Page 87 of The Monster and the Last Blood Match

Roland came to the same conclusion. Neither of them waited; they launched themselves at each other, moving so fast they were a blur. Reyna had thought Beckham’s fight with the rogue vampire in the alley had been too fast to follow, but this was something well beyond that. Roland and Beckham were both excellent fighters. They were on equal footing. Both deadly and terrifying, with pasts that spoke for themselves and had earned them the highest positions at Visage. She didn’t stand a chance of keeping up with the fight. Punches were thrown and blocked, bodies hurled against walls that shuddered and released plaster from the ceiling, and furniture broke into pieces at their assault. It was like a synchronized dance made lethal.

Reyna stayed out of the way of what was happening. She crouched in a corner, hugging her tattered corset to her chest. Neither of them slowed down as their attacks turned more and more brutal. Finally, everything slowed down to the one moment when Beckham landed a perfectly executed hit to Roland’s temple, and he dropped like a ton of bricks. Whatever Beckham had done had left Roland completely immobilized.

He wasn’t dead, Beckham wouldn’t want to kill him, but in that moment, she hoped for it.

“What is going on in here?” someone called, entering the destroyed room.

Reyna hadn’t even noticed that they had drawn a crowd. She held her corset tighter to her and curled deeper into her corner. She wanted to leave. She wanted to forget this night had ever happened. Beckham adjusted his suit and faced the man, who was pushing everyone else out of earshot.

“It’s been settled,” Beckham said.

“You know the rules, Mr. Anderson. No fighting of any kind.”

“I’m well aware of the rules. Mr. Batiste was taking possession of my property without my permission. I was within my rights to stop him.”

The man glowered at him. “Fine, but we must ask you to leave, as you have made quite a spectacle of yourself.”

“No one in, no one out,” he reminded them.

“We protect our own. We’ll take you out the back way.”

Beckham still looked murderous, and the man seemed ready to relent at any minute. But rules were rules, apparently, and Beckham had broken one of the cardinal ones to save her. Finally, he nodded.

Beckham turned to address her, and he realized she was mostly naked and shaking. “Oh, Reyna.”

He helped her to her feet. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking at what she had witnessed. Beckham shrugged out of his jacket and quickly threw it around her shoulders. The jacket smelled like him, and she pulled it tight around her. He placed his hand on her lower back, but she stepped away from his touch. He might have fought for her, saved her, but that didn’t make up for all the other bullshit.

She was done. She was so done. Beckham Anderson had no right to her body or her mind any longer.

“Reyna,” he said, his voice straining.

She shot him an ugly glare and then teetered across the room. She made it only about halfway to the door before her legs gave out and she fell forward. Beckham was at her side in an instant, holding her up. She wrenched away, but the adrenaline was wearing off. She felt ragged and exhausted, humiliated and exposed, and angry. She felt so angry. But her body wasn’t listening to her. Her legs were not working.

Shock.

She was in shock.

When she didn’t move another step, Beckham scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the room. She didn’t even have the words to argue with him. To shout at him and tell him to leave her alone. To tell him how much better her life had been without him in it.

The man who had forced Beckham to leave directed them down a hallway to where another door was located. It wasn’t quite as large as the Vault door but still looked sturdy.

“I’ll have to lock up behind you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have my driver pick us up from our location,” Beckham said.

Then he carried Reyna through the door and out into a long tunnel completely devoid of any- and everything. The club door slammed behind them, sealing itself shut and casting them into utter darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Once the door closed behind them, Beckham eased her back onto her unsteady feet. She stumbled a bit and clutched onto the wall to right herself. Even if she had been about to pass out all over again, she wouldn’t have wanted to stay in Beckham’s arms. The wall was cool to her touch, and she used the sturdy feel of it to bring her back to herself. Images flashed through her mind—fangs sinking into flesh, leering expressions, a ripped corset, shuddering walls. She closed her eyes and forced away her panic.

She was out of there.

No one could hurt her.

Except the man before her, who from the start had promised to break her.

Reyna peeled her eyes back open and let them adjust to the darkness. Beckham was standing before her, but his eyes were cast down the tunnel contemplatively, which was when she noticed that the tunnel wasn’t as dark as anticipated. It was dimly lit from the roof at random intervals.

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