3. Lynx #2
But it was too late. Gold Chain was facing the other side of the circle and pointing out people. “Jackson and…Dax. Seriously, man, you fucking here again? Go on.”
I dropped my hand, disappointment coursing through me.
Luca studied me from the corner of his eye. “You want to fight?”
I opened my mouth to say yes, and instead, what came out was, “I want to feel something.”
The realization of that statement fell into an awkward silence. I forced a laugh. “Wow. I just made that weird, huh? Sorry.”
Luca blew out a long breath. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips. “More than one way to feel something, you know. You don’t have to get your ass kicked.”
I blinked, not sure if I was imagining the vaguely sexual undertones of his statement and the way his gaze had lowered to my mouth.
Because he wasn’t wrong. There was more than one way to release the pent-up energy I’d had rattling around inside me ever since I’d gotten out.
Heat flushed across my skin.
Before I could think about it anymore though, Luca turned back to the fight, and I was left looking at his profile.
He was classically handsome. Dark hair, olive skin. Might have been of Italian heritage. His jeans and hoodie were clean, but his work boots were covered in dirt and scuffed to hell. The pissed-off, I-don’t-want-to-be-here scowl only made the sharp line of his stubbled jaw stand out more.
Luca glanced over. “You gonna keep checking me out or watch the fight?”
I blew out a long breath. Okay. Definitely hadn’t been imagining things.
I shifted and shoved my hands into my pockets.
I’d had a thing with an old teammate before I’d gone into prison.
A stupid college thing that had been mostly fumbling in the dark or messing around at parties when we could blame the attraction on being drunk.
And there’d been a couple of quick fucks while I’d been on the inside. Nothing special. Just two guys taking the edge off, no real attraction at all. Just need.
A need I’d done nothing about since I’d gotten out, and now I was so fucking twitchy, I could barely stand still.
I forced my attention back to the fight, but when the crowd surged behind us, pushing me into Luca, neither of us stepped back.
My heartbeat picked up, my arm pressed against his, neither of us looking at the other. Luca tapped something out on his phone and then shoved it in his back pocket.
“Watch the fight, Lynx,” Luca said, the vague hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve just put money on it.”
Cocky son of a bitch.
Fuck me for liking it.
I focused on the two fighters stripping off their shirts, tossing them to the ground and circling each other. The closest to us was a big motherfucker. All broad shoulders and bulky muscle. Probably would have made a great linebacker.
But as they turned and the light hit his opponent’s face, I did a double take.
“I know him,” Luca and I both said at the same time.
“Dax?” I asked.
Luca nodded. “Yeah, I mean, not well. But he works at the tattoo shop.”
“Owns it,” I agreed. “Friend of mine works there too. Dax is his boss.”
I frowned at Reaper’s employer. He wasn’t short, he was at least six foot, but the other man had probably a hundred pounds on him.
The other guy moved like he’d been boxing all his life.
Dax seemed like he barely wanted to be there, despite having clearly volunteered. He sluggishly moved his feet, and just eyed his opponent.
Whatever budding attraction had been brewing between me and Luca was forgotten.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“You got money on it too?”
I shook my head. “No, I just don’t want to see Dax get hurt. I know he’s had some personal shit going on…”
Luca crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “It does seem like it’s going to be pretty one-sided.” He pulled his phone out again and tapped his finger against the glass. “I’m upping my bet.”
“On Dax?”
Luca snorted. “Is that where you’d be putting your money?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but—”
Jackson, the bigger fighter, made the first move, throwing out a punch that hit nothing but air when Dax dodged it.
The crowd around us let out a collective, “Ooh!” that sounded more like a taunt than encouragement.
Jackson stepped in once more, again swinging a hefty fist the size of a cannon ball in Dax’s direction.
Again Dax ducked it.
And then just stood there, like he was at the damn bus stop, waiting for his ride.
Jackson taunted him. “Come on! Fight!” He clapped his hands above his head a few times, riling the crowd up until they joined in with him, a low chant of, “fight, fight, fight,” starting up that matched the slow-paced clapping.
Luca joined in, then said to me, “When in Rome…”
I snorted on a laugh and shook my head, joining in the clap and the chant, because it was easier than resisting.
Dax was a grown man. He wasn’t my friend.
But I was suddenly glad Reaper wasn’t there.
I didn’t really fancy trying to hold back all two-hundred-and-something pounds of him if he decided his boss needed help.
Dax rolled his head, the crack of his neck joints popping audibly from our front-row position. He shook his hands out and finally moved a little, switching his weight from side to side.
Like he’d just been waiting for the crowd to get behind him. Waiting for that swell of testosterone and violence that was practically palpable in the air.
I could feel it.
I was pretty sure Luca could too. His whole vibe shifted. Gone was the attitude and scowl, and in its place was something different. Interest. Excitement.
He was so fucking close I could smell the scent of his soap. Cheap but fresh.
Jackson lunged at Dax for the third time.
In the middle of the makeshift fight ring, everything changed.
Dax let loose with a solid punch to Jackson’s midsection. And then swung a left hook at his face.
It connected with a crack of bone, and Jackson went down like a sack of potatoes.
And then didn’t get back up. He lay on the ground, clutching his head, groaning in pain.
The crowd fucking erupted.
You could have slapped me in the face with a fish. I had severely underestimated Dax, and judging from some of the groaning around me, Luca included, most of the crowd had too.
Gold Chain walked to the middle of the makeshift ring, checked on Jackson half passed out on the ground, and shrugged, holding up Dax’s arm to announce him as the winner.
Luca gripped the back of his neck with both hands and screwed his face up. “Well, I picked that wrong, didn’t I? Who knew the tattoo artist could fight?”
I sniggered. “How much you lose?”
“Fifty.”
I didn’t even have ten to lose, so fifty would have hurt. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s up next?” Gold Chain called.
I lifted my hand quicker this time.
The organizer pointed at me. “New guy. You’re up.”
I pulled off my shirt and bounced on my toes, waiting for him to pick an opponent for me.
Luca raised his hand.
Gold Chain pointed at him and then squinted. “Luca Gu—”
A wail of a police siren cut him off, and red and blue lights lit up the night.
“Cops!” someone shouted, the crowd dispersing in all directions, people running for cars and trucks, tires kicking up gravel. People shouted and tried to get away from the invading swarm of police cars all headed in our direction.