The bell rings, and Wrath and Sik Vik keep their distance. I’m zeroed in on Sik Vik, watching how he moves, trying to workout his character through his fighting stances. He comes in hard, swinging those thick arms, but Wrath is ever evasive, like he was when we were kids and used to beat the crap out of each other. One thing he definitely learned was how to dodge a hit. He makes sure to ham it up, earning laughs and hoots from the crowd. But this only seems to annoy his opponent, making him move faster and harder. Still, Wrath manages to wear him down before nailing him in the face.
“At least you know he can take care of himself,” Killian says, and I glance over my shoulder.
“Oh, you’re still here?”
“Would you care to join me in my booth?”
“Nah, I plan to track Alana down.”
His expression stiffens. “Then you’re going to force me to hunt her down?”
“You wouldn’t.”
His nostrils flare, he leans in close, and despite all the noise around us, he whispers, “Try me.”
It’s a threat I don’t doubt he means. I gulp, trying to keep it together.
“I have needs, and even if I go along with this for the sake of my family, I can’t go my entire life without pussy.”
“Then you should consider that before honoring the agreement. I’m being more than fair by giving you time to weigh your options, but as my fiancé, I won’t have you humiliating us by hooking up behind my back.”
“So you’d rather I bring her back to your place?”
“Given how it felt when I saw her hands on you, I can imagine how it’d feel to see you fucking her. I don’t think that would be much better for her health, do you?”
“That threat was barely even veiled.”
“I don’t like ambiguity.”
Shouts rise all around us, and I turn my attention to the fight. Wrath takes a few blows to the ribs, bowing over in pain, and it’s like I’m getting the punches to my own ribs. I can’t stand to see my brother in pain. It reminds me of that fateful day when I returned home from school to the blood-splattered house, finding my brothers in danger.
And Mom…
I can’t even bear the thought.
Wrath recovers quickly, landing a blow in his opponent’s face, nailing him in a way that takes him by surprise, and judging by his sneer, pisses him the fuck off. It gives Wrath a chance to escape, but he’s not playing to the audience anymore—I see that Wilde look, his birthright. It’s the fury. The rage that stretches back far beyond our generation.
“I recognize that,” Killian remarks. “Saw that when I had my own Wilde restrained. Like you would have bitten out my tongue if given the chance.”
I sneak him a look. “There’s still time for that.”
The crowd erupts inboos, and I turn back to the fight. Sik Vik hammers into Wrath’s skull, really getting him good. Wrath spins around and gives a few jabs to the ribs, but it doesn’t do him any good, and another bash to the skull sends him to the floor. I already know it won’t be a good night when we get home because Wrath hates to lose. But my relief that the fight is over is premature because Sik Vik raises his leg. Time stills as I see the dirty move about to take place even before he stomps down on my brother’s skull, contempt in his gaze like he doesn’t give a fuck if he kills my brother over a stupid Saturday night cage fight. My chest constricts, my nerves shot with adrenaline. What the hell is wrong with this psycho?
Before I can make sense of what I’ve witnessed, I’m feral, flying through the crowd, shoving guys out of my way to get to the cage. I can barely hear the audience, who’s turned on SikVik. I’m too obsessed with my mission, needing to make sure my blood is safe.
At a certain point, I realize I’m in the cage, barely recalling how I got there. I want to attack Sik Vik, but my instincts take me to my brother first.
Some guys tail behind me, one of them a medical expert they have on site. He hurries and checks my brother before turning to me, “We’ll get him taken care of.”
Two more guys come out with a stretcher and set it down beside him.
I glance around, looking for the psycho who did this to him, but he’s gone.
“The hell?” I approach the host, who’s trying to soothe the crowd. “Where the fuck did he go?” I ask, snatching the mic from him and shoving him against the cage.
“Mr. Wilde, I really don’t know. He was here and then was gone.”
Some in the crowd start pointing, and I hear a fewthat ways.
