Thoughts raced in Everest’s eyes. Finally, he glared. “This isn’t the end of this, Fox. You may’ve won tonight, but I’ll pay you back with a whole lot of interest. Just remember me when someone pops a bullet in your brain.” Everest shrugged off his large shirt, uncovering a torso full of muscle blanketed in a layer of pudge. He used to be cut, but now he was soft around the edges. “I’ll make you pay, asshole.”
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to. He’d dug his own grave.
“Boy, pass me those fucking gloves.” Everest held out his hand for the rookie to place a pair of blue boxing gloves in his grip.
I snapped my fingers. “No gloves. No boxing. Get in the cage.”
Chapter 3
I’d always prided myself on being strong enough to handle anything life threw at me. I promised that no matter what, I would win. And until three weeks ago, I lived that promise like a law. I achieved things that seemed impossible; I overcame things that seemed un-survivable, but then life decided to teach me a new lesson.
It taught me that prices must be paid and sent me reeling from strong to weak. My outlook on life went from determined and fierce to wallowing and negative.
But the moment I walked into Obsidian, the taste of violence rejuvenated me—reminding me I was a fighter, and I would win. I just wished I could’ve avoided the catalyst that destroyed me.
Him.
Obsidian Fox.
The bastard who gave me so much but stole everything.
“What’s going on?” I whisper-hissed into Clue’s ear. We hadn’t budged from the Muay Thai ring but the atmosphere in the club changed from well-mannered and excited to restless and electrically charged. I couldn’t tell what started the switch, but it built slowly until the room thrummed with excitement.
Clue’s eyes were glued on Corkscrew. He ducked and swung, looking part god as he easily overpowered his opponent. His match had begun a few minutes ago, but it seemed the audience was more interested in the men having a conversation by the boxing ring. Steadily whispers wafted on the warm air; people shifted excitedly in their chairs.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but doesn’t Ben look delicious all gleaming like onyx and fighting like a warrior?” She smiled. Her eyes glowing with an infatuation that’d doubled from interested into obsessed. They’d only had a few dates, but she’d skipped right back into the mind-set of a swooning woman lusting after a man who would no doubt claim her and mark his territory the moment the match concluded.
Tearing my eyes away from Corkscrew’s fight, I focused on the crowd crushing together, subtly drifting toward the boxing ring.
My eyes flickered over to the man dressed all in black, barely visible through the throng of people. I didn’t know who he was. Something about him unsettled me—further amplified by the force of danger he possessed. I wanted to keep my distance, but was drawn to him nevertheless.
He’d passed us not long ago and the moment his eyes fell on me, I’d felt a shift. A spark. An awareness. Call it fear or acknowledgement of a virile male, it caught me by surprise. My entire body shot into hyper alert—heart racing, breath quickening. My body prepared to either fight or flee. I didn’t understand why he invoked such a reaction.
When he prowled past, I had the opportunity to stare at his retreating back, and I wished I hadn’t. He was tall, moving with the elegance of a man who had almost regal bearing. His back flexed beneath a tight fitting shirt while dark, bronze hair gleamed under the spotlights. He carried an air of power, of discipline, and of certain unpredictability. Everything about him sent a frisson of heat racing into my stomach.
Eight long years had passed since I’d suffered the sickly prickle of physical attraction. Sickly because when I last succumbed, all I’d earned was illness and tragedy.
It changed my life forever.
I didn’t have time for attraction.
Clara was the result of my last infatuation, and I’d been stupid. So stupid.
A wave of excitement crashed over me from the building crowd. I grabbed Clue’s hand as anxious energy unspooled in my blood. Spectators gathered tighter; heads bobbing, trying to catch a glimpse of the two men by the boxing ring.
Clue glanced at her hand in mine, then met my gaze. “Feel free to watch other fights, Zelly. I’m sure there are plenty of sexy men you could have fun with.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not interested in finding a bed-mate, Clue. I’m interested in why everyone’s acting so tense.” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I couldn’t stand there and not discover the source of the energy. My instincts said to run but my mind said to stay. I needed to understand it. Had to see it, feel it, so I knew how to defeat it.
Danger.
I’d always been able to taste when danger was near—when something drastic was about to change my life forever. And I felt it now.
Ignore it and go home to Clara. This is pointless.
Pointless, but addicting. Unwrapping my fingers from Clue’s, I murmured, “I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”
Clue was so enthralled with Corkscrew that she only nodded. Leaving her safe, I moved away from the bright halo of lights surrounding the Muay Thai area and headed toward the boxing ring.
Weaving my way through the crowd, whispered words met my ears. “It’s him. He’s going to fight.”
“Whoever pissed him off isn’t going to be happy when they wake with a concussion.”
I inched forward with the crowd, steadily growing thicker as more people drifted down from their La-Z-boys to mill around the ring.
Breaking through the swarm of people, I couldn’t understand what warranted the crowd’s building excitement or my nervousness. No threats or raised voices were heard. My skin prickled again.
You know what’s causing it.
It was all to do with him.
