It continues for several minutes until a heart-stopping strike cracks in the air.
Chills skate down my spine. I watch the brother Casey calls gentle and sensitive vanish. One unforgiving punch after another lands despite Mason being unconscious, his green eyes void of anything but the utter devastation he continues to rain on his opponent.
And I have no doubt he’s going to kill this man.
“Shit.” I hear Will curse, but I don’t turn away from the carnage in front of me.
“Let him be,” growls the man next to me.
“Fuck you, Dom.” From the corner of my eye, I see Will stand and run from his seat. He doesn’t bother going to the door, choosing instead to climb the cage and leap over the top. He grabs Jagger, pulling him off and tossing him into the cage away from Mason. I see his lips moving as he speaks to Jagger, but it’s clear Jagger doesn’t hear anything he says. His eyes are unfocused and full of…Full of so much anger and fury. He looks utterly possessed.
And absolutely haunted.
It steals my breath.
It breaks my heart.
And it terrifies me.
A heavy sigh leaves Dominic. I see his subtle nod from the corner of my eye. Two men scramble to the ring, swing the door open, and rush to Mason’s side. They wave their hands in the air and are joined by a third man.
Whatever demons possessed Jagger—whatever fueled that manic rage—has subsided. The anger and fury are replaced with concern as he moves toward where Mason lies motionless.
The crowd is deathly silent as they watch the men around him work.
Will tries to get Jagger to leave the caged ring, but Jagger shrugs him off and shakes his head. He stares at his unconscious opponent, his features distorting. Then his shoulders sag. His exhale is almost audible as he scrubs his hands down his face.
Mason can be heard speaking, though garbled and confused, as he answers questions.
Finally, Will gets Jagger to step back, and they exit the ring together. As they walk past us, I notice several bruises blooming across his jaw and the small gash over his eyebrow, bleeding profusely.
Air surges into my lungs, my chest burning from holding my breath for what felt like an eternity.
Dominic stands beside me, extending a hand to help me to my feet. “Still interested?”
Heat floods my cheeks. My mind races with so many questions. For Dominic, whom I’m terrified to ask. For myself.
Am I still interested? Even if it means watching my friend’s brother destroy himself?
I’m running on survival and not much else at this moment, so I don’t know the right answer—the moral answer. But it doesn’t stop me from nodding my head and saying, “Yes. When do I start?”
“Right now. Follow me.”
Poppy
Ijerk back, startled to be told I’m starting now. With zero clue what he expects. But if he’s paying? I’m good.
Following behind Dominic’s imposing form, we return to the back, the next set of fighters passing us on their way to the ring. Dominic stops, turning around to face me. “Just like before a fight, you’ll check on the fighters afterward. Some of these guys are here alone and could use an extra hand—removing tape, cleaning cuts…” He nods toward the man entering the room across from where we stand. “It helps the doc, too. If he doesn’t have to waste time on that, he can get them stitched up faster and on to the next guy. Still sure you aren’t queasy?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Ever seen a ballet dancer’s feet? Bloody and broken toes are the norm. Imagine taking off your pointe shoes and finding your toenail missing.”
His brows hit his forehead. It seems I’ve shocked the unflappable man—and I do a mental happy dance—but he shakes it off quickly as he stops in front of a door. The door swings open before he can twist the handle, and Will walks out looking irate. After his reaction to the massacre that just happened in the arena, the questions I have about who’s on the other side of that door dissipate with Will’s emergence. His eyes narrow on Dominic, his shoulder tensing with anger as he moves forward an inch, appearing ready to rip the other man’s head off his body, but when he notices me, he just shoulder bumps Dominic hard, knocking him back a step and storming off.
Dominic doesn’t react to the aggressive move, shrugging it off as if it were nothing more than a fly buzzing, pushing the partially opened door the rest of the way and gesturing me inside.
Nerves knot my stomach for no reason at all. None I’m willing to admit, anyway. I take a breath, shove down the worry, and follow Dominic into the room.
Jagger is standing with his back to us in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and I can’t help but watch as his muscles flex. When he turns around, my jaw drops. I knew he’d be built well. That much is obvious even with clothes. But I didn’t quite imagine this. There can’t be an ounce of body fat on him. His abs ripple like the ocean, glistening under a sheen of sweat. Even beneath the tattoos, the definition of his corded arms makes my mouth water. God didn’t just sculpt him. He flexed and called it perfect.
