing.
The Hounds stepped forward, stopped by the men flanking them all on either side, their rifles pointed high. They’d chosen not to leave, and they were going to see this through to the end. Jedd was looking around him, the VP trying to save his president by any means necessary, before he leaned into his cut, his mouth moving as he whispered something to himself. If he was choosing now to pray, I wasn’t going to argue with it.
“Kill him, Drew,” Deeks shouted, sounding less like Deeks than ever before.
“Yeah.” Trigger grinned, bright and sadistic. “Come kill me, Drew.” He beckoned him closer with his hands, but Drew was no fool.
He waited patiently, flicking his head to remove the blood that was dripping into his eye whenever he could. Frustration poured from him, but so did his ability to fight. Trigger looked like he could take any man in here. Drew looked like he’d already done it and won a thousand times already.
“One more round,” Drew said quietly.
