I roll my eyes without meaning to.
Rico scratches my head like I’m a dog. “What? You don’t believe me? Come to one of my matches and you’ll see your pretty boy ain’t shit. I’ll win every match just for you,bella.”
It’s odd, but I kinda like it. The only person I’ve had this dynamic with is Mickey, which makes me feel compelled to say, “I don’t know how you’re going to fight if Roman cuts off your hands.”
He smirks as he pushes the door open. “I can take Riviera. How does the saying go? Win the fight, win the girl?”
“I’m not an object.”
“Don’t need to be an object to be a prize,muñeca.”
The idiot with the death wish doesn’t let go of me as we round a corner into the room where Mickey is wiping his body with a damp towel. His eyes brighten when they find mine, only to turn pitch black when they go to the arm wrapped around my shoulders.
The smile he draws on his lips is easy, but there’s no mistaking the deadly intent radiating from him in suffocating waves.
“Bella and I have been getting real close.” Rico curls his arm so I’m pressed even closer to his body.
He’s going to die today.
Roman’s lips peel into a smile that’s all teeth as I try to wiggle away. “Do you know what’s going to happen in ten seconds?”
Rico leans his head against mine. Surely there are easier ways for this idiot to die—ones not involving me.
“Enlighten me,hermano.”
I look at Damien, hoping—praying—he’ll step in. But apparently, his phone is more interesting.
“You have four more to get your hands off my girl, or I break them,” Roman says with deadly calm.
Rico—oh, Lord, help me—shoots me a lopsided grin and lifts his hands. “These magic hands? My Bella over here was just learning about how good they are.”
MyBella.
Oh no.
I shriek as Roman snaps, lunging across the room faster than lightning. Rico rips away from my side just as quickly. Neither lands a hit because Damien is there in a flash, throwing his brother through the open doors like a rag doll.
I press myself against the wall, trying to blend in with my surroundings—not like it does anything.
Rico, the fucking lunatic, laughs as Roman roars, “I’m going to fucking kill you,somaro.”
Donkey.
His limited vocabulary would be laughable if he didn’t look like he was possessed by a demon, held back only by Damien’s hand wrapped around his throat.
“You should ask Bella what’s in her pocket,” Rico goads.
“Shut the fuck up, Rico,” Damien growls and turns his attention to Roman. “Chill. You’re scaring your girl.”
I’m not scared. Not of Roman, at least.
Of the conflict? Yes.
Of accidentally being caught in the center of it? Yes.
Am I still on my adrenaline buzz? Yes.
Roman’s piercing eyes turn on me, and I try to melt into the wall to escape it. He holds his hand up in surrender and ignores Rico when he says, “We’re going to share a seat tomorrow.”
