“Let me go,” I repeat coldly.
He yanks me closer, his body colliding with mine.
“This ain’t no place for little girls like you.” He shoves his face closer to me. His stale breath hits my face. “Unless you’re looking for trouble?”
The men around us stir with interest, just noticing my presence. My survival instinct kicks in.
“Fuck off.” I twist my arm, pulling it so hard from his clutch that my shoulder jolts in its socket.
A few of the men laugh. The pockmarked guy reddens with anger.
“Bitch. You don’t belong here.”
I shove him away and elbow my way through the crowd, no longer caring who notices me. The other men mutter and shout as I pass.
A few hands shoot out to grab my ass and my breasts. My skin crawls with revulsion and growing panic. There’s no way I can escape this mob, if they decide to—
Holy shit.
I come to a halt. Disbelief forms a cold, icy ball in my chest. The raging crowd is clustered around a wide circle bordered by ropes. Blood stains the cracked concrete floor.
Inside the ring, two men wearing boxing shorts are going at each other like fighting dogs, their torsos damp with sweat and blood, chests heaving. There’s no referee. No gloves or other protective gear, only bare fists and rage.
Nausea boils into my throat.
One of the men is Darius Hawke, almost unrecognizable with anger blazing from his eyes, his whole body primed in attack mode. His muscles bulge and twist as he fires off shot after shot, spurring the crowd to roar louder with every strike.
The other man staggers, blood running down his face from cuts on his forehead, eyes, lip. Darius’s right fist shoots out again, catching him on the jaw. The opponent goes down, hitting the concrete floor to a thunderstorm of raucous cheers.
I clamp a hand over my mouth. Dizziness rolls through me.
Another man climbs into the ring and grabs Darius’s arm, holding it aloft. Bloody and panting, Darius turns. His eyes graze over mine before widening with shock.
I stumble backward, bumping into the man behind me. He clamps his hand on my shoulder.
“Watch it, bitch,” he growls.
Darius bolts toward me so fast that everything happens in a blur. The mob shifts and pitches like a violent, raging sea. I can’t pull a breath into my tight lungs. My legs start to buckle.
Darius closes his arms around me, swift and hard. He lifts me up, pushing one arm under my knees and holding me against his chest.
“Out of the way!” His voice is like the strike of a whip. “Everyone get the fuck out of the way.”
The men shuffle aside, angry and restless. I squeeze my eyes shut, fear mixing with faint relief. Darius shoves through the crowd, his body a hot, sweaty wall against mine, his breath rasping through the dense air. Shouts rise like a flood.
A door slams shut. The noise lessens. Warily, I open my eyes. We’re in an empty storage room. Roars from the crowd still echo through the walls. My heart hammers.
Darius stares at me, his chest heaving and pupils dilated. Blood trickles down his face from an ugly gash on his forehead. He lowers me to the floor, his hand on my arm steadying me.
“Nell, what the fuck are you doing here?” Anger, hoarse and jagged, rips through his voice. “How did—”
“I found a note you’d written.” I lift my chin, forcing an icy note into my tone. “Since you haven’t told me where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, I decided to find out for myself.”
“Goddammit.” Clenching his fists, he stalks to the other side of the room, his body tense with rage. “Don’t you ever put yourself in this kind of situation again. What the hell were you thinking?”
“That I don’t like you lying to me.” I hug my arms around myself, shivering with sudden cold. “You haven’t just been spending your time in Volkov Bay. And I don’t like you running away.”
He drags in a heavy breath, looking as if he’s forcing himself to calm down.
“Let’s go.” He takes a T-shirt and track pants from a duffel bag on the floor and pulls them on.
A banging rattles the door.
“Get the fuck back out here, Hawke!” a male voice yells.
Darius yanks open the door and snaps something at the other man. Heavy, rhythmic chanting rises from the bloodthirsty mob. “Hawke! Hawke! Hawke!” The ground and walls vibrate.
“Who the fuck is she?” The man pushes past Darius and stalks toward me—thickset with greasy hair and ice-cold eyes, he’s the same guy who’d gotten into the ring after the fight.
Darius shoves in front of me, spreading his arms out and blocking me with his body. “Stay away from her.”
“She’s a young piece of ass for—” His voice chokes off as Darius’s fist connects with his jaw.
The guy stumbles backward, cursing and spitting blood. “You asshole, you can’t walk out after a win. Do you know how much money is riding on you?”
“Stay the fuck out of my way.” Darius grabs my hand and strides down the corridor, his pace so fast I almost have to run to keep up.
Night air blasts cool against my hot face. The rain is still pouring, the mud thick and slippery. He hauls me toward his car, using the remote to unlock the doors and throwing the duffel into the backseat.
“Get in.”
I clamber inside, only breathing easier when he pulls the SUV away from the warehouse.
“What about my car?”
“I’ll deal with it later.” His mouth is a slash of anger, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Goddammit, Nell.”
I curl my fingers into my thighs and stare out the window. A sick, painful sensation rises to my throat.
How often does he do this? Why? After surviving captivity, now he willingly gets into the ring with another guy so they can beat each other bloody?
The dark fields sweep past on either side of the car, swallowing us into the stormy night. He pulls onto the highway. Car headlights burn on the opposite side of the road.
“What did you tell your father?” His voice cuts through the thick silence.
“He left for Boston a few hours ago.”
He expels his breath in frustration and presses the accelerator harder.
“Are you taking me home?” I cross my arms tightly. “Are you going to call my father?”
For a moment, he doesn’t speak. I clench my teeth.
“I should.” He slants me a narrow look, his profile rigid. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”
“Yeah?” I turn in my seat to face him. “Well, I’m fucking mad at you too. First you run out on me like a coward, then you lie to me and tell me nothing’s wrong, and then I find out you’re involved in a shitty fighting ring that’s probably illegal where you beat each other to a pulp for…for what? Fun? You, Darius Hawke, who’s seen men, women, and children ripped apart by conflict, killed by snipers, destroyed by wars and bombs…who spent a year and a half being tortured in captivity and then escaped…after all you’ve been through, now you get into a ring with a guy and fight like a couple of rabid dogs? What the hell is that about?”
A muscle throbs in his jaw. He flexes his hands on the steering wheel. “This isn’t your business, Nell.”
“The hell it’s not.” My blood is both freezing and hot. “You are my business! You’ve been my business since I was born.”