Page 144 of Shattered By Grace

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chanting Tristan’s name pulled Victoria back to the stairs as she watched the girl slip out the back door. Her heart hammered, the absence of her phone sinking in. Forty-five minutes. She couldn’t afford to waste another second. Time was slipping away.

There was no time for thinking. None.

She rushed down the steps, her eyes scanning the room, the pressure rising with each passing second. The pit. She needed to get to the pit. Fast.

At the bottom of the stairs, another bar stretched across the edge of the arena, and machines were buzzing with the sounds of placed bets. The lines were solid, people focused on their wagers, oblivious to the chaos that would soon unfold. Victoria barely spared a glance at them. Her eyes darted past the bleachers, a sea of faces half-lit in the dim light. At the center of it all, the arena gleamed under the spotlights, a sharp contrast to the shadowed corners of the room.

The mat was red, meant to hide the blood, but it never fully did. Victoria’s gaze flicked over it, noting the stains that refused to fade, the dark shadows beneath the surface that told storiesof past battles. The lights overhead illuminated the center of the pit, casting sharp angles across the canvas where men fought and bled, trapped in a never-ending cycle.

And then, she saw him.

Tristan Locke.

Bare-knuckled, shirtless, his body a sculpted mix of power and grace. He moved like a predator, poised and deadly, a man who ruled the ring with ease. His opponent lunged at him, he dodged. Fast. Efficient. The punch barely touched him, his ribs only an inch away from the blow, but Tristan didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled. The smile of someone who thrived in chaos, the thrill of the fight glimmering in his eyes.

A showman. A killer.

Victoria’s lips curved upward as she watched him. His movements were smooth, effortless in his control over the fight. She couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles rippled with each move, the way the crowd cheered his every step. Her man, the deadliest in the room, and they had no idea who the real threat was.

Let them think he’s the most dangerous. Let them worship him.

Victoria grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a slow sip as she moved through the crowd, her heels clicking steadily on the concrete. Faces blurred around her, their chatter indistinct. But the dark-eyed Locke goons? They stood apart, quiet, calculating, like sharks in a sea of minnows. Victoria moved through them like a current they couldn’t touch.

She could read their levels by their stance, the sharpness of their movements, but none of it fazed her. She was the storm they hadn’t seen coming.

As she made her way through the crowd, Tristan’s fight continued in the background, his opponent struggling to land a blow, but it was all for show. Tristan wasn’t even breathing hard.

Her eyes scanned the crowd again, locking onto every face, but no sign of Taylor. The clock was ticking, and every second without her was another step closer to disaster. The betting machines hummed as more money poured into the pot, but Victoria didn’t care about any of that. She was here for something much bigger.

Victoria had never seen Tristan fight for his father, but watching him now, she understood why he was feared. With a crushing blow, Tristan sent his opponent to the ground in a heap. In an instant, he was on top of him, locking his opponent’s head under his arm in a brutal, unrelenting headlock. The man gasped, struggling for air, but Tristan’s hold was like iron. His legs were wrapped tightly around the guy’s body, pinning him down. The fight drained from his opponent’s eyes as he realized there was no escape.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd again.

Where the fuck is Taylor?

Her gaze flicked over the shifting mass of bodies, the tension tightening with each second. Her focus was sharp, her movements a slow calculation. The clock was ticking, and she didn’t have time to waste.

Her eyes cut across the arena. They locked onto the raised stage-like structure on the far side of the mat. Dead center, there he was.

Cassian.

A statue of control, his presence radiating power even in stillness. He watched the fight below, every inch of him exuding dominance, calm in the chaos that surrounded him. His gaze never wavered. He was the puppet master of this whole damn circus, and everyone knew it.

But Victoria? She wasn’t here to bow to him.

She moved closer to the opening of the mat area, the click of her heels sharp and deliberate. Each step drew her closer tothe heart of the chaos, the pit, where she would make everyone watch her.

Tyson was nowhere to be seen. If she had to guess, he was in the back, dealing with business, following orders like the loyal soldier he was. But none of that mattered right now.

What mattered was Taylor.

The crowd blurred around her, but she kept her eyes trained, cutting through them like a predator in search of its prey. Then, just as her patience thinned, the world seemed to stop.

There.

Taylor.

---