The fight was over, apparently.
Shane had won.
He spat on the floor and wiped the back of his wrist across his bloodied face while people cheered and yelled. His opponent was on the floor, but appeared to be alive.
When I looked up, Shane caught my eye.
That was not the boy I semi-knew in high school. That battered and bloodied man was a whole other level of dangerous. One that was way beyond the bounds of my comfort zone.
I couldn’t really believe I was even standing here.
Why did I want to come here?
Because Dane didn’t want you to come.
Shane walked straight over to me as people pawed at him, wanting his attention. Someone threw him a towel and he swiped the blood and sweat off his face. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Enjoy the fight?” He was mildly panting and I could smell the sweat and blood, feel the adrenaline pumping off him. His eyes were blown like he was high, but I was pretty sure it was the feral intensity of the fight that gave him that wild, torqued-up look.
I got the sudden impression of him sweating all over a woman as he celebrated his victory with her in some dark back corner of this place.
“It was… intense,” I managed. It was terrifying, actually. And impressive.
I didn’t plan to tell him that. Something told me he was already aware.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Some guy was pulling at him, and he winked at me before turning away.
I saw Dane coming for me through the crowd. So I stood and waited for him as people pushed past me. By the time he reached me, Shane was on the other side of the room.
Dane took my hand in his, tight, and pulled me through the room. People swarmed past us to get to the fighters, to get their money, to get out of here, whatever.
I just went where Dane pulled me, into the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Devi
We sat in the back of the car while Rolf stood outside, waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure. Dane still hadn’t said a word to me.
As he’d led me through the vacant rooms of that dark disaster of a building, I seriously wanted him to do it: unzip his fly and push me down on my knees.
Fuck my mouth with that look of icy, restrained anger in his eyes.
Yup. I was learning all kinds of things about myself lately.
For example, it turned me on that my fake husband could both hate me and get hard for me.
This, right now, was the angriest, the coldest he’d been towards me since we got married. And there was no denying to myself that it got me stupid hot.
We sat in silence as Dane typed on his phone. Then he just sat looking out the window into the dark, rubbing his fingers over his jaw in an agitated rhythm. The dim streetlights filtered in through the tinted windows and carved his face out of the dark. Cold and hard, like a distant moon. Unreachable.
Maybe I liked being able to reach him.
Maybe I just liked seeing him fall apart, however fleeting it was.
I kept thinking about all the things he might do if he hated me enough right now. If I let him. Push down his pants and tell me to get on my knees right here in the back of the car. And feed me his dick. Push me down on my hands and knees, slide up my dress, and fuck me with his fingers again. While he spanked me, maybe. And told me what a bad wife I was.
Until I came.
