“The rug in my room is pretty big,” Xan said softly, turning to Urho and pressing against his side recklessly. “We could try it for ourselves. You could teach me a thing or two.”
“I could,” Urho agreed. “And we could do some boxing in the garden too. Less grappling. More tactical.”
Xan nodded and sat back in his seat, breaking the sweet contact of their arms and torsos. That’s when Xan saw him.
His heart stuttered and stopped for a long, wretched second and then thundered hard.
Standing by the ring, wearing the uniform of the Blue Vein Wrestling Club, and grinning right at Xan like a predator who’d spotted his prey, was Wilbet Monhundy. His muscled arms and powerful thighs were on display in the tight, Blue Vein wrestling uniform, and his cruel smile sent a horrible convulsion through Xan.
Monhundy looked at Urho significantly, raised a brow, and sneered at Xan, shaking his head in disgust. Xan went cold all over.
Urho leaned close again to explain some of the finer points of the next competitor’s backgrounds as outlined in the pamphlet handed out at the door. Xan wanted to shove him away, keep him safe from Monhundy’s knowing gaze, but he didn’t want to react at all either. He held as still as possible, but an urge to stand and run, a strangled need to flee, made him squirm in his seat.
“Love, what’s wrong?” Urho asked.
“Nothing,” Xan gritted out. “This chair is uncomfortable.”
Urho’s eyes took on a concerned glimmer and he whispered, “Are you sore? Have we been too rough? You should have said.”
Xan swallowed hard, his focus on Monhundy, who was watching his interactions with Urho like a snake watched a mouse. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Everything’s all right.” He sounded as pale as he probably looked, and he squirmed convulsively again, pinned by the nastiness in Monhundy’s gaze.
Urho’s eyes followed Xan’s stare to where Monhundy stood waiting his turn to wrestle. “Who’s that man? Do you know him?”
Xan swallowed hard again and shook his head. “No.” Then, reconsidering, he nodded once. “Yes. He’s, uh, well, his family is in business with my father. The Monhundys.”
Urho grimaced. “Ah yes. I remember that one—Wilbet, wasn’t it?—from when I worked at the university. A nasty piece of work. A bully of the worst sort.” Urho froze, the words sharp in the air between them. His eyes narrowed on Monhundy.
“Don’t,” Xan murmured.
Urho’s fists clenched. “It’s him. He hurt you. He’s the one who—” He leapt up from his seat, pamphlet crushed in one hand and murder in his eyes.
Monhundy smirked and raised a challenging brow. Almost begging Urho to do something reckless.
Xan jumped up and tugged Urho down to sitting again. It was difficult, but he was determined, and he caught Urho off balance. “We can’t make a scene,” he hissed.
The announcer walked into the middle of the wrestling mat with a hand-held microphone. “Our next Blue Vein competitor is a hard man to beat!”
“I’ll kill him,” Urho whispered, gritting his teeth together and holding Monhundy’s gaze. “I’ll gut him. He raped you.”
Xan squeezed his arm. “I went to him!”
Urho’s cry of rage was covered by the excited yells of the crowd as the bell rang and the wrestling match began. The men grappled and rolled, broke apart and flew back together. It was brutal and violent, and the rules didn’t seem to properly apply this time. The Virona opponent’s nose began to bleed profusely, but no one called an end to the match.
Xan sat frozen, holding onto Urho’s arm, watching the match with one eye on Monhundy in a haze of fear and barely banked rage. How dare Wilbet Monhundy show up here in Virona? How dare he show his face anywhere near Xan’s recently almost-perfect life?
This time the Virona wrestler was declared champion, but Xan couldn’t even enjoy Monhundy’s team’s defeat. Urho was on his feet again with determination on his face, and Xan leapt after him, managing to grab his arm and pull him out of the overcrowded and overheated room. Xan could feel Monhundy’s gaze on their backs. Sweat slipped down the side of Xan’s face as they fought their way toward the exit.
Urho was more than strong enough to break Xan’s grasp, but thankfully he didn’t. Once out of the gymnasium, though, it was Urho who yanked Xan up the stairs, down the hall, and toward the front door of the gentlemen’s club without any care as to whether or not he was drawing any notice or stares.
Luckily, most everyone seemed to be in the gymnasium now watching the wrestling, except for beta employees. So there was no one to ask questions, or stop Urho, or ask if Xan was all right.
“What are you doing?” Xan finally gasped as Urho tugged him out into the cool evening air. The ocean pounded below, the roar of the waves rising up in a mist.
The valets stopped chatting and looked their way.
Urho motioned for them to bring the new car around, handing over the ticket, but saying nothing. His mouth was set in a straight line, his eyes hard, and a tension radiated from him that Xan hadn’t seen since that day when Urho had stopped by his house to check on him and proceeded to put his finger up his ass during the following examination.
The wind stung through his shirtsleeves. “Our suit coats…” Xan said, looking back toward the foyer of the club. “This is my favorite one.” The hearts he’d thought so darling earlier in the evening now seemed to be taunting him, pointing out how silly he’d been to think he’d get any kind of romantic night. That he deserved one.
