Chapter 48 Rowan
Rowan
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mirabelle asks, yelling loud enough so I can hear her over the roar of the crowd around us.
“I’m good, Sugar,” I say, flashing her a reassuring smile, despite the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling in my chest.
I don’t like crowds. Never been a fan. I’m especially not the biggest fan of this one.
We’re at a big fight night at The Warehouse, an underground fighting ring of the Southside. Apparently, Griffin and Ash have been working their way up the ranks and they’re the two big fights before the big headline event. It’s been two weeks since we managed to escape.
Even though they’re not the headline event itself, winning tonight still means big money.
It’s also the first fight night that Mirabelle, Rage, and I have gone to since we all escaped. Ash and Griffin have come back to our motel room a little banged up a couple times, but they’ve won every single fight.
I’m pretty sure the two of them ham up how hurt they are just so Mirabelle will fuss over them anyway.
To be fair, I do the same. What can I say, it’s nice to be taken care of. And I’d like to think I have a better excuse, considering I got fucking shot in the leg.
“Are you sure?” She asks, reaching out and squeezing my hand.
“I”m sure, Sugar. ‘Specially after Rage found me this barstool to sit on.”
Rage turns at the sound of his name, offering me a single nod before he turns back around, his gaze scanning the crowd around us.
I’m glad he’s with us. There’s no safer place for Mirabelle to be than with Rage.
Based on the way everyone seems to give the three of us a wide berth, I think everyone else knows that too.
I’m able to walk now, since it’s been two weeks since it all went down. It’s with a limp, but I’m glad to have some of my independence back. I know the guys are my pack mates now, but I felt like even more of a little kid when I needed their help to go to the bathroom and stuff.
Mirabelle’s brows are still drawn down with concern and she pouts, her bottom lip poking out.
“Now, don’t go making that face with that lip gloss on or I’ll be tempted to kiss it all off,” I murmur, leaning close to her so I can soak in her sweet strawberry scent. It’s like a breath of fresh air, being surrounded by so many people.
Something pulses in my chest. Warm and fuzzy.
Mirabelle’s emotions.
She’s flustered.
The bond between us has started to form. It’s still pretty weak, but it’s there. Well, it’s been there for her ever since she bit me during her fucked-up Franken-heat, but I didn’t get that luxury.
After two weeks of being stuck in a motel room together, though? It’s getting stronger every day.
“We’re in public!” She whisper-yells, glancing around nervously.
She’s gotten a decent number of looks, even dressed up in a hoodie and the leggings we got her on the first shopping spree we went on after Ash and Griffin won their second match.
I don’t blame them for looking, Mirabelle’s got this ethereal, effortless sort of beauty you don’t find in places like this.
But they look away real fast when they catch sight of Rage standing sentry next to her.
“People kiss each other in public all the time,” I murmur softly, my gaze dropping to her lips as I flash her a playful wink.
“I know you’re not completely good, I can feel it,” she says, shaking her head. “You can’t distract me with compliments!”
“You sure? Pretty sure I just did.” I reach out and lace her hand in mine. “And I mean it, I’m doing fine, you don’t have to worry about me, okay? If anything, I’m worried about you. You never did super well with fight nights before.”
She visibly swallows before she shrugs.
“I’m okay,” she says.
“Okay, now who’s the one who’s lying?” I say, ducking down to meet her gaze. “Come on, Sugar, you don’t need to put on a front with me.”
“Ash and Griffin wanted me to come watch,” she mumbles, shuffling her weight from foot to foot, her new Converse sticking to the concrete floor beneath us.
“You could’ve said no, Sugar, they wouldn’t have held it against you.”
“No, but I want to support them! I just don’t want to watch them get hurt.”
Rage grunts and hands Mirabelle his phone, the notes app already open on the screen.
You don’t need to worry. They won’t get hurt.
“You can’t guarantee that,” she says, handing the phone back to Rage.
They won’t get hurt badly. I’ve been watching the fighters. They’re bad.
“These fighters are bad?” She says, peering past Rage and into the fighting cage. “I can’t tell. It all looks scary.”
“I think Rage is right, they haven’t lost a match yet. Trust me when I say the last thing either of them will do is make the one match you’re watching be the one where they lose for the first time out here,” I add.
Rage nods at my words.
These people know nothing about fighting. Not like us.
Mirabelle takes a deep breath before handing Rage his phone back again.
“Okay, I’ll believe you guys,” she says, turning her back to me to face the cage.
I wrap my arms around her and lean my chin on her shoulder.
“Everything’s gonna be okay, Sugar, I promise.”
And I’m right.
Ash’s opponent comes out with some stupid stage name, pumping his fists to hype up the crowd. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m used to seeing feral alphas fight it out, but this guy, even though he’s an alpha, seems almost wimpy compared to what I’m used to.
And it’s not because he’s small. He’s still an alpha, so far bigger than me, but he doesn’t have the same fire.
A fire that’s still obviously in Ash, as he steps out. The glower he’s sporting makes whatever section of the crowd he’s glaring at go quiet until his gaze moves on. The reaction of prey to a predator.
