Ronin pushed up, then stumbled backward, nearly toppling over before the referee grabbed his bloodied fist and thrust it upwards.
The crowd lost their fucking minds.
Mireille joined them, hollering and clapping so aggressively that her palms began to burn.
“Our champion!” the referee boomed, beaming at the stands as Ronin swayed unsteadily beside him.
As soon as the referee released his wrist, Ronin collapsed to the concrete.
And the arena erupted into chaos.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time Mireille managed to fight her way down the arena steps, nearly half an hour had passed since the end of the fight.
After Ronin had collapsed, nearly taking Mireille’s heart with him, he’d been whisked away as the crowd flooded the ring, concerned about their champion.
The concern had swiftly morphed into celebration, as bottles of champagne were popped and boisterous dancing began. It took her another fifteen minutes just to wend through the mayhem.
As she approached the hallway to the locker rooms, she saw Maloney being carried away by two males, a short female trailing behind. The female glanced furtively over her shoulder, and Mireille stopped in her tracks at the white and black hair poking out of her hood.
Layla Fetar.
Had Otto tried to fix the fight, given Maloney those fake cuffs? An attempt to get Ronin out of the way, have Mireille all to himself up at the estate?
Mireille pressed herself against the wall, bowing her head as she watched Layla trail the two males down the shadowed corridor.
She took a few steps toward their retreating forms before a wave of indecision stilled her.
Where the fuck wasthatcoming from? She’d never let anything stop her from chasing down a mark. The smart choice would be to follow them, learn anything she could about what Layla had been doing here tonight before she encountered the female up at the estate. The successful completion of the assignment might very well depend on such knowledge.
But she couldn’t shake a nagging sense of guilt.
Ronin had almost been killed tonight. And likely because of her.
She tried to rationalize it away. Ronin had agreed to this job just as willingly as she had, knowing the potentially dangerous consequences.
Still, she didn’t want to admit how much the thought of his suffering displeased her.
This. This right here is why she didn’t do partners. They made everything so much more fucking complicated.
She lost sight of Layla and the two males, then made her way to the locker entrance.
The spacious room was eerily quiet, the fighters from earlier bouts having long since left the arena. And the High Gods only knew where Layla was taking Maloney. Probably somewhere private to tie up Otto’s loose end.
Rushing water sounded as Mireille followed snaking steam past benches and lockers to a door at the other side of the room. As she swung it open, mist clouded her vision and a soft, whimpering sigh filled her ears.
A decidedlyfemalesigh.
The fog parted, revealing a scene in the shower stall that had Mireille squeaking to a halt.
She didn’t know where to look first.
At the Deathstalker female’s face, red lips parted, eyes closed, brows pinched in an expression on the verge of total ecstasy.
At the angry pink welts criss-crossing Ronin’s muscled back, the water streaming over his bulging shoulders as he gripped the female’s wrists above her head in a single hand.
At the two perfect globes of his ass, clenching as he thrust into her slowly, his other hand clamped onto the pale thigh around his waist.
