My heart rattles in my chest. He was one of the men from the Vargas Cartel that Damien told me to look out for because of the stolen cocaine.
His words ring in my head.
People like us hide our weaknesses so someone else doesn’t hit us where it hurts.
I’m trying to rationalize my safety with myself. The bouncer would have taken his gun off him, right? So I won’t get shot. Not like any of that matters. He and I know he won’t need a weapon to kill me. He has to be at least triple my size.
I push myself against the sink and try to inch toward the door, but he reads my thoughts. The next thing I know, he’s standing in front of the exit and staring at me with an excited glint in his eyes that raises the hairs on my body.
“Isa,” I whisper.
I chant Damien’s name in my head, thinking—hoping—he’d be able to hear me and come to my rescue. Roman would be too busy, and the last thing I want is for him to start a fight withthisguy.
“Isabella?”
My throat seizes. How does he know my name? What else does he know about me? Could he know about Jeremy?
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Mickey isn’t the one I should have been worried about. I am.
I’m the weakest link. I am Roman’s weakness.
He owes the cartel money. They want to make him pay.
To destroy him, they only need to look at me.
I shouldn’t have had anything to drink, shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom alone, shouldn’t have left Damien’s side.
“What do you want?” I squeak.
He takes a step toward me, and I match it back. “Our money. But we’ll settle for you.”
My heart stops for a split second.
Everything stills.
Then I open my mouth to scream.
Chapter 28
ROMAN
Sweattricklesdownmyback.
Every inch of my body burns.
I glance at the wall behind the big fucker’s head, where the time stares at me in big, red, blinking numbers.
Fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds since the match started.
Another three minutes and twenty-four seconds, and another two grand will be added to my wallet. If we last to the twentieth, five grand will be added.
They want a show, not a quick knockout. But if one of us is still standing by the twenty-fifth minute, people get bored, and the money stops coming. This isn’t boxing. There’s no break every three minutes. So we’re tired and sloppy, but it still makes for a good show.
Vargas’s fighter looks even shittier than me. The guy is probably the best fighter that gang has. He’s strong but slow. His right hook is deadly, and my head is still swimming after failing to block one. But I’d wager that Bella has better endurance than him.
The bigger they are, the faster they burn.
He swings, narrowly missing my nose. With his arm suspended and flank open, I pivot on the balls of my feet. My kick flies into his ribs. It isn’t enough to make him stumble, but it takes him by surprise. I use the shock to land a punch to his cheek.
