Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
"You don't understand!" My back presses against the door. Fucking Albert! Tonight of all nights he decides not to watch the fights! "I'm Charlie Westbrook. My family owns this place!"
He hesitates. But only for a second. He shakes his head. "Lying bitch. The Bloody Fist owns these fight rings. Never heard of the Westbrooks."
I could cry. This guy's important enough to handle the betting cash but not important enough to know who he works for.
"You have to believe me. Look, I know who uses this box! Albert Morton! He manages the fights and comes in here all the time—"
“Enough,” Big Boss snaps. He lunges forward and grabs me by the front of my sweatshirt. I’m in street clothes, just simple stuff to help me blend in. No creme blouses and designer shoes tonight. Which is a pity, because that might’ve helped sell my entirely true story. “Look me in the eye while I fuck you with this knife. And feel free to cry.” His breath smells like cheap vodka and old meat. “Gets my dick hard when a pretty girl’s crying and saying please.”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper, just about ready to piss myself with terror and regretting every dumb rebellious decision I’ve ever made to this point as Big Boss rears the knife back, ready to plunge it right into my heart.
Except he doesn’t. Because someone grabs his wrist from behind.
“The fuck?” he says, shoving me against the door. The back of my head hits hard enough to send stars into my vision. “Who the fuck—”
“Honestly, I already beat one man unconscious tonight, so I’m thinking, why not make it two?”
It’s that new fighter. He’s in shorts but still shirtless. His smile is lazy, almost arrogant, as he grips Big Boss’s wrist tightly, holding the knife up high between them. Fighter’s eyes move to mine, and I swear his smile gets a little bit bigger, and before Big Boss can reply, Fighter snaps his neck forward and rams his forehead straight into Big Boss’s nose.
It breaks with an audible crunch. Blood gushes down Big Boss’s face, drenching the front of his shirt, as he curses and groans with shock.
Fighter moves with grace and ease. It’s amazing, if I’m honest. I’ve seen dozens of pit warriors move through this warehouse over the years, but this guy makes a brutal hallway brawl seem like a ballet recital. His movements are precise and fluid, and he looks like he’s barely putting in any effort at all. He twists Big Boss’s wrist, making him scream in pain and drop the knife, before bringing his knee up and into Big Boss’s guts. Fighter twists, slams Big Boss down onto the floor, and wraps him in a complicated chokehold. Smiling the whole time.
“Gotcha, big guy, don’t you worry,” Fighter says softly, his arms flexing hard as Big Boss tries to struggle against him. “Just relax. It’ll be okay. I’ll let you go before you’re dead. Well, probably. Only ever lost a guy once. Twice, actually.”
“Urkkkk, urkkkkk, fuuucckkkkk,” Big Boss chokes and gags out, “fuuuuckkkk youuuuuuu.”
“Rude.” Fighter tightens his grip, and Big Boss goes limp. Fighter holds the choke a few seconds longer before letting him go.
Big Boss slumps to the ground, unconscious.
I stare in abject shock and terror. Big Boss wasn’t some weak little nothing. If he was handling Bloody Fist money, that means he knows how to carry himself in a battle. Most likely he spent time in the rings down there, performing for the mega-rich men and women that come through this place, and was skilled enough for a promotion.
And this stranger just made him look like a child.
“You good?” Fighter gets to his feet and absently wipes some blood from his hands onto his shorts. “Sorry for the blood. He was a squirter.”
“I’m… okay.” I stare at his chest, damp with sweat. “You have more blood… right here.” I reach out and touch a spot near his left nipple. Not something I’d normally do, but my head’s swimming and this man is so damn attractive that I can’t help myself.
“Oh, thanks.” He wipes it off and smiles at me. “My name’s Stefano. You’re welcome.”
“For… your name?”
“That and for saving your life.”
I take a deep breath and steady myself. I’m still in shock and not thinking clearly. “Right, yeah, thank you so much. I mean, that guy was going crazy.”
“What’d you do, anyway?”
“It was just a stupid accident. I knocked into him and made him drop some gambling money—”
Stefano whistles, shaking his head. “Bet that pissed him off.”
“Then I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”
“Made it worse?”
“Exactly.”
“Then you ran, he chased, and it escalated.” Stefano runs a big hand through his dark hair, leaving a smear of blood like it’s no big deal. “We’ve all been there.”
I seriously doubt that, but don’t say it. “Thanks again. Honestly. I really think he was going to kill me.”