Page 55 of Vow to Protect
Blaine crosses an arm over his chest, letting the microphone sway. His eyes roll and he casually brings the meshed globe to his lips. “And you must be the fucker who stole her from me.”
Brett barely blinks. His biceps flex as his fists clench by his side. “Like I said, she’s mine.”
“Hold on.” Blaine prowls across the ring. “Let me correct that. You actually stole her from, Law. So…” He grins over at me and waggles his brows. “It’s only fair that he kicks your ass in the ring. Your opponent is heartless and hostile. He’ll fight to the bitter end. Come on up, Law.”
Brett bares his teeth. I note the fierce flare of his pupils. His temper dangling on a fraying length of taut string. Wooden shoulders signal his forced restraint. Blaine beckons into the crowd. “Let’s welcome one of my all-time favourite motherfuckers into the ring. This guy is ruthless.”
The mountain of a man joins us, keeping his piercing blue gaze low. “He doesn't like the limelight, but tonight, he will make an exception in the name of honour and respect.” Blaine pats Law’s muscular arm. “My man here will make a powerful point. Mess with us, and you’ll end up fucking dead.”
What the fuck.
I can’t fight Malakai.
We’re allies.
We’re age-old friends.
Law stares right at me, only this time there's no friendly wink. No sign of comradery. From day one he warned me not to blow his cover; he begged me not to get involved. And here we are. Face to face. No backing out.
He blanks my raised brows by cracking his neck. I glance over at Raen, knowing her well enough now to see past her defiant posture. She scrapes hair behind her ears and swipes a rogue tear from the corner of her eye. The noticeable wobble of her chin compels me to win at all costs. She stands in the opposite corner beside the folded clothes at her bare feet.
“Do you accept the challenge?” Blaine holds the mic to my mouth.
“What are the terms?” I ask.
“You win, you keep her. He wins, he keeps her, or sells her, or whatever,” Blaine replies, enjoying every second.
No matter who wins, Raen will be safe with either champion, so the end goal is to stay on my feet and carry her out of here myself. Malakai might be neck deep in his ulterior persona, but I know he’ll do the right thing. I trust him with my life, and hers. This will be the most convincing performance of his career.
Malakai patrols his side of the ring, running short nails over his wiry beard. I barely recognise him with an unforgiving feral swagger to his gait. He peels off his shirt and tosses it away. Our physiques are matched. Lean and muscular, agile and inked.
With his lashes low, he ignores me completely. The whistle blows, and without hesitation he bounces into the middle, fists guarding, feet dancing. He unleashes a high jab. I stoop out of its path. Our gaze finally clashes. A chilling coldness lives in his electric blue eyes. It’s hard to tell if my friend is in there, or if Law has won the battle in his world, and it’s taken over forever.
The believable attack comes hard and fast, merciless and ferocious. Knuckles connect with my jaw. It’s a pain I’ve felt a thousand times over. An agony that once served as a diversion. This time it blisters with cruel irony. My brain jars. I hold my guard and shake off the discomfort.
Dodging a knee thrust, I steady my feet and offer him a taunting smirk. Where Kaleb would welcome the challenge, Malakai’s biceps tighten, and his chest rises like I’ve twisted a key and wound-up vicious stamina.
For every hook and punch aimed at me, I retaliate with paired effort. Bloodthirsty bystanders cheer with deafening roars. Where a stream of blood flows from his left nostril, a waterfall of red spurts above my eyebrow. My tortured fists throb, skinned from frequent overuse.
Endless punch after punch, I realise our stage show doesn't follow the usual rules. There aren’t any typical rounds to break for water and towels. An absent referee cannot count out a warning for unsolicited sly moves. This isn’t a spar between friends. It’s an ugly, barbaric battle. A demonstration of masculinity. A power play. A war within a war.
An arm locks around my neck, undercuts follow on repeat. I raise my knee, jamming it into his groin. Malakai falls back, riled and snarling. He comes back for more, only this time both of us are on fire, laden with sweat and out of breath.
Schooled jabs switch to ruthless thwacks. Precise tactics morph to anger fueled punishment. Malakai spits a wad of blood to the canvas, landing by my feet. I wipe the corner of my eye with the back of hand, streaking the path of blood. In that second, he lunges forward and strikes below my ribs. Pain charges through me. My eyes cut to Raen. Tear stained cheeks glisten under the spotlight fixed above her head. Another blow dents my right kidney. Her hands splay her stomach, and the strength to win unfurls in my belly. I’ll fucking take her home. Friend or not, I’ll win.
A barrage of kicks and aggressive digs follow. Malakai lags, but our determination echoes each other.
“It looks like this fight is going nowhere.” Blaine’s snippy cadence echoes through the microphone. He slides between the ropes and separates our limb lock with a shove. Malakai rears back, bloody and seething. “Who agrees with me? I feel like I’m watching bitches slap it out after a few vodkas. What do you reckon, should I sell her instead?”
My head spins. Malakai’s right hooks held no remorse. Blaine’s statement buzzes in my already ringing ears, swallowed by the uproar of assholes all tossing pricing points around like candy.
Malakai staggers to the side of the ring and hunkers down. I duplicate his heavy-footed retreat, grasping the ropes, praying the stars in my eyes settle. I should have known not to take Blaine’s offer at face value. The fucker had no intention of letting me walk out of Scrios with her.
I’ll make him pay for slashing her skin, and I’ll make him eat his own fucking tongue for lying.
The past catches up with me. I blink away beads of sweat and wince when my achy palm pads a swollen cheekbone. It was all too good to be true. The crushing devastation of losing Raen, another woman who lives in my heart, stirs up every emotion known to man.
“I’ll sell her to the highest bidder, with one caveat.” Blaine works the crowd like he’s the ringmaster at the circus. “Once you’re done with her, stick a blade in the middle of her mark—right through her heart. The threat of that alone will ensure her obedience for many years. Or days. Who cares?”
