Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“He hasn’t come to the past few. His brother might, but Killian doesn’t like the fights. I’ve heard he sees his real life as having enough bloodshed that he doesn’t need any as entertainment, you know?”
The thought that we might have found a place where Killian won’t be is enticing.
It’s early for my drink to have kicked in, but I feel a rush, or maybe it’s because Wrath’s idea is not half bad.
*
The Trove is packed tonight, and I already regret coming here. But something about what Wrath said really stuck with me. If I’m running around, fucking women, then I don’t belong to Killian. I’m my own man, regardless of any bullshit our dads came up with, regardless of some document I signed—the decision of a heartbroken kid, at the request of his desperate, dying father.
Despite what Killian thinks are my obligations to him now, part of me’s clinging to the hope that at the end of all this, he’ll laugh his ass off, maybe reveal that my brothers put him up to it as an elaborate prank. It’s not unlike something Wrath would do. Yet despite my attempts to rationalize this away, something deep within me knows it’s futile. That Killian absolutely expects me to marry him.
The place is loud, the shouting, screaming crowd surrounding the ring—a dome-shaped cage in the center of the warehouse, on full display for an audience that believes the highest form of entertainment is blood. Scantily clad servers weave through the patrons, carrying trays of fresh and discarded drinks, ensuring their wild horde is satisfied.
Wrath nudges me with his shoulder. “Over there.”
A few prospects with drinks, laughing together. They’re hot, and that’s about all that matters to me right now.
“Oooh, I wish I didn’t have to focus on the fight,” he says, “but I’m sure I’ll have some options by the time it’s over.”
I groan. “Wrath, you’d better win because I really don’t want to see you getting your ass pummeled.”
“You won’t. You’ll see me pummeling someone else’s ass, so cool down and have some faith in your little bro.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me farther into the warehouse.
But I’m all tensed up, hating the thought.
I order an old-fashioned, but the whiskey makes me think of Killian. I consider discarding it and ordering something else, yet find myself sipping on it eagerly.
“Just back out now,” I tell Wrath after another swig. “They can easily find a replacement. Half the guys in here would kill to get the attention of having their asses handed to them.”
“I didn’t even tell you who my opponent is.”
“Will it make a difference?”
“It’s Riggy Segal.”
“Rigs?” I know him from the underworld. A worthy opponent, who could definitely kick his ass, which gives me some comfort. Only a little, though. “I don’t get what you enjoy about these things.”
“It’s my life, isn’t it?” It’s hard for Wrath to say anything all that seriously, but I can hear the seriousness in his tone, and it reminds me of my own feelings about this life. What Dad set up for us and how I don’t want any part in it, yet here we are. And while I don’t always love Wrath’s choices, I don’t have the right to make decisions for him.
“Come on, Logan. I know what’ll cheer you up.” He pulls me over to the girls we spotted on the way in.
Maybe if I can find a girl who’s interested, we could beat it before it gets to the point where I have to watch him fight. And there’s one among them—dark hair, with these beautiful cat eyes—looking at me like she knows exactly what she wants from me already.
“You catch a lot of fights here?” I ask her, feeling like I might as well have asked if she comes here often, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Few women ever do.
“Unfortunately, my friends dragged me, and I’m eager to find any excuse to get out.”
Maybe I just found my ticket out of this, away from all that shit I don’t want to face right now. I chat her up—her name’s Alana—and we’ve barely gotten a few words in when I notice heads turning.
I follow the crowd to see an entourage entering. The first guy looks like a bodyguard—suited up, all bulk, like he used to be a linebacker. Following him is—the hell?—Killian, flanked by Jaime and Krychek. They look a little worn down, but when we make eye contact, Krychek smiles and winks at me like he got a kick out of me handing him his ass.
Killian doesn’t look as amused. He glances between Alana and me like we’ve wronged him, and instinctively, I realize that flirting with a girl while engaged to him is dangerous. But we’re not really engaged, and if he thinks that even if I did marry his ass, I wouldn’t need some pussy, he’s out of his fucking mind. Well, more than he already is.