On her.
I jerk my head toward the crowd, scanning frantically, heart pounding harder than it ever has during a fight. My eyes rake over rows of faces, mostly a blur of sweat, booze, and bloodlust—until I find her. Pressed casually against the far wall like she’s untouchable. Unbothered.
And not alone.
Derk fucking Daniels stands beside her, leaning in too close, smirking with that lazy, predatory swagger I’ve hated since the moment I saw him. The bastard never knew how to keep his hands to himself, always chasing after barely legal girls with something to prove. My stomach turns.
My blood pressure spikes.
I should look away. I should finish this match. But I can’t. Because my eyes meet hers—and she’s already watching me.
No,laughingat me.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But there’s something in the way her eyes glint, like she’s playing a game I don’t know the rules to. Like sheseesme—really sees me—while I stand center stage, breathing heavily and clenching my fists, completely and utterly disarmed.
My gut coils.
My upper lip pulls back, baring teeth in something that can’t be mistaken for anything but primal instinct. A warning. A challenge. A fuckingclaim.
And then the sound escapes me—low, guttural, and unfiltered. A growl vibrates through my chest and crawls up my throat, raw and unrestrained. It doesn’t matter that Derk’s too clueless to recognize it for what it is. Doesn’t matter that I don’t know this girl’s name.
My instincts react before my brain can catch up.
She’smine—or she will be. I don’t know anymore. Everything’s wrong and right at the same time. And suddenly, I’m not fighting for sport. I’m fighting to remind myself I’m still alive.
Because whoever this girl is—Cupcake, Pixie, stranger—it doesn’t matter. She’s pulled me straight out of the grave I didn’t know I’d been buried in.
The soft widening of her eyes reminds me of where I stand and that I’m not alone. Extra senses rush through my body,predicting the lame attempt of a swing, allowing me to dodge it easily and return another hit to the ribs. This time with a crack.
There’s no time to fuck around now. Not when Pixie is out there up against a devil. The need to get there, to protect her, is instinctual. Between jabs and cracking bones, my attention continues to flash to her.
Finally, the asshole’s down, clutching his body, and moaning in pain. No longer of interest and tired of waiting for the announcer, I step over my opponent’s bloody body and exit the cage.
Emerson and Rowen are confused, searching the area for immediate threats. When they come up empty and I don’t fill the gaps, they trail behind me until we reach Derk.
But she’s gone.
Annoyed at her second disappearing act, I spin Derk around, only to be greeted with a crushed, bloody nose. His. Not mine.
A smirk tips my lips, knowing the purple-haired minx is responsible. Not good enough though. “Nice to see you’re getting along well with others.” My mocking words hit their target, as Derk turns red. “Where’d the purple-haired girl go?” Again, the growl rumbles the words from my lips.
“Fuck you.” Derk’s slips one of his shirts, trying to stop the bleeding. “Not my problem if your bitch is straying.” His pride is wounded, being bested by a chick, so he’s lashing out.
“Not mine… yet. But, since you’re already aware—” My fist slams into his kidney, dropping him to his knees, before I compound my pixies hit with a knee of my own. He’s barely conscious, groaning on the floor, where no one is paying us any attention, I issue another warning. “Stay the fuck away from her. You see her, you turn the other way. Got it?”
A small nod follows his groan.
I spit on his prone form before walking away with intent.
I’m going to find her.
Tonight.
Chapter Three
Berkley
That was close. Too close.