Page 35 of Vow to Protect
“Dólás! Dólás!” they yell for the Irish underdog. The guy who won’t stop until Zatruc is no longer a threat to Raen, or he beats my desire to fuck her right out of me.
The icy look in my opponents’ eyes freezes over hell. He bounces up like a tiger, spitting blood and fire. As the brutal velocity of a fist meets my abdomen, gunfire blasts, tearing through bloodthirsty chants. Zatruc rears back, disappearing beneath the ropes, leaving me alone under the harsh glare of overhead lights.
“We’re under attack.” A fleeing bookmaker stuffs cash into his jacket, stooping over as another bullet arcs through the masses.
A whistle blows. The energy goes from violent to selfish. Spectators jostle and shove their way through the bottleneck at the emergency exit. The lights go out with only a soft green glow highlighting the way out.
The shadows swell. I clutch my roiling stomach, hissing back the need to vomit. Shaky legs stagger to the ropes like I'm on a rocky boat destined to sink into purgatory. When I hit the ground, I lean back on the base of the stage to steady myself. Down here, the light is less glaring. My vision takes a second or two to adjust from blinded to black. The flurry of activity has gone from riotous to calm in the blink of an eye.
“That guy was about to butcher you.” The familiar friendly voice of Malakai Fox chuckles darkly from my left. He casually slides a gun into its holster and kicks my track shoes within my reach.
I wince, standing up straight to greet him. “Fuck you. I was gearing up to knock the fucker out before you sprayed the ring with bullets.” A metallic trickle seeps into the corner of my mouth.
“It was fifty-fifty.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I grimace with the effort it takes to shove my foot into a spongy shoe. “You thought I was going to drop? Did you steal the goddamn show to win a bet?” When my head rotates to glare at him, the empty room spins.
“I saved your ass from bouncin’. No need to thank me. You can owe me.” Malakai signals to his men with a tap on his watch. Sirens whine from the streets above. “Time to go, De Courcy. Grab your phone.”
With every step, my muscles jar and my ears ring. “Why are you in Scrios?” I grit out, swiping my mouth with the back of hand. A coating of blood smears my cut knuckles.
Malakai glances back, checking to see if his men are close. “Did you know the asshole you were fighting is Dexter? Who also happens to be Blaine’s number one guard dog.” Cold air bites my chest when metal doors fling outward and a Bentley reverses into position. “Scrios belongs to Blaine Casey, Brett.”
“Fuck!” I snarl. “I’ve met Dexter before,” I point out. “A few nights ago, before––you know.”
“Get in.” Malakai nods to the backseat of the car and tosses my hoody in ahead of us. “Why would you come here? You’re flying on their radar, and you decided to fight Blaine’s second in command. I know you’re unhinged, Brett, but we agreed I would take care of business.” Malakai’s tone drops to subzero.
I duck down and grumble when my ribcage cinches. This was the plan—pain over pleasure, yet this time it fails to extinguish the fire.
Distressed bruises explode in fiery agony, and my entire body recoils with the punishment. “I didn’t plan to visit Scrios again,” I rasp, discreetly disguising my physical torment. “I had energy to burn, and that’s where I ended up.” It was fight or fuck. Or smash the bar to pieces for a bottle of Hennessy. Two of those were not an option.
Malakai settles beside me, his eyes glacial and stony. “And out of all the fuckers in Dublin, you had to get in the ring with Dexter.”
“He challenged me,” I mutter, clenching and releasing my fists. The stretch feels good, except the decoration of violence can’t be hidden. “I’d never back out of a fight, and I’d never fold.”
Malakai’s gaze slides right, eyeing me with a cool glare. “Sometimes you have to learn to bow out. That doesn’t make you weak, just smart. Dexter’s legendary for being cutthroat. You’re in good shape.” He reaches across and slaps my gut. I groan in protest. “You’re fit as fuck and a headstrong wanker, but have no illusion, that guy will slip a blade in your ribs if he thinks you’re getting the better of him.”
“I could sink a few Hennies right now.” Alcohol is the next best thing to dull the aches and clean out the cuts. “Let’s stop off somewhere.” My conscience tells me no a thousand times over.
The car crawls past a line of cop cars. Tinted windows keep us hidden from the swat team. “You need a cute nurse with fishnets and a couple of grams.” Malakai rolls back his shoulders. “We both do.”
“I haven’t got any milage left to fuck tonight.” I smirk for show. Inside I wither, knowing I’ll go to bed alone as planned.
“Your balls must be fuckin’ blue, mate.” Malakai doesn't smile. He knows my journey. The subtle joke stings the silence. “If Kaleb knew you were fighting in Scrios, he’d kill both of us.”
“He doesn't need to know—does he?” I quirk my brow.
“That depends. You gonna fuck with Dexter again?”
“I’m happy to hand him over to you,Law.” I emphasise his undercover name. The guy crosses a thin line from cop to gangster. He’s been undercover for so long now; I don't even know if he’s actually still in the force. He’s called Law because he's the enforcer, the judge and the mother fucking jury.
He nods. “Don’t get bloodstains on my car, De Courcy.”
I shake my head and sigh out a laugh. “Fuck you.”
Malakai drums on his thigh. “I’m not interested in stuffing your ass in a body bag anytime soon,” he says with a hint of a grin hidden beneath whiskers. The driver swerves right and my vision blurs. “Leave all this bullshit to me. I have a deal underway, and I don’t need you sticking your fucking dick in places where it doesn’t belong.” Malakai frisks his jacket. “Here.” He extracts a tiny plastic bag. “Take two of these.” Two pills drop into my open palm. “Think of them as a goodnight kiss from your hero.” He winks, scraping nails over his short beard. “You’ll sleep like a fuckin’ baby tonight.”
I spendthe evening cleaning the cake mayhem from the bedroom floorboards with a wad of toilet tissue. The kitchen cupboards look like they’ve never been filled, and the refrigerator holds a scent of plastic newness.
