Page 34 of Impenitent Claim

It was always sweeter when the local favorites fell.

I rolled my neck, popping and releasing the tension. My stance was loose, ready for anything this oaf threw at me. An official came to check me once more for weapons. There weren’t many places to conceal sharp objects in these skintight shorts, although plenty of cheaters tried.

I never needed a razor to end an opponent.

The local boy pointed at me. Gibberish spewed out of his mouth as he squared up to face me. My eyes locked onto his, reading every flicker of movement, every subtle shift in his stance. The Joker favored his left side—weakness number two.

My typical style was to let the others make the first move. I studied every motion and adjusted accordingly. But something about this cocky bastard tempted me to rush him.

I might have if there wasn’t a shout in Italian from the sidelines. It was the surname that caught my attention.

As the announcer began his introduction, my gaze swept the crowd through the linked chains making up the wall of this fighting ring. Sure enough, there was a group of the dark-haired lads from the Rinaldi Mafia taking up the prime viewing section. In their number was the little prince and the prick whose daddy ran the operation. I was not expecting to see the enchantress nestled between them.

Those dark chocolate eyes were pinned on me. Careful not to fall into their trap, I studied her without meeting her gaze.

Fuck.Was she really that small?

She looked…helpless. And those gimps beside her, what the hell would they do if a brawl broke out? Or something worse. I ground my molars. I could kill her brother and fiancé for bringing her here. And I would if anything happened to her.

The referee signaled the start of the match, and I abandoned my typical course of action. I launched across the mat, letting my body free like the coil of a spring.

The Joker bounded away.

“Coward,” I laughed under my breath, spinning to hound him.

He was trapped, back to the cage. That gave him no choice but to engage me—or run. To his credit, he stood his ground as I closed the distance. The sound of our breathing, heavy and deliberate, filled the small, enclosed space. Our first contact was almost gentle—a testing the reach and combination of movements—before we exploded into action.

The struggle was intense and intricate, a dance of strength and strategy. My senses were on overdrive as I exchanged a series of blows. Diving for a grapple, I missed. My hand slanted right off the slippery fucker. There was a light coat of oil on his skin. A growl of disgust rumbled up my throat. What a fucking cheat. He might be harder to hold, but I wouldn’t let that stop me.

The smell of sweat and the faint aroma of the mats mingled, creating an almost primal scent that heightened my awareness. Each move was calculated, each hit tested, as we tried to outmaneuver each other. The crowd's cheers and gasps were a distant echo, my focus narrowing down to the man in front of me.

And then, I caught him.

My arm slid around his torso to lock with my other. I used my weight to drag him to the mat. It took everything I had to holdthe oily bastard. My mistake was not wrapping my legs around him and choking him out. I was in this for blood tonight. But I only landed one solid jab to his scarred leg. No sooner did my heel connect with his flesh than he rolled.

We writhed and grappled, muscles straining, breaths coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The rhythmic slap of our bodies sounded against the mat, punctuated by the occasional grunt of frustration. His strength was formidable, his technique sharp, but I was fueled by a surge of determination.

With a quick, decisive movement, I managed to slip my leg around his and destabilize him. His elbow connected with my rib, but I seized the moment, transitioning smoothly into a dominant position. The final submission came almost naturally, my hands finding the perfect grip as I applied pressure.

The Joker’s face turned purple. Strangled gasps for air sounded in my ear.

“Yield,” I hissed.

He whipped his head back and forth.

Confident in my hold, I cut my gaze across the space, finding the dark eyes I knew were glued to me. They blazed with a feverish intensity. Those ruby lips were parted, as if she’d gasped in surprise.

That’s right, rusalka, don’t forget how easily I can kill.

I would destroy anyone who stood in my way of taking her.

The Joker’s tap on my arm was the sweetest sensation, signaling my victory. The crowd erupted, but I was already lost in the elation of the win, the satisfaction of hard-fought triumph coursing through me. Never taking my eyes off her, I pushed my opponent off me with a brutal kick that sent him launching across the mat. It was a dirty move to hit an opponent who’d already yielded. But if he didn’t want to be brutalized, he should have won.

Leaping to my feet, I stood stalk still, waiting for the decree as the winner.

“I give you your champion. The Bear!” the announcer boomed.

The referee came to lift my hand.

---