Cigarette burns?
Despite this, Blaine doesn’t show an ounce of hesitation. Suave confidence practically drips from his gait. Even his posture is self-assured—ripped shoulders back, head held high, black gaze fierce.
“Anyone?” His formal accent calls out. “Don’t be shy now.”
For an intimidating man who talks like a member of some upper-class, royal offshoot, he certainly doesn’t look the part. Especially not bearing the marks of untold violence.
“Well?” Blaine grins at the room.
Not a single person volunteers or steps forward. I assume at least some of these people are part of his… well, organisation. Perhaps gang isn’t the right word, if I want to avoid getting stabbed as Spyder warned.
Turning his back to face the other side of the circle, strong arms spread wide in challenge, I get a clear view of his spine. Ink swirls from the base of his neck to his tailbone, spelling out a phrase across each nodule.
My brain works fast. It’s been years since I helped Tom study for his Latin finals as part of his law degree, but I remember enough to puzzle out the words.
Vincit qui se vincit.
“He conquers who conquers himself,” I whisper to myself.
Spyder shifts on his feet. “He’s always been a poetic son of a bitch.”
“Won’t anyone fight him?”
“Nah,” he chuffs. “No one is brave enough.”
Blaine rotates around again, his attention casting over the whole warehouse. When those coal-black irises land on me, swimming with awareness, a hot flush electrifies my skin.
We stare at each other across the warehouse, locked in an open appraisal. The scar that warps the entire right side of his face is stretched thin to accommodate the smirk that he unveils.
Realisation dawns at the sight of his little spectacle. The invitation. His grand, half-clothed parade. Looking to pick a fight.
Is he… showing off for me?
“If no one volunteers, it’s luck of the draw,” Blaine calls out. “Choose wisely.”
The cocky psychopath is actually going to force one of these people to fight him. Even though they’re all clearly terrified of whatever authority he holds over them.
Fuck that.
He isn’t my boss.
I pull off my jacket to chuck at Spyder, already rolling my shoulders back. “Steal my shit and I’ll be the one doing the stabbing.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“He wants an opponent. I’m willing.”
Barking a laugh, he drapes my jacket over his shoulder. “Now this I want to see. You ain’t gonna need your shit after the boss snaps your spine.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Abandoning him in the crowd, I push through onlookers to approach the inner circle. Blaine’s eyes widen with each step I take towards him. For the first time, he looks surprised.
“I’ll challenge the Phantom,” I call loudly.
All attention turns to me, accompanied by varying sounds of shock, awe and trepidation. If I wasn’t preoccupied by Blaine’s smirk transforming into a glare, I’d be amused.
“Not a chance.” He shakes his head, hands on his tapered hips.
