Page 140 of Safe Word

This was why he was so composed… the fact that he had a place to take out his inner demons.

His next punch landed with a wet smack. The masked man reeled for a breath, but then pivoted fast and swept Cain’s leg. He staggered, caught himself, and rose—

Just as the man slashed.

The crowd howled. But in that split second, I saw it – something small, fast, glinting under the lights. But it was gone before I could recognise what it really was.

Blood spotted Cain’s shirt, spreading.

Gianna swore.

‘What the fuck was that? That’s not allowed!’ she bellowed in Italian at the security guards, who didn’t seem in the slightest bit fazed.

‘He’s bleeding!’ I screamed at the nearest man, the word ‘SICUREZZA’ glaring in neon red over his black T-shirt.

‘This is a fighting ring, tesoro. People bleed in it.’ The guard sneered at us.

My eyes refocused on Cain, my heart beating frantically as I searched for a way to get him out of there.

But then I realised…

He didn’t cry out. Didn’t even stagger. Just glanced down, registered the slice, then returned to his stance with a face so grim it made me realise—

He accepted pain like it were an old friend. Or maybe…

Maybe he just enjoyed it.

Why did I want to be the one who made it go away?

His body was slowing, I could tell. Every movement took just a second longer. And the masked man?

He was thriving on it.

Something was wrong.

This didn’t feel like a fight any more. It felt like a hunt – predator and prey circling under the guise of sport.

And when the angel mask turned towards me, the slow motion made my heart stutter until it nearly stopped—

Travis?

No. It couldn’t be.

But the tilt of that chin. The tension in his stance – the confidence!

My throat closed.

‘No…’ I breathed, the word barely forming as I locked eyes with a ghost, hoping it hadn’t seen me back.

The next exchange erupted into violence that bordered on feral. Punches and kicks struck with bone-rattling force, neither man giving ground, the sound of impact like a sickening percussion beneath the howls of the crowd.

Cain was trying, I could see it. Trying to track the glint of the blade, his eyes darting, his stance shifting with every movement.

‘It’s in his right palm!’ I screamed.

‘He has a knife!’ Gianna echoed, sharper and louder this time.

We didn’t even realise how far we’d leaned in over the cold metal barrier, our bodies straining forward as if some feral instinct demanded we throw ourselves into the ring.