Chapter 6
LOGAN
Wrath takes to the cage first, immediately winning the crowd’s affection and praise as he makes silly, grand punches in the air, waving for them to cheer.
Among the Wilde brothers, he’s always been the charmer, always looking for an audience to put on a show for.
It’s a quality I admire, though not something I’d care to possess.
“And he may be new here,” the host goes on, “but just one look at the guy and you know he’s no stranger to a fight. It’s Sik Vik!”
I was more comfortable when I thought he was fighting Rigs, someone who frequents the scene. Some guys who come in to the cage matches, especially newbies, don’t get that there are rules, that it’s not a damn free-for-all, so this development is unsettling.
*
From the cage entrance, a guy a few inches taller than Wrath steps out.
Bare chest covered in a dragon tat, shiny chrome nipple rings, and his scalp looks freshly shaven.
The only hair I notice on his otherwise slick body is his goatee and the pubes creeping up from the low waistband of his jeans.
Judging by size alone, my brother doesn’t have much to worry about, but I get a bad vibe from this guy, and I’ve learned to trust my gut.
Guys like Killian and myself, we’ve spent our lives in a world where it’s essential to know who to trust and who to keep distance from.
A sixth sense that’s partly from our fathers—a trait of the problematic personalities necessary for being the powerhouses they once were—and partly evolved, this acute need all creatures have to survive at all costs.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Killian says pointedly, like he’s trying to make me snap.
I don’t give him any of the attention he bids for. My instincts have me locked in on Sik Vik, trying to understand where this sense in my gut is coming from.
Or maybe I just don’t want to think about what an asshole Killian’s being about Alana.
“I don’t like this fucker,” I mutter to myself, but Killian chimes in, “Same here.” I wish I could dismiss it and continue ignoring him until he goes away, but now I’m intrigued. I turn to him, and he’s got his eyes on Sik Vik too.
“You have a bad feeling about him?”
He nods, which confirms my concerns.
“That’s a guy who’s got something to prove,” Killian adds.
Even Wrath seems to notice something as Sik Vik sneers at him.
Sometimes guys will do this as part of the production, but I suspect that’s not what’s happening here.
I’m tempted to head over to the cage and stop Wrath, but I know my brother too well for that.
He’ll fight either way, and I don’t want to distract him.
Besides, if this guy’s messed up, then he’s met his match.
I shake my head, though it doesn’t help that Killian’s still watching the guy like he has a personal vendetta against him.
“You’re not helping me feel better about this.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t know that was my job.”
Fuck, it’s like he’s wired to piss me the hell off.
The bell rings, and Wrath and Sik Vik keep their distance.
I’m zeroed in on Sik Vik, watching how he moves, trying to work out his character through his fighting stances.
He comes in hard, swinging those thick arms, but Wrath is ever evasive, like he was when we were kids and used to beat the crap out of each other.
One thing he definitely learned was how to dodge a hit.
He makes sure to ham it up, earning laughs and hoots from the crowd.
But this only seems to annoy his opponent, making him move faster and harder.
Still, Wrath manages to wear him down before nailing him in the face.
“At least you know he can take care of himself,” Killian says, and I glance over my shoulder.
“Oh, you’re still here?”
“Would you care to join me in my booth?”
“Nah, I plan to track Alana down.”
His expression stiffens. “Then you’re going to force me to hunt her down?”
“You wouldn’t.”
His nostrils flare, he leans in close, and despite all the noise around us, he whispers, “Try me.”
It’s a threat I don’t doubt he means. I gulp, trying to keep it together.
“I have needs, and even if I go along with this for the sake of my family, I can’t go my entire life without pussy.”
“Then you should consider that before honoring the agreement. I’m being more than fair by giving you time to weigh your options, but as my fiancé, I won’t have you humiliating us by hooking up behind my back.”
“So you’d rather I bring her back to your place?”
“Given how it felt when I saw her hands on you, I can imagine how it’d feel to see you fucking her. I don’t think that would be much better for her health, do you?”
“That threat was barely even veiled.”
“I don’t like ambiguity.”
Shouts rise all around us, and I turn my attention to the fight.
Wrath takes a few blows to the ribs, bowing over in pain, and it’s like I’m getting the punches to my own ribs.
I can’t stand to see my brother in pain.
It reminds me of that fateful day when I returned home from school to the blood-splattered house, finding my brothers in danger.
And Mom…
I can’t even bear the thought.
Wrath recovers quickly, landing a blow in his opponent’s face, nailing him in a way that takes him by surprise, and judging by his sneer, pisses him the fuck off.
