My glare darkens. “What are you talking about?”
“A simple wager. You fight Ivan. Here. Now,” he explains. “If you win, you may take the girl and leave. If you lose... you will die, and she will remain mine forever.”
“What’s the catch? What’s in it for you?”
His eyes flicker with cold amusement. “I enjoy making wagers, and I seek to be entertained.”
“Where is she?” I grunt. “How do I know you haven’t already harmed her? That this isn’t some game?”
He turns to the blond soldier on his left and barks a command in Russian. The soldier dutifully bows and thenrushes out of the atrium, only to return seconds later. He’s no longer alone, dragging a woman with him at gunpoint.
My pulse spikes at the sight of her.
One look at Jhene, and I can tell she hasn’t been treated well—her clothes are dirtied and torn, her glasses scuffed and curls tangled.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve barely been feeding her properly. By how she moves, it seems she’s weak.
“Killian!” she screams.
She wrenches herself free of the blond guard’s grip and runs toward me. I step forward to meet her, my arms opening.
The blond guard intercepts her before she can reach me, yanking her back by a fistful of curls.
“AHHH!” she screams, stumbling backward.
“LET HER GO!” I roar, lunging forward.
Half a dozen guns swing toward my head. I freeze, chest heaving, barely able to hold myself back and keep from blacking out.
After what I just witnessed, it would be so fucking easy.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Fedorov wags a finger at me as if I’m a misbehaving child. “She is not yours yet, Mr. Boxer. My men may do as they wish with her until you win her. Those are the terms.”
The blond guard smirks, his fist still tangled in Jhene’s hair.
Rage fills me up, hot and volcanic. I’m about to blow, barely holding on by a thread.
“So,” Fedorov says, “do we have a deal?”
It only takes me a second to decide. I ignore the dozens of other eyes on me, from Lochlan and Aleksei to the Russian enforcers watching on. I focus on Jhene and Jhene only as I answer Fedorov.
“Deal,” I say.
We’re taken to a room deep in the bowels of the estate. The moment I see it, I know Fedorov’s done this before. He’s likely had men fight to the death here.
Probably his soldiers. And his enemies.
The Russians are well known for their interest in contact sports and gambling. This is just another extension of that.
The room’s a chamber, circular in shape, with stone walls that look centuries old. At the center of the room is a raised platform that serves as a makeshift ring. Except without the usual ropes and padding.
The guards shove us inside and take up positions along the walls, their weapons still trained on Lochlan and Aleksei.
Jhene’s dragged in behind us, the blond motherfucker still clutching her tight. She’ll be afforded a front-row seat to whatever happens next.
Her eyes find mine across the room, wide and terrified behind her glasses. I remain as calm as I can given the fucked-up situation, doing my best to silently reassure her it’ll be alright.
I’m going to fight like hell. I’m going to win this… or die trying.
