Page 34 of Frozen Hearts
“You’re planning on making this a thing? And there I was, beginning to believe you weren’t stalking me.”
Lips pursed, my nostrils flare as I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fuck me,” I mutter to myself.
He chuckles. “You’re only making my point for me, Babydoll.”
“I mean it,” I bite.
“So do I.” Leaning in so his breath whispers along my skin. “If it’s my dick you want, you’ll have to try far harder than following me around like a lost puppy.”
I’m still reeling from the audacity of the asshole as he stands to his full height before striding past me down the hall.
“I’m not fucking following you!” I yell after him, eyes raking over the wordRuthlesswritten across the back of his hoodie.
The asshole only ignores me as he shoves open the door and heads back into the warehouse.
“God, I hate him,” I grumble before turning my back on where he disappeared and heading in the opposite direction to the women’s bathroom.
Once finished, I push through the throng of people back toward the bar. As I sidle up beside Tara, I spot the dickhead himself standing further down the bar with a glass of amber liquid. Xander stands behind the bar, their heads bent close together as they talk. He nods at something Xander says, his lips moving around syllables I can’t make out. There’s a casualness in the dickhead’s relaxed posture that I haven’t seen before, yet his expression is still sharp and guarded.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Ruthless’ head turns in my direction, those piercing eyes boring into mine. I tear my gaze away, striding toward Tara at the opposite end of the bar, and astutely ignore the weight of his stare drilling into me with every step.
“Hey, you were gone for ages,” Tara says when I reach her side. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I give her a tight smile. “I definitely need another drink, though.”
“Girl,” she says with a laugh, “It’s like you read my mind.”
9
RILEY
I’m nursing my third beer of the night as the current fight comes to a brutal end. A warm buzz penetrates my veins, relaxing my muscles, my paralyzing anxiety from earlier long forgotten amid masculine sweat and the metallic tang of blood.
Tara hasn’t left my side all night, the two of us remaining within viewing range of the bar, where I suspect her brother has had one eye on us the entire time he serves customers.
Despite the predominantly male crowd, pushing and shoving at one another to get a better view as fists drive into flesh and grunts of pain rise from the ring, cursing like sailors when bets don’t go their way, beer sloshing over the lips of bottles at bellowed outbursts, I don’t feel out of place, or as uncomfortable as I had expected when I first walked in. Unlike at a club, where everyone is there to dance and grind and fuck a stranger, most of the focus has been on the fighting ring. That is not to say that debauchery isn’t happening in dark corners of the warehouse or in bathroom stalls. Just that, so far, I haven’t felt as though I’m being leered at.
“I’m going to grab another water,” Tara says, voice raised to be heard over the heavy bass of the music and chattering of the crowd. She switched to water after her first beer since she’s driving us home later. “Do you want anything?”
I hold up my still, mostly full beer as I shake my head. “I’m good.”
Lips pursed, she makes no move to step away. “Don’t move from here. I’ll be back in a sec.”
She waits for my nod, still appearing reluctant as she peels away, leaving me alone in the jostling crowd. I watch her go until she slips between the bodies gathered around the long bar, only the top of her head visible.
I scan the rest of the bar, searching for a familiar scowling feature and blue eyes, but I don’t spot him among the throng of people. I guess he left after he finished his drink. Relief and a twinge of something that feels far too close to disappointment settles in my stomach, so I quickly push it aside and turn back to the ring, where two fresh-faced fighters circle one another. The one with a shaved head and tattoos crawling over his scalp and down his neck is the epitome of vicious as he gives his opponent a feral grin before snapping forward with all the ease of a trained fighter—someone used to scraping and clawing for survival.
Flesh meets flesh, and I wince, the sting of it sharp enough to reach my ears, yet I don’t look away from the savagery of that blow. The brutality it instigates.Thisis survival in its rawest form. It might be in a ring, put on for the amusement of others, but it’s no less of a battle for survival. Hell, based on bets placed and winnings tonight, perhaps for some of these fighters, itisa battle for survival. That money might be all they have to live off for the week. These fights… this show of dominance, of power and control, might be the only thing getting them through the week. The thread of light that keeps them from succumbing to the darkness.
I don’t know what it’s like to fight with fists. For your palms to be coated in the blood of another. But I do know what it’s like to split yourself open and bleed for survival. For breath. For life. For the hope of a better tomorrow. A more promising future. An end to the ceaseless abyss.
Perhaps that is why I watch the violence unfold with a perturbed fascination. An understanding that I can’t wholly explain and yet comprehend in its entirety.
So wrapped up in the savage violence unfolding before me, I fail to notice that I have gained unwanted attention until he sidles up behind me.
A large, unwelcome hand wraps firmly around my hip, squeezing with a sense of possession he has no right to as I am held in place. Warm, putrid breath, ripe with bitter beer scrapes against my cheek as I’m pulled against a rigid body, some asshole’s crotch pressed firmly against my ass. “You like watching the fights, sweetheart? Enjoy seeing them bleed?” He leans in even closer, and my already stiff spine turns to ice. “Do you get off on it? Can you feel your adrenaline pumping? I bet your cunt is begging to be brutalized in a similar way. To be fucked hard and fast.”
Bile.
