None of that mattered at that moment, though. There was a good chance he wouldn’t even win, and then she had no idea what the next thirty days would look like. Some part of her had been imagining him as the winner from the moment he barged into the room. Even after he’d mortally offended her, she’d hoped and hoped, if only because he was the monster she knew.
And as the matches went on, she’d actually thought it might really happen. Then, of course, the panic set in. If she did really end up with him for thirty days, what would that look like? The lingering sting between her legs and soreness in the back of her throat gave her a pretty good idea, despite what she’d said.
It felt a bit like a sick joke that just as she’d begun to wrap her head around that, the damn man had gotten himself stabbed.
She was willing to grant that he hadn’tmeantto do that, but it didn’t matter much. The outcome was the same. His odds were slashed and she was so worried that something terrible would happen to him that she could feel the coffee Maxine had given her sloshing around her insides like acid.
The air was hot with so many bodies pressed close. Sweat gathered on her chest and behind her knees as she percheduncomfortably on the edge of her seat. The noise was almost as oppressive as the temperature. It all felt a bit like punishment — for her stupidity, for his arrogance, and for whatever sin Maxine had committed that saw her dragged into the mess.
Her friend looked almost as uneasy as Francesca felt when she took her own seat. Leaning in to speak directly into her ear, the redhead asked, “When were you going to tell me the jackass wasstabbedby the corpse, formally living, in the hallway? Easton just texted me freaking out!”
Turning her head to speak in Maxine’s ear, she answered, “He told me not to tell anyone!”
“Well,everyoneis about to find out,” Maxine replied, “and the crowd is going to lose their damn minds. Do you have any idea how much money is riding on this fight? I thought his brother and the Bowan were with him to stop something like that from happening.”
“He came to see me by himself,” she admitted.
Maxine rubbed her forehead. “Of course he did.”
She could tell her friend wanted to ask more questions and possibly grill her on the nature of her relationship with the apparently notorious Amauri, but Francesca was given a reprieve when a loud, thumping beat filled the humid air.
She shrank into her chair as the crowd buzzed with a new wave of excitement, their collective gazes fixed on the man she now knew as Malachi Burke. They’d been introduced in the ballroom, then again in the parlor when Francesca was compelled to make her contracted appearance.
He was a hard man to forget, and he made Easton, who greeted him by the ropes, look like a wet noodle in comparison.
Tall, about the same age as her parents, and covered in blue-black tattoos, he stood ramrod straight beside his lean proxy. The proxy, whose name no one bothered to announce, had been nicknamedRattlesnakein her mind. Not only because of thelarge snake tattoo that swirled up his back but because he moved like one. He was so fast that it was difficult to track him in the ring.
Luis was fast, too, but he was tired and injured. One wrong step and Rattlesnake would have him.
A deafening swell of sound shook the foundations of the massive basement as the man himself entered. As far as she could tell, the crowd was evenly split between jeers and cheers. It didn’t seem to matter, though, because at a certain point it was simply a wall of noise.
Luis’s dark head was the only thing she could make out as he passed through the crush of bodies. The leaner, golden-skinned man she assumed was the Bowan Maxine mentioned stood beside him, acting as what she hoped was a body guard.
Please be okay,she prayed to no one in particular. Whoever was listening, maybe. Her family had never been religious, but she wasn’t above reaching out to the gods when necessary. Maybe not Grim, though. She had enough going on.
Francesca held her breath as Luis reached the ring. Dressed in only his tuxedo pants and once-pristine, now wrinkled and blood spattered shirt, he looked criminally handsome as he ducked smoothly under the ropes. He didn’t move any differently. Graceful but with an undeniable air of power, he shrugged off his shirt and tossed it to his escort.
Just as it had every time, the sight of his hard muscle, bloody tattoo, and the sprinkle of dark chest hair that descended low on his stomach made her insides clench. The bruise and split eyebrow only added to that roguish appeal he so effortlessly carried.
Less attractive was the wide, rubbery bandage on his side.
A murmur went through the crowd as the wound registered. It was impossible to see through the bandage, but people didn’tneed to. Its size was big enough to cause seemingly instant speculation and concern.
Shouting began, first in isolated areas of the seats, then in every row. People gestured angrily toward the ring and each other, perhaps demanding an explanation or the chance to change their bets now that his odds had dipped.
Luis seemed utterly unconcerned when he turned to look at her. Blowing her a kiss with a cheeky wink, he mouthed,“Soon.”
For the first time, she chose to respond. Leaning forward in her seat, she mouthed back,“Don’t die.”
Luis’s grin could’ve lit up whole cities. He placed his hand over his heart as if to say,“Aw, you care!”
She shook her head. The way he switched from domineering to playful shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was. Certainly it was a coping mechanism. There was no way he truly thought any of this was funny or lighthearted. At any rate, she knew for a fact that he was serious about wanting to protect her.
Maybe it wasn’t just a coping mechanism for him, she realized. Maybe it was to comfort her as well.
Francesca scooted back in her chair. Kicking off her heels, she curled her toes tightly and crossed her ankles in a vain attempt to hold herself together. Without taking her eyes off him, she reached for Maxine’s hand.
“I don’t want him to die,” she admitted, barely audible above the racket.