A bookie?
“And day.” Charlie draped his arm around me. “She works the horse races and polo matches too.”
My mouth parted in utter shock. It was one thing seeing a more relaxed side to the princess, but my head was struggling with seeing this side. One the world knew nothing about.
“If the fighter is down over ten seconds, they’re out. No hits once they have fallen to the ground. Winner moves on to the next fight.” She strolled around, and I noticed there was a circle marked out on the floor. “You claim your money at the end.”
“Everyone ready?”
The hollers echoed through the warehouse.
“All right, let’s begin!” She twisted, motioning to a shirtless man in the shadows on one side. “Applaud for the infamous Killbourne.” The whistles and cheers stabbed my eardrums. “And over here is Larry ‘Tremor’ Gibbs.” His fanfare was a little less, but the crowd was rowdy and anxious for the fight to begin.
She stepped out of the circle toward the back wall near her bodyguard and the bouncer, a few men rushing to her with cash in hand.
“My sister, ladies and gentlemen.” Theo gestured to her. “We’re so proud.”
“You love it.” Hazel shot at him. “She’s a badarse, and you know it.”
He shrugged, not fighting the truth.
“Come on, it’s much more exciting up close.” Hazel dragged me to the front, shoving and wiggling through without apology. Bodies crushed around us, feet stomping in a chant as the two fighters started circling each other. I had never been to a fight or anything like this. Excitement tapped my skin, swirling around the air, compelling me to breathe in the energy like a drug.
Now I understood the stale smell of sweat and blood and the unusual venue choice.
The shirtless guy was younger and much more in shape. He was actually very attractive, his nose flat and crooked, but somehow it made him more rugged. The other guy was older, smaller with shaggy hair hanging his eyes. He was in shape but didn’t have the confidence of the first guy. It didn’t seem a fair fight. And by the chants in the group, most had the same thought.
“Kill—Bourne!” His name was recited over and over like a war cry. The atmosphere was sparking with violence.
Killbourne weaved and dodged from the Tremor, striking his stomach. Tremor stumbled back, allowing Killbourne’s fist to come down on his face. The sounds of cartilage breaking, flesh being smacked, and blood squirting over the floor stirred the crowd into a frenzy.
I couldn’t deny feeling a certain level of excitement, but it also freaked me out.
Another hit dropped Tremor to the floor.
“Ten. Nine. Eight…” The crowd counted down, the closer it got to reaching one the more rallied they got.
“Two…”
Tremor shook his head, pushing himself up from the floor, wiping the blood from his face, getting back into the fight.
“Killbourne. Killbourne. Killbourne!”
“Killbourne, I love you,” a girl screamed, twisting his head for a moment to grin at her.
One second.
Everything changed.
Tremor’s hit echoed through the space, startling both Killbourne and the crowd. Using that moment, he struck again. Killbourne’s form dropped to the ground. The crowd gasped as Tremor pounced, punching his opponent until Killbourne’s body went slack.
“He’s not supposed to do that. To keep hitting him after he’s fallen,” Hazel hissed, her eyes wide.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…” a few of Tremor’s fans sang out. Shouts at Killbourne to get up slammed in from every direction.
No movement.
“One…” A small section cheered, jumping around, surprised at their win.
The other side shocked at their loss.
“Fuck. No!” I heard a guy scream. “He cheated!”
“Sore losers!”
The shift was instant, the audience twisting into a mob.
“That was not a win!” A figure barreled out of the crowd, getting into another guy’s face, their cries turning into shoves and yells, their mates joining them. “That bet doesn’t count.” He pointed his finger at Eloise. “I am not losing all my money on a cheat!”
“Oh, shite.” Hazel’s hand clutched mine. “We need to get out of here.”
It was like her sentiment shattered the last bit of peace, the room detonating into violence and chaos. Bodies hurled at each other like a stampede, shoving me down to the ground with a smack.
“Spencer!” I heard Hazel scream for me, her hand trying to reach for mine, but the throng carted her farther away from me.
“Hazel!” Shoes crushed down on my arms and legs, a cry tearing from my throat as I tried to get back up. No one cared as they trampled over me. Fear pounded in my ears, my lungs struggling to take gulps of air. Crawling, I slid my body through a puddle of blood over the sticky floor, trying to escape the crushing horde fighting and screaming.
Pain exploded through my nerves as a huge figure fell over me, slamming my head into a post, my brain spinning. More and more feet and legs were kicking and stepping on me. Blood trailed down my nose and temple as I curled in a ball, pain twisting bile up my throat, darkness creeping around my vision. I heard of people dying this way. It always sounded so tragic. Being stomped to death because no one took a moment to stop or help.
Would this be my story? How Spencer Sutton died, trampled by people like a herd of caribou? Sounded about right.
“Blimey hell,” a deep voice growled in my ear, hands roughly grabbing me. My lids parted enough to see a familiar face snarling down at me like this was entirely my fault. “The wannabe princess already needs her arse saved.”
Lennox’s arms moved underneath me, picking me up, knocking back people as they rammed into us as he rose.
“Fuck you,” I tried to spit at him but came out more a slurred mess. I attempted to wiggle out of his arms, but his muscles locked in around me, his strength too much for me to fight.
“Now, that would be highly inappropriate.” His gravelly voice was filled with annoyance and disgust.
Fury bubbled in my chest, my pride wanting to lash out, but his body was warm, and my lids drooped as the adrenaline dropped away, allowing the pain to consume my bones. My head throbbed, feeling like a blade was being jabbed through my temple.
He held me tight, shoulder checking anyone daring to step in his way, moving and gliding through the crown like a trained assassin.
“Theo? Eloise… Hazel?” I fought to say each name, my body shutting down.
“They are all fine. It’s just you who didn’t get out,” he replied dryly. Relief closed my eyes, my ear pressing against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
“Bloody hell. Spencer!” I heard my name being called, but Theo’s voice whisked by me like a dream, sleep tugging me into safety.
Chapter 9
A dream of being trampled bolted me awake, and I lurched up, my gaze taking in the early dawn. The sky was barely hinting of light, casting the large room in heavy shadows. Fear gripped my throat, my cloudy head not understanding where I was. Chandeliers, tapestries, paintings, wallpaper in delicate flowers, with heavy white adorned furniture. Over the top, expensive, but greatly outdated in modern times.