Page 113 of The Last Chance
She watched Aaron enter the ring and pace back and forth like a panther on the prowl. Every honed muscle exuded strength, every movement pulsing with raw power. But who was his opponent? The relentless wait left her restless.
“Aaron mustn’t see me.”
“We’ll hide behind those men.” Mr Daventry gestured to the group hogging the lower steps. “You should still have a reasonable view.”
Seconds passed as the crowd chanted, “Demon of the Den.”
Nausea roiled in her stomach. She wanted to scream and shout, “That’s not who he is!” The urge to cry a river of tears had her asking to borrow Mr Daventry’s handkerchief.
“This is Aaron’s second fight,” he said, handing her the silk square. “He floored some fellow from Manchester with one punch.”
She closed her eyes, wishing the hands of the clock moved at ten times the speed. The obscene jeers and cruel taunts added to the roar of chaotic disorder.
Aaron remained composed, though she had never seen his eyes look so hard and black. She had never seen every line on his face etched with hatred.
An icy chill ran through her when his opponent entered the ring.
“Gustav! Gustav!” a few men cheered.
Gustav towered almost a foot above Aaron. He looked like he’d spent his life in the stone mines of Gaul and could withstand a hit from a trebuchet.
Tears rolled down her cheeks when Gustav threw a punch.
Aaron ducked and delivered a powerful uppercut to Gustav’s abdomen. He was quick, moving with a speed that confused his opponent. Gustav lunged again and took a hit to the face, sending a line of spittle flying into the audience.
Aaron snarled while delivering punishing blows. His sculpted torso glistened with sweat as he circled the giant, landing sharp jabs to Gustav’s ribs. He goaded the crowd, raising his bloodied fists and demanding their cheers like a predator basking in his kill.
Who was this arrogant devil who thrived on brutality?
Who was he punishing? His father? Himself?
She recalled Aramis’ advice to remember how it started and to think about what it meant to be invincible.
That’s when she saw the frightened boy pitted against the beast. The boy who’d taken one knock after another and was still standing. The man who’d sworn never to let anyone hurt him again.
“I’ve seen enough.” She tugged Mr Daventry’s coat sleeve. “Can you escort me to The Burnished Jade?”
Mr Daventry jerked in shock like he’d misjudged her character and this was never part of his plan. “You’re going home?”
“Yes. There’s something I must do.”
He tried to defend the savage display. “Men have fought and hunted for centuries. Aggression is in our blood. It’s how Aaron saved his family from a life of poverty.”
“I’m not judging him. And I’m certainly not abandoning him.”
She wouldn’t attempt to fix him, either, because Aaron Chance was not damaged or broken. He was a survivor. And survivors were meant to be imperfect.
“Loving someone isn’t shaping their character to suit yours,” she said, not that Mr Daventry needing reminding what love meant. “Loving someone is granting them the freedom to be themselves.”
Mr Daventry looked relieved. “He’ll wonder where you are.”
“I shan’t be long.”
Joanna didn’t look back as she mounted the stairs and left the basement. Cheers for the Demon of the Den said Aaron had won and would fight in the next round.
The storm outside reflected the current state of affairs. Rain hammered the cobblestones and soaked her in seconds, washing her worries away. The violent rumble of thunder embodied Aaron’s battle between the past and the present.
Mr Daventry ushered her into The Burnished Jade, rubbing the cold from his hands, and suggested lighting a fire.