His expression completely changes when he catches sight of us, though. His lips quirk into a smirk, and he offers us a two-finger salute.
Mirabelle offers him a cute wave and a couple of bounces on her toes.
“Go Ash!” She yells, cupping her hands to her mouth.
You’d think she’s cheering on her alpha at some sort of basketball game, not an underground fighting ring. Ash and Griffin wanted support? They’re getting it.
It’s adorable.
We’re lucky to be sitting in prime real estate. We’ve got a clear view of the fighting cage and the cage’s got a clear view of us too.
Well, I guess I call it luck, but it’s really what you get when you have a menacing six and a half foot tall wall of fucking muscle like Rage to clear the path for you.
But that also means, because of Ash’s acknowledgement of us, that a lot more people are staring at us now. Not even Rage’s glares can keep them away.
Ash’s opponent notices too, shooting Mirabelle a look that’s far too curious, far too interested to sit well with any of us.
Rage lets out a low growl and steps in front of Mira, blocking her from their view.
And also blocking her view, it seems.
“Hey! I want to see Ash!” Mirabelle says, reaching up and tapping Rage on his shoulder blade.
“Fine...” Rage says, his voice a low growl.
Seems he’s upset enough to forget his usual hesitance saying anything around anyone that’s not the other guys in the pack or Mirabelle.
By the time Rage steps aside, words have already been exchanged in the ring, between Ash and the other fighter, because Ash looks like he’s chomping at the bit to beat the other guy’s face in.
The referee blows his whistle and scrambles out of the cage.
The other guy doesn’t stand a chance. Ash doesn’t even bother toying with the guy.
He lands one decisive hit to the guy’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and practically folding the guy in half.
Then another blow to the bottom of his chin, knocking the guy clean out.
The crowd falls silent, shocked at the speed of the match.
“Wow,” Mirabelle breathes out with wide eyes. “That was fast.”
The referee stumbles back into the ring as Ash takes a step back, his lips curled back in a disgusted snarl.
“The Punisher is out for the count! The winner of this match is Ash!” The referee announces, shooting Ash a wary glance.
He doesn’t even bother trying to lift Ash’s wrapped hand into the air to declare him the victor.
The older alpha just edges out of the ring, leaving Ash’s opponent sprawled out on the floor.
“Yay! Go Ash!” Mirabelle yells over the quiet buzz of the room.
There’s a small pocket of people who start booing, though I’m not sure whether it’s at Mirabelle’s enthusiastic cheers or the fact that Ash’s fight was a little lame because it lasted all of fifteen seconds. They shut up real quick when Ash takes a menacing step towards them.
He returns his attention back to us, his expression softening ever so slightly before he steps over his unconscious opponent, vaults over the wall of the cage, and stalks towards us.
“Boy, am I glad to be one of your pack mates, you are one scary motherfucker,” I say, letting out a huff of laughter as Ash approaches us.
“Anyone give you guys any trouble?” He asks, tugging Mirabelle under his arm.
“No, no trouble!” Mirabelle answers, smiling brightly up at him. “I think Rage kept all the trouble away.”
“Good job,” Ash nods, holding out his wrapped fist to Rage, who returns the fist bump with a nod. “Sorry my fight wasn’t more exciting.”
“I mean, I liked it, you didn’t get hurt at all! I like it when you don’t get hurt in your fights.”
“Yeah? Well then maybe I’ll just have to not get hit in any of my fights from now on,” Ash chuckles.
“Do you think they’d actually let you?” I ask, not wanting Mirabelle to get her hopes up.
“No one gets to tell me how to fucking fight anymore. They can suck my fucking dick if they tell me what to do,” Ash says, his lip curling up in a snarl.
I offer a deep nod of understanding. I was surprised when Griffin and Ash seemed so hell-bent on fighting, now that we all escaped my family.
They were right though, it’s been the easiest way for us to make quick cash in order to provide for ourselves.
It makes sense they’d want to do it on their terms.
“I’m the only one who gets to do that!” Mirabelle says, pulling me from my thoughts.
The three of us, even Rage, burst into laughter at Mirabelle’s comment.
“You guys could make a lot of money,” I add with a shrug, once we all catch our breath. “You get a reputation for being untouchable, then when you and Griffin let yourself get paired with each other, he beats you and we bet on Griffin winning.”
“Who the hell says Griffin’s winning?” Ash huffs, rolling his eyes.
I raise an eyebrow, letting out a small huff of laughter.
“You’re forgetting I spent weeks watching you guys train. You’re good but Griffin’s—“
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t gotta rub that in,” Ash says, rolling his eyes. “Mr. Perfect New Guy is up soon, so we should watch his match too.”
He leans down and brushes a tender kiss to the top of Mirabelle’s head.
“You should probably brace yourself, Shortcake, Griffin draws his fights out. The bastard likes to put on a fucking show.”
“Oh,” she breathes, her eyes darting warily to the cage, where a couple of the bouncers are hauling Ash’s opponent from the ring. “Well, it’s pretend, right? He could fight well enough to do what you just did?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Ash nods.
“Okay, then I think I’ll be fine! I’ll cheer him on too!”