Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
DAVE
Justin finished strapping Dave’s ankle and carefully worked his boot back on, and then Raf was back. With a last strained smile, Justin moved away.
All that was left for Dave to do was watch Christian fight.
He told himself Christian had survived worse, that he’d survive this too.
But something about the way Christian moved made Dave’s skin crawl.
Every motion was honed, efficient, brutal and beautiful, yet beneath that grace, something was wrong.
He’d been pushed past his limits. They were going to force Christian to fight over and over, until all he knew was savagery and killing.
He shivered at the thought, then told himself that could never happen, because Matt would come for him. He might be too late to stop this today, but Matt would never leave Christian here.
That knowledge comforted him slightly as he watched Christian’s lethal grace and the deadly, perfect arc of his body. Even like this, with the stakes what they were, Christian was beautiful and Dave couldn’t regret a single thing about loving him.
He was so busy watching Christian’s iron will drive his body through exhaustion and out the other side that he didn’t realize how long the fight had gone on.
Not until Christian stumbled and went into Eagle’s elbow rather than away from it.
That was all Eagle needed to sweep his legs from beneath him and take him down.
For an instant, Dave thought that was it, that Christian had done the unthinkable.
And maybe he’d tried, but his instinct to protect himself kicked in hard.
From underneath, he locked Eagle in a tight hold, legs coiled with precision and strength.
Then, in a move that bent even the laws of physics to his will—or at least demonstrated an obscene amount of skill—he twisted them both, rolling the fight and pinning Eagle beneath him.
They were straining, muscled bodies testing for the minute shifting of weight that was all it would take for positions to be reversed, and Dave saw it happen. Saw when Christian loosened his hold fractionally. He tilted his weight and let the balance tip.
Dave’s heart clenched. It went against everything in Christian’s nature, everything he’d been taught, everything he’d survived. But he’d done it. He’d stopped fighting, made himself vulnerable. For Dave.
Dave’s eyes were burning as he watched Eagle punch Christian in the face. One. Two. Three hits, fast and brutal. Christian’s head snapped sideways with the last one, blood arcing through the air.
Dave was on his feet, a scream tearing out of him. The noise from the crowd drowned him out, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His vision blurred as blood streamed down Christian’s face in vivid red streaks.
And Christian wasn’t moving.
CHRISTIAN
Blows rained down on him as he lay there unprotected and let it happen. He grunted as pain exploded across his cheekbone and he thought that this was how his life would end, the same way it had begun, in pain and helplessness.
But there was no fear, not now, because this was his choice. Even as everything swam around him and his heart jolted unsteadily with adrenaline and pain, he felt the same peace that he’d seen in Dave’s eyes.
The weight was off his chest. He lay there, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe, aware of movement and noise, but nothing made sense.
Dave was kneeling beside him, his voice breaking on his name. And somehow, Dave’s arms around him were helping him to sit up as everything around him tipped and went fuzzy at the edges.
“You won,” Dave said, his voice low and hoarse. “They’re letting us go.”
He knew he should say something because he could feel the worry and fear in Dave, but it was too much effort.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that before someone got their hands under his arms and pulled him onto his feet, though he couldn’t tell where his legs ended or the floor began.
His head was going to fall off his shoulders, he was sure—it felt like an overripe melon, too heavy and soft in all the wrong places.
But a shoulder was under his left arm, Dave was on his other side, and they practically carried him to the fighters’ area.
They sat him down in one of the seats and he was aware of someone fussing around him, shining a light into his eyes that hurt like fuck, but all he could really see was Dave. He didn’t know why Dave was so sad.
“I’m sorry.” Dave’s voice cracked on the words. His fingers clenched around Christian’s, like the world had ended and he was the one who’d pressed the button.
“God, Christian, if it hadn’t been for me… I’m so sorry you had to do that.” Guilt rang through his voice, but worse than that was the utter desolation in him.
“Don’t,” he said, and found that talking must have split his cheek open again because he could feel warm, wet blood spilling down his skin. But hey, women liked scars, or so they said, so maybe Dave would as well. “Easiest decision I ever made.”
And the thing was, it was true.
Dave’s throat worked and his nostrils quivered and his eyes were getting all—oh, God, no, please don’t let Dave cry, because Christian didn’t know what he’d do.
Tony was suddenly there, looming over him, and Christian tried desperately to get on his feet to meet the threat. But for the first time in his life, someone else was there, putting himself between Christian and danger so he didn’t have to fight.
Christian had never seen Dave like that before—vibrating with fury and ready for battle.
“The cut you would have got last night,” Tony said, shoving a fat envelope at Dave. He didn’t wait for Dave to say anything, just turned away as if the transaction was beneath him.
The hairs on the back of Christian’s neck stood up when he heard more footsteps approach, and he knew who it was before he looked.
Barton didn’t speak immediately. He stopped a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his coat like he had all the time in the world. His gaze rested on Christian, who’d summoned the last of his strength to stand.
“You cost me,” Barton said, voice low and flat. “You paid. That’s the end of it.”
He turned to go, pausing briefly to speak over his shoulder. “Don’t come back.”
And then he was gone, and Christian could breathe again. The last of his adrenaline vanished, and he was glad of Dave’s support as he fumbled back down onto the chair. The front door slammed behind Barton, echoing in the big, empty building.
When the hell had everyone else left? And who was that futzing around over there with the gauze and the—oh. Blondie.
Dave leaned in close to Christian, lowering his voice so Blondie couldn’t hear him. “They really are letting us go. Maybe we were wrong about you-know-what.”
Or maybe they just weren’t in a killing mood today. Just because they were letting them leave, didn’t mean they weren’t guilty of murdering Jesse’s pack. Which meant they should get while the getting was good.
Dave finally thought to open the envelope he was clutching, and stared down at the bills inside. “Why did they pay you? I don’t understand—they made you fight.”
“I screwed them, they punished me, now we’re square,” Christian said.
He didn’t know how else to explain what Dave clearly didn’t get.
It wasn’t a payout so much as a reminder that they were the ones calling the shots.
Maybe Christian should leave the money, except hell if he was going to do that. He’d fucking earned it.
“You can come back to my place to clean up if you want,” Blondie said, and he was talking to Dave. Like he couldn’t look Christian in the face. Like if he did, Christian would see how badly he still wanted to get into Dave’s pants.
Dave hesitated, and Christian took that as his cue. “We’ve got a flight,” he said, and got to his feet. His knees didn’t buckle too badly this time, so that was an improvement, even if he thought he might be sick from the way the world was moving up and down.
“You should get checked out—”
“No.” The last thing he wanted was someone else poking at him. He just wanted somewhere quiet and peaceful where he could sleep the worst of this off, curled up with Dave.
Blondie nodded. He looked like a kicked puppy.
“Justin,” Dave said, and it sounded cautious. Like Dave was stepping on eggshells. Or nutshells, maybe that worked better for a vegan. And what the fuck was wrong with Christian’s brain?
“What we talked about before, the pack up on the cliff. D’you know if anyone laid them to rest?”
Blondie shook his head, staring at the ground. “Don’t know. Didn’t go back there.”
Dave reached out, gripped his shoulder. “You should go to Portland,” he said, and even by Dave’s standards, that was a weird thing to say. What had Portland done to deserve Blondie and his soulful eyes and his puppy-dog yearning for Dave?
“I mean it, walk away, start something new,” Dave said.
Blondie nodded, before turning away.
“Let’s go home,” Christian said.