The man who seemed more than human; the man who set my teeth on edge.
My eyes zeroed in on him dressed all in black. He emitted an energy, infecting everyone.
He stood chest to chest with a huge brute who looked like he’d killed a few men himself. He didn’t move or speak or make any gesture of violence, but he simmered with raw energy.
My mouth went dry for no other reason than I sensed him as a terrible menace.
The other man didn’t cower, but he lacked what the man in black possessed: a rigidity, a confidence—the sure knowledge he would win, and there was nothing the other man could do.
The man in black bared his teeth, glaring at the taller guy. Their lips moved but I couldn’t hear what was said.
I ducked closer to the side of the ring as the wash of excitement from the spectators built into a crescendo. People pressed closer; the atmosphere thickened with visible tension.
I blinked and missed what started the scuffle, but one moment the men were talking, the next they exploded into a squirmish that subsided almost as instantly as it began. A few more terse sentences and the man dressed in black pointed at the cage beside them.
The referee in the cage, who’d been watching the interaction, blew his whistle, stopping a fight mid-way. The fighters looked to the side, saw the man in black and nodded, leaving the cage as meekly as school children facing a strict headmaster.
My heart pitter-pattered as the man in black spun around and caught me staring from my place by the rigging.
His gaze glued me into place; I couldn’t move—not even to breathe.
He frowned; colourless eyes darkened with annoyance. His teeth clenched as he reverberated with energy. His square jaw looked powerful while his slightly crooked nose spoke of previous violence. His cheekbones were almost too stark for his muscular body. And I didn’t need to see beneath his clothing to know he didn’t have an inch of fat on him. He wasn’t just a man—he was a walking weapon.
He was just…more. More in every way. More man. More danger. More threat than I’d encountered in any male, but it was the scar that made him unique. Jagged, irregular, it transformed half his face from perfection to sordid story. Half of him seemed approachable while the other steeped in hell.
The doors.
The depiction of heaven and hell on the doors was perfect for the man before me.
I didn’t know him—I knew nothing more than he suffered some terrible past that made him into whoever he was, but my heart beat faster. I wanted to know, wanted to learn.
That was before he dismissed me with one look and snapped his fingers at the large man behind him. Whatever brief connection existed between us was snuffed out, leaving me with a chill.
Together they made their way to the cage and climbed the small stage to enter. Once secure inside, the man turned and locked the door.
The crowd went utterly ballistic.
The large guy ran hands over his face, speaking to the man in black. Another tense standoff happened, but finally the scarred man shook his head, snapping his fingers at the referee.
Nodding, the ref pulled a wireless mic from his back pocket and faced an audience that had turned from sedate to mob worthy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a treat for you!”
The volume on the crowd’s enjoyment dipped, holding their excitement in eager bodies. Impatience filled the large space as they tried to quieten.
My heart raced harder; blood pumped thicker.
I wanted to run. I couldn’t move.
The man in black morphed before my eyes. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, rolling his neck, he gathered every bit of energy from the room until he positively glowed with violence.
“It’s a special event—unplanned and never to be seen again. Between two ruthless contenders, please put your hands together and give a rip-roaring welcome to Mount Everest!” The referee pranced around the large shirtless man, reeling off facts. “Weighing in at two hundred kilos, Everest is well-known for his stable of elite boxers and an all-time winning streak of seventeen to none. Semi-retired, he makes his living off training other impressive fighters but is still a fearful mountain of muscle. This is the first time he’s been in the cage in over six months. Let’s make him feel welcome…Mount… Everest!”
The crowd clapped and whistled while a flurry of cash was transferred from one palm to another while bets were placed. I stayed stiff, trying to become invisible by the rigging.
Everest held up his hands, grinning with gleaming gold teeth. His bravado couldn’t hide the sheen of sweat or pallor of fear.
The crowd screamed harder.
I grimaced. He seemed juvenile even though he was older than his opponent.
The man dressed in black shook his head, saying something that caused Everest to growl in anger.
The referee put the mic back to his lips and the applause faded away. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the fighter who will be going head-to-head with this well-known opponent.”
Screams rose from the crowd. I cocked my head, straining to hear. I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know why he enticed and made me fear all at once.
The ref carried on, “I’m sure this man doesn’t need an introduction.”
The crowd went positively bonkers. Feet slammed against floors and women squealed.
“Fox.”
“Fox.”
“Fox.”
The man in black held up his arms, letting the audience rain him in misplaced affection. He didn’t smile. He didn’t encourage; he wasn’t there to be adored, unlike the other man. He was there to fight—pure and simple.
Spectators cheered, adoring a man who looked like the devil himself—a man about to indulge in illegal blood sport.
The referee laughed, shouting over the manic crowd. “That’s it everyone. Our very own! The owner of Obsidian! Please put your hands together for…Obsidian…Fox!”
My hands twitched to clamp over my ears. I never thought such a sedate crowd, all sequestered in the dark, could conjure such mayhem.
The moment the ref finished introductions, Fox launched himself at Everest. No hesitation. No pause.