Page 11 of Savage Salvation

“Don’t drink anything else tonight.” Please. Because I need him to sober up and fast.

“One condition.”

“This should be good.” I stop to look up at him. “What?”

“That no matter what happens”—his arm swings out, waving across the air—“you remember that I’m your friend.”

“Okay. Friend. Without benefits.”

“Yes. Without benefits. Let’s keep the sample benefits moment to ourselves though. Please.”

“No problem. Already forgotten. Now, let’s watch this stupid shit so we can leave.”

Isaac lets out a few hoots, pushing through the crowd as I follow behind him. I can’t see much in the dark factory other than the space is cleared of everything; only the decaying walls stand (and just barely) as the musty smell combined with weed and sweat make me want to hurl. Why the hell am I here? Isaac will get an earful when he sobers up.

Once we’re at the edge of the crowd, there’s a vast circular clearing I surmise to be the fighting area. Isaac glances over to me before focusing back on some dude who shouts to the crowd from the center of the clearing. What he’s saying, I don’t know, because I can’t hear a damn thing when cheering erupts all around me, echoing through the ancient structure. All I can focus on are the bodies around me who are way too close, bumping and knocking into me as I fight to hold some space in the rowdy mob.

Something cold splashes onto my foot, and I look down to see a cup that I’m guessing was filled with alcohol is now soaking through my jeans. “Fucking awesome. Happy birthday to me,” I mutter and step closer to Isaac. He might be off kilter tonight but using him as a barrier seems like the best option in dealing with the unruly mass around us shouting and shoving. Two guys I don’t recognize bounce side to side, swiping and throwing punches at each other. None of which connect until one charges forward, taking the other to the pavement.

“I thought Gage was fighting.” Why did I say that?

“He is. His is the final matchup. This is just for fun.”

I watch as one guy’s knuckles sink into the other’s gut before he rises from his crouch to drive a vicious kick to the face that makes me wince. “It doesn’t look like fun. At all.”

“It’s not fun for the fucker on the ground,” Isaac says with a little too much glee.

I look away from the brutality after Mr. Not Having Fun stands up only to be slammed to the ground again and takes a ruthless knee to the nose from his undoubtedly victorious competitor. It ends there because he doesn’t stand again. He is literally dragged out of the ring, leaving a trail of blood on the grimy pavement. Part of me is glad that’s over—until I see the next barbarian positioned on the opposite side of the opening.

So much for him being occupied. His eyes are fixated, locked with mine as he steps into the center of the makeshift ring, his challenger doing the same. I can’t break away from Gage Hawthorne’s commanding presence. Looking way too relaxed after what’s just taken place and being that he’s about to participate in a fight that evidently has no rules other than no weapons, it’s a wonder how he appears so collected while blood is smeared on the ground at his feet. At least, that’s how I interpret his body language over the rowdy, hollering spectators.

My eyes drop to Gage’s balled-up fists at his sides, the muscles flexing along his forearms. If he were anyone else, someone I didn’t despise, the movement would pull at me. At least more than it is as I watch him yank off his shirt and drop it to the floor. Damn. What a waste for such an asshat to be that enticing. Such a shame because his body alone would have me ticking the benefits box on our friendship if there was such a thing between us.

His adversary pulls his shirt off too. Both have stupidly muscular physiques, but my eyes only watch the one standing barefoot in a pair of jeans. The one who keeps his attention on me until Ryan leans over to tell him something.

Gage’s harsh stare finally leaves me as he looks to his opponent who is bouncing around in his shiny, clingy red shorts. I lean over, hollering to Isaac, “We’re leaving as soon as this is over.” Not a second later. Or maybe even a second before it’s over and Gage doesn’t have time to recall that I’m here. I hope Ryan doesn’t figure it out either. God forbid either think I showed to entertain their barbaric display of testosterone. Heaven help me if they believe I wanted to be here on my own accord.

“Alrighty,” Isaac agrees. The swarm around us grows eager, and I’m pushed forward. I lose my footing for a second before ramming my body, with my elbows sticking out, backwards at whoever is shoving in the direction I don’t want to go.

Isaac evidently takes note, shifting behind me as a protective barrier from the rowdy morons who are inching closer to where the battle is about to begin. I’d like to be farther away—how’d we end up front and center, anyway?—especially when Gage’s stare lands on me and takes an assessing glimpse at Isaac’s arm protectively wrapped around my midriff. He pulls me tighter to him before his arm drops, his hand landing on my hip, gripping me securely as he whoops and hollers along with the room full of controlled chaos.

Once the announcer signals for the fight to begin, Gage shifts his murderous glare to his rival and charges ahead without hesitation, his knuckles immediately smashing against the nose of Red Shorts. It’s not long before blood matching those shorts drips from his face, but he manages to take a swing, connecting with Gage’s ribs. I reflexively flinch at the sound of the blow even though there’s no way anything can be heard over the roaring mob.

But the blow only seems to fuel Gage, who goes into a frenzy, throwing punches and jabs that each strike his intended target. It’s not more than a minute before Red Shorts goes to the floor. Gage hovers over him as his leg swiftly connects with the red shorts that aren’t quite as shiny as they were when the fight started. Gage doesn’t relent his attack, his foot continuously connecting with the chump’s face as he struggles to curl into a shielding fetal position.

Mindlessly, my hand clasps over my nose, my eyes squinting as Gage looks over at me for a split second. Hardly a glance, but it’s enough time for his foe to uncurl from his protective position and swipe his leg across the cement, knocking Gage’s legs from under him. His massive back smashes harshly against the pavement as Red Shorts jumps on to his knees, getting the upper hand as he jabs his fist into Gage’s face. No. Why do I want him off of Gage? Am I actually rooting for Gage? Fuck me.

“Let’s go,” I shout over my shoulder, moving to step away, but Isaac’s grip tightens on my hip, keeping me rooted in place. And once I look back to the center of the action, to both my delight and horror (because I’m relieved) Gage’s leg swings up, hooking over Red Shorts as he plops to the floor. Gage is up, on his feet, his fist repeatedly connecting with the dude’s abdomen. Is he going to stop? Will anyone stop him? I’ve never heard of anyone dying here, but when they say no rules, does that mean death is on the table?

An ominous, to-the-bone chill moves down my body. When Gage finally shifts back away from his defenseless, and seemingly unconscious, challenger, I let out a breath. It’s one I hadn’t realized was trapped in my chest. I still am bothered that I questioned if he would stop on his own. There’s always been a silent rage, a heaviness to Gage, but the sheer madness I see in him now terrifies me to my core.

The announcer moves to Gage, then reaches over and grabs his bloodied fist to raise it in the air in victory as the roars become deafening. I’ve seen enough. Twisting out of Isaac’s once shielding but now confining grasp, I push through the sea of idiots and head straight for the exit. I don’t care if he’s ready to go or not. I am. I never should’ve come in the first place because all it’s done is screw with my head. How can I stand by and root for the beast who terrifies me more than anything or anyone else on this planet?

Hurrying through the lot, I fumble with the key fob as I feel for it in my pocket until a tight hold grabs my arm. When I turn, I’m relieved to find Isaac for a second before I push at his chest. “Get in the car now.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, a step behind me before dropping into the passenger seat of the ’Vette.

“Did you really think this would be an enjoyable celebration for my birthday?”