Page 14 of Her Name in Red
She cuts me off with a look that could freeze hell. “Yeah, I'm sure you do, but I work for Reed, so let me do my fucking job, mkay?”
I raise an eyebrow but extend my hands. No point in pissing off Declan's people. She works quickly, her fingers deft and practiced as she wraps my hands with precision.
My opponent climbs into the ring, a hulking mass of muscle and scars. He's got at least fifty pounds on me. He sneers, revealing a mouth guard that does little to hide his missing teeth.
The blue-haired girl finishes with my hands and steps back, giving me a once-over. “Try not to die out there, pretty boy,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Reed hates cleaning up messes.”
I flex my fingers, testing the wraps. Perfect. “Don't worry, sweetheart,” I drawl, matching her tone. “I'll try to keep the killing to a minimum.”
She rolls her eyes and hops out of the ring, disappearing into the crowd. I roll my shoulders, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline flooding my system. The noise of the crowd fades to a dull roar in my ears, my focus narrowing to the man across from me and the space between us.
The ref steps into the center of the ring. He looks between us, his eyes hard. “You know the rules,” he growls. “No rules. Fight's over when one of you can't get up or taps out. Try to kill each other, and I’ll kill you myself. Clear?”
I nod, locking eyes with my opponent. The ref steps back, and for a moment, everything goes quiet.
Then all hell breaks loose.
The big bastard charges at me like a freight train, meaty fists swinging. I duck under the first punch, feeling the air whoosh past my ear. But I'm not fast enough to dodge the second.
His fist slams into my ribs with the force of a sledgehammer. Pain explodes through my side, sharp and immediate. It steals my breath, makes my vision blur for a split second.
I exhale slowly, tasting copper on my tongue. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. Good. This is exactly what I need.
Something in me snaps. The world narrows down to nothing but flesh and bone and the primal need to hurt.
I move fast, faster than I thought possible with bruised ribs screaming in protest.
I feint left, then drive my right fist into his solar plexus. He grunts, doubling over, and I seize the opportunity.
My knee comes up, catching him square in the face. There's a sickening crunch as his nose gives way. Blood sprays, painting both of us in crimson. The crowd roars its approval, but it sounds distant, muffled.
I don't let up. Can't let up. My fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back. Another punch follows, then another. Each impact sends shockwaves up my arm, but I barely feel it. I'm riding a wave of adrenaline and rage.
A prickle on the back of my neck, like someone's walked over my grave snaps me back to reality a bit. My instincts scream at me to look up, and when I do, the world stops spinning.
Maren.
She's there, leaning against the far wall, a smirk playing on those full lips. Some asshole is pressed up against her, his hands roaming places they have no right to be. I watch, my blood turning to ice as her fingers trail lazily over his chest. But her eyes? They're locked on me, stormy and intense, like she's staring straight into my soul.
My vision narrows, tunneling until all I can see is Maren and that fucker's hands on her. A primal rage surges through me, hot and violent. My blood boils, every cell in my body screaming that she's mine. Mine to touch, mine to protect, mine to possess. The fact that I've never so much as brushed against her doesn't matter. She belongs to me, and only me.
I turn back to my opponent, a snarl ripping from my throat. He's still reeling from my last blow, blood streaming from his broken nose. Good. I want him to hurt. I need him to hurt.
I launch myself at him. My fist connects with his jaw, and I feel something give way beneath my knuckles. He staggers, spitting blood and teeth onto the mat. I don't let up. I can’t. Every cell in my body is screaming for more violence, more pain.
I risk another glance at Maren. She's watching me intently, her eyes dark with something I can't quite name. Excitement? Lust? The guy next to her is whispering in her ear, but she doesn't seem to hear him. Her gaze is fixed on me, on the blood coating my wrapped knuckles, on the wild fury etched into every line of my body.
A feral grin spreads across my face. This is for her. All of it. Every punch, every drop of blood spilled. It's my offering, my sacrifice laid at her feet.
My opponent manages to land a glancing blow to my ribs, but I barely feel it. The pain is nothing compared to the agony of seeing another man's hands on Maren. I retaliate with a vicious uppercut that snaps his head back. He crumples to the canvas, dazed and gasping.
The ref moves to step in, but I'm not done. Not even close. I drop to my knees, straddling my fallen opponent. My fists rise and fall in a brutal rhythm, pummeling his already battered face. Blood sprays with each impact, coating my chest and arms in a warm, sticky sheen.
I'm dimly aware of voices shouting, of hands trying to pull me off. But they feel distant, unimportant. All that matters is the man beneath me, and the woman watching from across the room.
“That's enough!” Someone roars, but I ignore them. It'll never be enough. Not while she's here, not while she's letting someone else touch her.
Finally, strong arms wrap around my chest, yanking me off my unconscious opponent.
