Page 139 of The Billionaire's Baby
Damian scowls. "Let me get this right. You decided to align with the Russian mafia. Why the hell would you do that?"
"The Bratva? You're taking the piss, right brother?" Weston drawls.
When I don't reply, the rest stare at me.
"Now, why would you do that?" Saint rubs the back of his neck, "It's not for the money, so I can only assume this has something to do with the bastards who kidnapped us?"
"When were you going to tell us?" Sinner’s voice is hard.
I set the bottle on the floor, then rise to my feet. Lose my balance, right myself, then fold my arms across my chest. "It's not how it seems." Shit, why does this have to be so hard? These guys have had my back for so long. Surely, they’ll understand why I had to do it, right?
"Hold on, chaps, let’s give him a chance to explain." Edward turns to me. "I assume you have an explanation?" Edward’s gaze narrows, "You do, don’t you?"
I turn to face them, "You know how when we were kidnapped, our captors made me and Damian fight?"
The men nod.
"Well, it didn’t stop there."
"It didn’t? Edward’s face pales. "What…" he swallows, "what else did they have you do?"
I take in his pinched features, his tense body. Shit, what else had they done tohim? I frown at him, open my mouth to ask, when he shakes his head. Fine, so he doesn’t want to talk about it, then? That’s okay. There’s a time and place for each of us to confess the extent to which the incident had ripped through our minds and ravaged our emotions. Perhaps if I come out with mine, it will help Edward open up about his experiences too? It’s another reason to finally come clean to them.
"They," I square my shoulders, "they… made me fight in underground fighting clubs."
"Wait," Damian scowls, "the kidnappers pitted us against each other. They made us fight until one or both of us lost consciousness. It became a game for the two of us, how to keep hitting each other, without hurting the other too much? Remember? And when the kidnappers caught on, I took the blame for it." Damian curls his fingers into fists. "They blindfolded me, took me to an underground fighting ring, where they pitted me against men stronger than me. I fought them, and survived." He rubs the back of his neck. "Hell, it put me off fighting in any form after that... It's also why I turned to music." He shakes his head. "But I put myself forward so you wouldn't have to do it."
"Only," I draw in a breath, "they didn't spare me either."
"Motherfuckers." Damian's jaw tics.
"I don’t understand." Saint scowls. "You were the smallest among us."
"Until I outgrew you lot," I snap.
"But at that time, you were smaller than most boys your age," Sinner reminds me. "Why the hell did they make you fight?"
"Because it made for bloodthirsty sport? Because they were perverted mofos?" I roll my shoulders. "Because they were sure that, unlike Damian, I would fail?"
"Only, you didn’t," Edward says slowly.
I curl my fingers into fists.
"I still don't understand." Damian purses his lips. "You were a preteen. Hell, you couldn't hold your own against me, in our mock fights—"
"Until I had to fight for my life."
"So…" Edward clears his throat, "even after Damian offered to fight in your place, they made you face opponents in the underground fighting cages and you never told us?"
I hunch my shoulders. "Have you told us everything they did to you?"
Edward pales.
"That's what I thought." I curl my lips.
"But this isn't about me." He squares his shoulders. "It doesn’t change that you took on grown men when you were not even thirteen and managed to defeat them with your bare hands." He leans back in his seat and some of the color filters back into his cheeks.
I straighten my back. "Who said I fought with bare hands?"
