She’d only taken Easton’s offer because it sounded fairly straightforward. A few people throw some punches, someone wins, and she gives blood to them for a month. It hardly seemed as dramatic and dangerous as Maxine and Luis had implied, and even if she’d taken their warnings seriously, she didn’t think she could’ve imagined it would be likethat.
She just needed money to help her parents and find her sister. Doing something a little shady didn’t seem so bad when her motivation was pure.
But this wasn’t shady. This wasbloody.
A mixture of shame, humiliation at her naivety, and familiar guilt curdled her blood. She hunched in her seat as prickles spread across her skin. Clammy and fighting to keep the small amount she’d eaten down, she barely registered the gloved fingers squeezing her wrist. “There are healers on staff,” Maxine promised over the sounds of the crowd settling. “If anyone can help him, it’s them.”
Francesca nodded, but she didn’t look up again. Her eyes stayed firmly on her knotted fingers as the next fight commenced.
When the crowd whipped themselves into a frenzy, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten. And when the announcer called out the next match, she was unaccountably relieved to hear it wasn’t Luis.
He won’t be fighting, anyway,she tried to reassure herself.He’ll have a proxy. He’ll be safe.
But that didn’t make her feel that much better. A life was a life, and to lose it for some stupid game and an even stupider blood type made her want to vomit.
She didn’t look up again until, inevitably, his name was called.
“Next match: Luis Amauri versus Theresa Barton!”
Despite her best efforts to pretend like she wasn’t there and none of this was happening, Francesca’s eyes flew open. She hadn’t been able to find him before and she quickly realized why that was. He hadn’t come down to the basement with the rest of the contestants.
There was a moment of confusion when Theresa Barton’s proxy entered the ring alone. A buzz went through the crowd. Speculation no doubt ran rampant through the gamblers as everyone searched for the Amauri.
In hindsight, she should’ve expected him to make an entrance. And she never should’ve expected him to play by the rules.
The crowd went quiet as the doors behind the other contestants opened. A man who looked almost identical to Luis save for his lack of beard stepped out first, completely dressed, and was followed by a darker skinned man in a pin-stripe suit. His appearance sent the crowd into a flurry, but he meant nothing to her.
And then there was Luis.
He emerged from the darkness with a wild grin, his tuxedo jacket, shirt, and shoes missing. The other contestants parted for him, their faces a mix of surprise and annoyance as the spectators lost their minds.
Her ears rang as she watched him duck under the ropes.
No, no, no.
He wasn’t supposed to fight. He was supposed to have a proxy. Those were the rules.
She’d sat on a couch and laughed with that man. She’d listened to him talk about building his baby cousins a “mansion in a tree”. She’d daydreamed about him and kissed him and cried over him even though it was ridiculous.
The thought that he might die because of a choice she’d made was utterly intolerable.
Francesca lurched from her seat, driven by instinct to stop this nightmare before it could begin. Maxine snatched her arm and held her back from charging toward the ring. Still, she refused to sit back down. Her eyes remained locked on his shirtless back and the bloody tattoo that wound its way up from his right forearm, across his shoulders, and down the opposite side of his neck.
Luis spun on his heel to find her. Standing before his opponent, he lifted his chin and pressed his fingertips to his lips for a kiss.
The whistle blew.
There was no sound for her. Everything but Luis was blotted out. She didn’t notice Maxine’s grip or the roar of the frothing crowd or even her own discomfort as every muscle in her body strained with tension.
Luis moved not with grace but with palpable electricity. His body snapped from one place to another like lightning strikes. Even when his hits didn’t land, they made a different kind ofimpact. His opponent balked every time Luis drew near, often over-correcting until he nearly stumbled.
Even when his opponent nearly managed to get a hit in, Luis was so quick that he could effortlessly dodge at the last possible second. Francesca was certain that for the crowd, it was an absolutely thrilling match to behold.
For her, it was a nightmare that didn’t end until the arc of blood sprayed the ring. It dripped down his chest and arms when he turned back to find her again. His dark eyes fixed on hers.
Lifting his bloody claws into the air, he mouthed,“Two to go.”
ELEVEN