Page 18 of Light in Your Eyes
"Your lies have been exposed, Layla." Brea corners me again, and my back is pushed against the wall. "Did you actually think that it would make sense to create that kind of story so that you could step into this place?" She then urges her boyfriend, "Show her yours, babe."
Gio flips his left arm, showing me a tattoo of black wings on the inside of his upper arm.
"This is mine," he says. "My identity. You can't be here without it. The punishment is death. You can't fake it either. Same punishment—death. I wonder how the fuck you could pass the guards outside. I'll make a note to tell Fenrir about that. The guys have been pretty lazy nowadays."
I don't have any idea about this man named Fenrir. It seems like he's one of their leaders.
Now that I'm staring closely at Gio's tattoo, it indeed has the same effect as the one I saw on Cole's wrist. It's hypnotizing. The tattoo is very detailed and well-crafted, it makes me feel like I'm seeing the real thing—a pair of black wings.
Panic starts to build up inside me. Cole didn't tell me anything about the tattoo. He only warned me to stay close to Kellan so that everything would be alright.
What am I supposed to do?
"The black wings tattoo is the identity for all the regular members," Brea says matter-of-factly. "You just stepped into our base. Not only you didn't have your identity, but you were trying to fool us with some ridiculous made-up story."
Gio steps toward me, and his voice is filled with thrill and excitement when he says, "Now, the question is..." he pauses, eyeing me with interest. "What should we do with an intruder like you?"
I brace myself, straightening up. "Just bring me to Kel—"
Before I can finish my sentence, a loud voice echoes in the air.
"Boxing ring! Now!"
Then it all happens so fast. Someone shouts from upstairs. The music abruptly stops. Whispers of excitement fill the air. Footsteps pound on the ground. People are suddenly rushing in the same direction.
I can only watch what's happening around me in shock.
Now what?
I snap my head around while some people bump into me. While I'm trying to make my way out through the people, a guy collides with me. I can't help but ask, "What's happening?"
"Kellan is challenging the fighters in a duel, and you don't want to miss it." He glances back at me just for a second before rushing to the basement where everyone is heading.
So, Kellan is fighting in the basement.
With that thought in mind, I bring my legs toward where everyone is going. I push myself through the crowd, following the people who are way too excited to see what's about to happen.
When I finally arrive, I manage to secure a nice spot, just a few steps away from the ring—thanks to my petite figure slipping easily between these bodies of strangers.
The moment my eyes are glued to the person standing on the ring, my heart skips a beat.
There, standing in the middle of it, is Kellan Romero. His chest heaves up and down, as though he just finished running even though the fight hasn't even begun.
He's taller than I expected, so tall. His hair is dark and messy, almost jet black. And his eyes...My God, his eyes... they're the most captivating eyes I've ever seen. They are intense gray—misty and hold so much mystery.
He looks more masculine than I thought. His defined muscles look intimidating but also beautiful, like a piece of art —does that even make sense?
He's angry—I can see it from his expression—but there's also something else. Sadness? Grief? Pain?
He's very expressive, I almost can feel his emotions myself. Am I the only one who notice it? I don't know, but I can't take my eyes off him.
When Kellan turns the other way, I see the massive black wings tattooed all over his shoulders and back. The tattoo is nothing compared to the other black wings tattoo I saw today. His is enormous, magnificent. It even looks like he has actual wings, which makes him look like an angel—not like the stereotype angel, but more like a dark angel. A dark, lethal angel.
I don't know how long I've been staring at him until our eyes suddenly meet. He frowns in my direction, and my heart thumps. It's impossible that he notices me—he's blind. But I swear, he does, somehow.
Those beautiful gray eyes can't see me—he doesn't meet my gaze—but he looks in my direction with such curiosity that I wonder if my intense gaze has been affecting him.
His opponent steps onto the ring, catching his attention. The crowd cheers, but I notice some people shaking their heads, as though they have already predicted what's about to happen. Some of them even have pity written on their faces, as if they expect one fighter to be beaten into a pulp.
