Page 18 of My Revenant
I wasn’t sure how Becca convinced me to come to this. Crowds weren’t my thing, neither were drunks or violence, but when she’d mentioned that Archer’s group always came, I couldn’t fight the weird pull at the thought of seeinghimagain.
I was no closer to understanding the strange feelings now than I was that first day in the diner. All I knew was that when he was around, I found it difficult to focus on anything else.
Becca noticed, of course, but I shut her down immediately when she tried to bring it up, so she’d taken to simply rolling her eyes at me instead when she noticed me staring.
It’s not that Ilikedhim. I didn’t even know him. He just had the kind of presence that demanded attention. Without even trying. It pissed me off.
There were far too many people here, so it wasn’t like I could even find him if I tried. Which I was definitelynotdoing. Not at all.
Becca pulled me by the arm through the crowd. She seemed to be looking for someone too, but I had no idea who that could be. If she found them, then I was leaving. I shouldn’t have come here anyway.
We parted our way through all the excessive shouting, smoking, drinking, and the bodies grew denser the closer we got to what must have been the fighting ring. I hated it. Every time someonepushed against me, I wanted to give them their own fight if they were that fucking excited about it.
Someone to my left shoved me hard, and just as I was about to turn and shove them back—fuck the consequences—my eyes were drawn to the ring. Like a magnet. Like a homing beacon. An irrefutable pull I was helpless to defy.
It was him.
It was his fight.
Breath evaded my lungs as I took him in. He was shirtless. It was the first time I’d seen him without that old worn-out leather jacket, not to mentionshirtless.I could see more of him than I ever had. All that tan skin, bathed in the glow of the barrel fires, which made the sweat running down his abs look like molten gold.Fuck. Of course he had abs.
He also had more tattoos, just as I’d expected, over his arms, his chest, his back.Where else?My eyes were particularly drawn to the scorpion on the right side of his lower abdomen. There was a tattoo of a knife on the left, the handle positioned just above his hip, and the blade followed the natural contour down and inward until it disappeared beneath the waistband of red boxers sitting slightly higher than his low-hanging jeans. That weird fluttering feeling I was getting familiar with in my gut transformed into an anvil.
He was a mess—bloody nose and knuckles, covered in sand, scrapes, and bruises—but he was smiling. Smiling like this was exactly where he wanted to be, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Dex Weller fought like he had nothing to lose, and suddenly I was wondering if that was true.
The guy he was fighting was bigger. He looked meaner. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Dex had this fight. Therewas a spark in his eyes, an unhinged madness that made up for any difference in size. He knew it too.
Then his eyes met mine and I couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Look away, I willed him.Focus and win this.
Unfortunately, whatever this magnetic pull was between us, it didn’t include telepathy. Because he didn’t look away, so he didn’t see the hit coming that had his head whipping back and his body falling heavily into the damp sand.
Fire. Burning. Blazing. Raging. Scorching.
It started in my chest and filled my veins like molten metal. My skin was hot, and my head was empty, and all I saw was red. Red. Red.Red.
His opponent didn’t stop, was right there on top of him. Straddled him. Rained down pain over his beautiful face.
Get up. Get up. GET UP.
“GET UP!” I was screaming before I even realized, shouldering my way to the front of the ring. Further still until a hand yanked my hood to hold me back.
“Where are you going, idiot?” Becca hissed in my ear.
“GET UP!” I screamed at him again.
Punch after punch. But he wasn’t done. I knew he wasn’t. Unlike Dex, this fuckhead was wearing a shirt, and Dex dropped the guard he held over his face to grasp at the fabric. Instead of trying to haul the guy off, he did just about the last thing I would have expected. Using his new hold, he yanked the fuckhead down at the same time as he pushed himself up off the sand—just enough to lick a wet stripe over the guy’s cheek.
The dumbfuck recoiled, as if that action had hurt him more than any punch to the gut. He tried to pull away, but Dex kept his hold until enough distance had passed between them that he could twist his body to slam the guy down into the sand beside him.
Dex’s face was bloody, but he wasstillsmiling. It wasn’t a nice smile; it was unhinged. Deranged. Manic. Like he was high on the pain. I wasn’t sure how anyone could find it in themnotto be afraid of him when he looked like that. Like something certain. Something inevitable. A bloodied angel.
Limbs twisted. Fists landed. Sand sprayed up as the crowd cheered and hollered, and I understood for the first time in my life why people enjoyed watching violence.
I leaned closer. A magnet. An invisible rope. Pulling me to him. Each time Becca yanked me back by the hood, scolded something in my ear. I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anyone. Only the sound of every hit inflicted upon Dex as if it affected me personally.
