“It was a car accident!” Rowan blurted out. “Indigo died in a car accident!Pleaseslow down!”
I took a few long breaths before I eased down into the speed limit and relaxed the death grip I had on the wheel. I didn’t look at him, and he didn’t say anything. That silence lasted for a mile or two.
“You don’t even know her.”
“I know that she likes old horror movies,” Rowan answered. “And that she doesn’t care about wealth. I know she loves the three of you more than anything. She likes dogs.”
“Do you love her?” I couldn’t stop the question from coming out of my mouth.
“The only time that it doesn’t hurt is when I’m with her,” he finally said. “Even before I knew about her heart.”
“I know what that’s like,” I muttered under my breath. Skye had an innate ability to see past all my flaws and rough edges and love me anyway. Make me feel almost okay with myself.
We drove further into Port Haven, and gradually the clean, summer resort streets gave way to cracks and pot holes. Flickering lamp posts and perilously swinging traffic lights. Electrical polls over-papered with missing posters or for sale fliers.
“What are we doing in the Mired District?” Rowan watched the bad part of town run by in a blur as I kept driving.
I headed into an underground parking structure on Pleasant Street and parked. Reluctantly, Rowan got out of the car and followed me back up to street level. We walked around the building that took up two blocks until we rounded the final corner and got to the back of the queue to get in.
“You’re gonna show me exactly how much of an alpha you are.”
Getting into the Pax was easy. I expected an annoyingly long, slow line, especially on fight nights but tonight the line was efficient and fast moving.
“I always thought it was ironic that a place named for the Latin word forPeacehad full-on brawls,“ Rowan said.
I looked up at the glowing neon sign that read The Pax as we inched closer to the door. “Huh. I always just thought it was an edgy way to spellPacks.”
We stepped into the warm, hazy establishment and Rowan headed for the bar but I grabbed his shoulder.
“Later.” I craned my neck to look over the crowd, searching for the middle man. I finally found him, and nodded for Rowan to follow me. Inside the arena, two fighters were going at it. Skin shining with sweat and blood, they bare-knuckled one another raw. Rowan watched, wide-eyed, anxiety coming off him in waves.
“Two v two,” I told the bouncer.
“Pay up,” he said.
In the back-alley fights where I came from, we all put whatever money we had in a pile and beat the shit out of one another until only one of us remained standing. Then, we’d get the claim of the pot. I figured this wouldn’t be much different. “How much?”
The bookie-bouncer stated a number way above my price range. The only way I could hope to afford it was to put up my Jeep or pawn my wedding band.
“Cash,” he added, just to rub salt in the wound. “There’s an ATM by the front door.”
I used to fight a lot. I found it to be a useful outlet for my aggression. I’m not a big guy, but I’m quick and coiled and have no real self-preservation instincts. Granted, it wasn’t the best idea for me. The pain of broken bones and cracked jaws probably contributed to my drug addiction. Because of Skye, I kicked all these bad coping mechanisms. But just this once would be alright. This time I had someone by my side.
Rowan was anxious, I could sense it, but he didn’t back out or give any of this a second thought. I don’t know if he wanted to prove himself to me, or find out what he was really made of. Either way, he climbed into the cage right after me.
Unlike their namesake, The Angelino Boys were no angels. Big, mean, violent and not too bright, they were stereotypical alphas and rising stars in the fighting world. On a positive note, they did what they were told, and if they were told to have a clean fight, they’d keep it clean. Or at least, keep the cheap shots to a minimum. That gave us a small chance of getting through this with all our senses and limbs intact.
Besides, for the next ten minutes, Rowan and I were pack.
I took off my shirt because I wanted to be able to move freely, and Rowan followed my example. He removed his necklace and buried it in the folds of his shirt.
We stood face to face with the Angelino Boys. A referee stood between us and spouted the cliches about clean fights. No eyes. No groins. No biting. He stepped back.
The bell clanged, and instinctively I dropped low to avoid a predictable but sweeping bearhug and pummeled the strong, dumb alpha right in the kidney, my fists moving like jackhammers. It was my signature opening move on the streets. Arms wrapped around my middle and yanked me away from my prey. I stumbled back, struggling to control my momentum,half-aware of Rowan kicking the other Angelino Boy in the back of the leg and bringing him down to a knee.
My Boy hooked his arm around Rowan’s neck and slammed him down hard onto the ground. His head bounced off the softened but still painful floor of the octagon. With a sneer I lunged and retaliated by kneeing his partner in the cheek so hard I heard a crack over the shouting of the audience.
An elbow struck the back of my head and my vision went fuzzy but I stayed on my feet until I was brought down by a kick to my back. I lifted my head and saw Rowan doubled over in a headlock, and the Angelino’s knee repeatedly going into his ribs.
