By this time, Ace realized we were both pissed, and he backed up a few steps. “Listen, I didn’t tackle Chelsea to hurt her.” He reached up and touched his temple once more. “She started throwing shit at me. She even hit me in the head with somethin’ heavy. I had to get her to stop, so I rushed toward her in self-preservation.” His attention bounced between us. “I’d never intentionally hurt her or Riley.”
“You were drunk,” I repeated. “You should’ve left when it got heated.”
“You’re right,” he said, conceding to my point.
“I don’t care what you do. But when my woman is present, you better act accordingly.”
Ace and I simultaneously grimaced.
“What?” he asked, confused by our expressions.
“It’s still weird to hear you call Riley your woman,” I said.
“Yeah, it is,” Ace agreed.
“Get used to it,” Kaden shouted over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.
The vibration of my phone in my pocket drew my attention. When I swiped the screen, I saw a text from Rico, the guy who helped run the fights.
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
“What?”
“I got a fight tonight.”
“So?”
“So, I got enough on my mind right now. I was hoping it’d be a couple days before I had to get in the ring again. That’s all.” Once I typed out a response, tellin’ him I’d be there, I asked, “What were you two really fightin’ about last night anyway?”
Ace shook his head, looking more defeated and disheveled than when he first woke up.
“I wish I could tell ya.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Bits and pieces but not enough to wrap my head around why Chelsea got so crazy.”
“Women,” I laughed. “Can’t live with ’em…”
“…can’t gag ’em,” Ace finished, his lips twitching before drawing downward.
9
Sandwiched between Griller and Pike, I could barely catch my breath, and while I wanted to escape, to run out of the building toward freedom, I realized I was trapped. To add to my heightened nerves, I was surrounded by people yelling and screaming for two guys pummeling each other in the ring. Violence seemed so freely accepted by everyone here, something I couldn’t wrap my head around. And maybe that was because I’d been thrust into the midst of violence myself.
The sight of blood and bruised skin made my stomach flip, but those same images made everyone else excited. I chose to keep my eyes closed for the duration of the fights, the sound of fists hitting flesh, making me choke on my rising bile.
But then I heard his name and my unsteady breaths evened out, and my lids opened slowly, searching the crowd for the one the announcer called Lincoln Crosswell.
From attending several fights with my captors, I’d learned this guy was undefeated. He’d enter the ring, fight quickly and either knock out his opponent or make them tap out. But I wasn’t the least intrigued by his fighting skills, although they were noteworthy. Instead, I was curious about his odd concern for me.
I didn’t know him.
I’d only seen him among hundreds of others, yet the first time his eyes connected with mine, I swore he tried to tell me something, all without speaking.
He never wore a leather vest, but I deduced he was also in a motorcycle club, his friends who showed up at his fights wearing theirs. And while I didn’t know anything about him, other than his status in the ring, something told me he wasn’t like the men who held me against my will. Granted, it was my inexperience that landed me in this mess in the first place, so I proved I wasn’t such a good judge of character. But the last time I saw him, I literally ran into him coming out of the ladies’ room, his hands landing on my shoulders to steady me in my surprise. His touch warmed me, but I was ripped backward before I could lose myself to him, no matter how silly that sounded.
While the president and a prospect from the Reapers flanked me on either side, I was still able to see the throngs of people part as someone walked down the narrow path toward the cage, their shouts and eagerness to be near the fighter reaching a deafening level.
I watched every step Lincoln took, his eyes straight ahead, focused. He was graceful when he entered the ring, floating about like he owned the place, and I supposed to a point, he did.
He wore black shorts, his chest bare, his muscles stretching beneath his skin as he swung his arms in front of him, then out to the sides in a stretch. There was a man in his corner who pulled him back and talked into his ear. Lincoln nodded once, then again, shrugging away from who I assumed was his trainer. The dark blond stranger looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. I wasn’t good with ages, but he appeared much older than Lincoln, who seemed to be closer to my age of eighteen than not.
Lost to the sight of the man in the ring, I was startled when Griller yanked me to the side.
“If he comes after her again tonight, we’ll be ready,” he muttered to Pike, raising his shirt to reveal the handle of a gun. I didn’t need to ask who he referred to, not that he would answer me even if I did, because he was talking about Lincoln.
I didn’t want any harm to come to the fighter, so I wrapped my fingers around Griller’s arm and tugged. When he looked down at me, I hesitated in speaking, expecting to be struck for my brazenness. But if it meant keeping Lincoln safe and out of their crosshairs, I had to try.
“You don’t have to hurt him.”
He yanked his arm from my feeble hold and snatched a fistful of my hair, roughly pulling my head back. “I know I don’t have to,” he sneered, his grip intensifying and bringing tears to my eyes. “But I wanna. It’s finally time he learns his place. I’m gonna wait till he’s done, though, ’cause I have some money riding on this fight.” He winked, as if he’d told me some sort of joke, my heart skipping a beat when, a few moments later, Lincoln was declared the winner.
It was only a matter of minutes now before something awful happened to him. I searched the crowd, looking for his friends, hoping I remembered what they looked like, although it wouldn’t be hard to notice them because they should be wearing leather vests. And if their enormous friend was here tonight, there was a chance Lincoln wouldn’t be killed.
But I’d learned not to hold my breath over certain situations because I’d only end up dead.
Griller shoved me toward Pike. “Watch her,” he growled. “I see Rock and Cosa back there. We’re gonna need everyone for this.” Again, he didn’t need to talk in code because I knew he planned on going after Lincoln and, most likely, his friends.
Pike steadied me so I didn’t fall. “I got her,” he replied, nodding before his president walked away, leaving the two of us together.
I was under no assumptions Pike would free me, but as his hold on me relaxed, his expression morphed from hard to concerned.
He really was a handsome guy with his light brown hair, flecks of blond streaked throughout, and his hazel eyes, which had brown specks toward the iris. The softness in them was something I believed he only showed to me. It was how he initially enticed me to throw caution to the wind and go with him back to his club that first night.