It gives Wrath a chance to escape, but he’s not playing to the audience anymore—I see that Wilde look, his birthright.
It’s the fury. The rage that stretches back far beyond our generation.
“I recognize that,” Killian remarks. “Saw that when I had my own Wilde restrained. Like you would have bitten out my tongue if given the chance.”
I sneak him a look. “There’s still time for that.”
The crowd erupts in boos, and I turn back to the fight.
Sik Vik hammers into Wrath’s skull, really getting him good.
Wrath spins around and gives a few jabs to the ribs, but it doesn’t do him any good, and another bash to the skull sends him to the floor.
I already know it won’t be a good night when we get home because Wrath hates to lose.
But my relief that the fight is over is premature because Sik Vik raises his leg.
Time stills as I see the dirty move about to take place even before he stomps down on my brother’s skull, contempt in his gaze like he doesn’t give a fuck if he kills my brother over a stupid Saturday night cage fight.
My chest constricts, my nerves shot with adrenaline.
What the hell is wrong with this psycho?
Before I can make sense of what I’ve witnessed, I’m feral, flying through the crowd, shoving guys out of my way to get to the cage. I can barely hear the audience, who’s turned on Sik Vik. I’m too obsessed with my mission, needing to make sure my blood is safe.
At a certain point, I realize I’m in the cage, barely recalling how I got there. I want to attack Sik Vik, but my instincts take me to my brother first.
Some guys tail behind me, one of them a medical expert they have on site. He hurries and checks my brother before turning to me, “We’ll get him taken care of.”
Two more guys come out with a stretcher and set it down beside him.
I glance around, looking for the psycho who did this to him, but he’s gone.
“The hell?” I approach the host, who’s trying to soothe the crowd. “Where the fuck did he go?” I ask, snatching the mic from him and shoving him against the cage.
“Mr. Wilde, I really don’t know. He was here and then was gone.”
Some in the crowd start pointing, and I hear a few that ways.
I snarl.
“Wrath, buddy?” Masters enters the cage and hurries to our brother.
The good news is, I won’t forget what that guy looked like. He has distinct features and will be easy to find, especially with my contacts. Right now, though, we must tend to our wounded brother.
*
The doc has his guys bring Wrath to the Center, just a block away.
They have CTs, MRIs, X-rays, phlebotomy, the works.
This is where Fury’s underworld brings their injured to avoid taking them to hospitals.
I haven’t been here in years, and I hate being here now, though I know he’s in capable hands.
We hire the best to care for our own, with faster and more personalized care than any hospital.
Masters and I are at Wrath’s side as he lies unconscious in the bed in his patient room. It’s difficult to tell how severe the injury is. He’s banged up badly, and the doc gave him a sedative, so it’s not like he can tell us how much pain he’s in.
Finally, Doc enters the room. “We’ve stabilized him. He’s got a concussion, so we’ll keep him here overnight for observation.”
“I want to get him home,” I insist. “We can take care of him just as well there.”
Doc searches around uneasily, and Masters tells me, “It’ll be fine for a night.”
I know he’s right, but I don’t like it. We belong at Hayward.
As Doc goes into detail about the results, trying to reassure us Wrath will be okay, which is great, my mind wanders to the guy who won’t be okay once I get my hands on him.
Sik Vik. I will find him. And the things I will do to him will be so barbaric, they’ll violate even his own fucked-up sense of morality.
Masters and I hop on a call with Malaki and Rory, explaining the incident but reassuring them he’ll be fine.
“The guy could be halfway across the country right now,” Malaki says.
“The world, if I were him,” Rory adds.
As much as they don’t want to be a part of this life, they only have vengeance on the brain. True Wildes.
“Neither will do him much good,” I assure them. “He must have a death wish because he messed with the wrong goddamn family.”
“Damn right he did,” Masters jumps in, just as a notification pops up over the video stream.
“Wait. One of my guys has something.” I read the text out loud: “Killian’s guys grabbed him and hauled him into a car.” It throws me at first, though it shouldn’t.
“He is our ally,” Rory says, and I notice Masters eyeing me, since now he knows there’s more to the story.
“Guess he was looking out,” Malaki adds.
“Yeah, sure.” I don’t really want to get into the whole I-might-have-to-marry-this-dude. Not when we have something more important to deal with.
“That’s good,” Rory says. “At least he’s gonna get his.”
But I’m not interested in Killian exacting revenge on my family’s behalf. That’s my job.