Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Ingrid
The damp night air felt heavy as I trailed behind May and Amber.
It had been days since I’d seen Tristian and I was stupid enough to think showing up here would help.
Tonight was fight night, and for reasons unknown to me, I wasn’t invited.
A part of me felt small, stung by the exclusion because Tristian knew I was his loudest—if quietest—supporter.
But another part of me understood. This world of blood and bruised knuckles wasn’t where I belonged, yet here I was, chasing his shadow into the dark.
I knew the gym guys, and despite the knot in my stomach, I wanted to be there.
I wanted to be the one he looked for in the crowd.
As we reached the door, the guard’s massive frame blocked the light.
He waved May and Amber through with a nod, but his arm dropped like a lead bar the second I tried to follow, stopping me dead.
“Does he know you’re here, sugar?” he asked.
I bit my lip, the lie catching in my throat as I gave a soft, hesitant shake of my head.
He glanced back into the roaring gym, a grimace flickering across his face before he looked back at me.
“Go find a seat, and I’ll let Kane and James know you’re here.”
I nodded, slipping past him into a wall of heat, sweat, and adrenaline.
I followed the girls toward the seats, feeling the weight of a dozen predatory stares.
I kept my head down, staring at the floor until we sat.
It was early, the sound of heavy bags being hit and a few men practicing in the corner, loud in the room.
“Ingrid, we’ll be right back,” May said, her eyes already tracking a man waving them over from a few rows down.
I didn’t have the strength to protest. I watched them go, feeling suddenly small and exposed on my own.
I pulled out my phone. My heart did a painful little roll when I saw the silence. No reply to my message from this afternoon. I’d only asked if he was busy tomorrow morning; I had this silly, hopeful dream of us going apple picking. But he hadn’t given me a date. He hadn’t given me anything.
I’m the problem, I thought. He was a king in this world, and I was just an interruption he didn’t have time for.
“Hello, sweetness…” said a voice beside me, the Irish twang making my skin crawl.
I bit my lip, breath hitching as I looked up to see Darragh.
His conniving gaze mapped me, his eyes traveling over my body with a slow, sickening ownership.
He reached out, his fingers cold as he brushed a stray hair behind my ear.
I shuddered, a physical reaction I couldn’t suppress. His smile only sharpened.
“Here to see Tristian fight, eh?” he said.
I managed a single, silent nod.
Darragh turned his gaze toward the ring, nodding. “Pretty good seats right here... Glad you’ll be able to see everything.”
He didn’t leave. He settled his arm across the back of my chair, boxing me in. My eyes burned with unshed tears, my throat tight with fear.
When May and Amber finally returned, they cast a wary glance at him, but Darragh just gave them a casual, chilling nod. Then he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, his hand finding my shoulder in a soft, terrifying caress. “Don’t be nervous, sweetness,” he whispered.
I scanned the room desperately for Kane or James, but the gym was a sea of moving bodies and rising noise. Everyone was too caught up in the coming violence to notice my silent plea for help.
As the house lights dimmed, plunging us into a gritty darkness, Darragh’s voice cut through the shadows. “Ever seen Tristian lose a fight?”
My voice was a fragile, broken thing when I finally found it. “No... T-the guys tell me he doesn’t lose. He hasn’t lost a fight in a while...”
Darragh nodded slowly. “We’ll see about that…”
The announcer stepped into the ring, the spotlight catching the gold of his microphone.
I braced myself for Darragh to stay, to keep his hand on me all night, but he gave my shoulder one last, bruising squeeze before standing up and disappearing into the crowd.
His two goons appeared from seats nearby and followed.
I relaxed only slightly. But knowing he was here, somewhere in this room, had set every nerve ending on fire. I’d never understood what Darragh actually wanted from Tristian. Just that he’d be fighting under his rules… What did that mean?
I tried to focus as the first two fighters stepped into the ring. The bell rang sharp and I flinched at the first jab. The audience roared, Amber and May with them.
I shouldn’t be here. If Papa found out this was what my abuelita had given me permission to do... I didn’t want to think about it.
“And the winner is Killer Knock-Out!” the ref shouted.
The night blurred into a cycle of violence. Three more matches passed, each more brutal than the last. The man they called “Killer Knock-Out” lived up to his name, tearing through his opponents with a terrifying, calculated skill. Who he was, I didn’t know. I’d never seen him at the gym before.
I watched him retreat to his corner, and my stomach dropped when I saw Darragh leaning over the ropes, whispering to the coach.
He looked oddly pleased with the coach’s nod and response.
The “Killer” stood up, taking a swig of water before his eyes scanned the crowd.
Then they landed on me, locking tight, and he flashed the most predatory smile that made my blood run cold.
“AND NOW, THE MAN YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR, FOR THE MOST ANTICIPATED FIGHT OF THE NIGHT. GIVE IT UP FOR THE REAPER!”
The gym exploded. The sound was deafening, a mix of worship and hunger. I frowned. The Reaper?
“New stage name?” Amber shouted over the noise.
Then I saw him. Tristian. Even in the shadows ringside, I knew those broad, powerful shoulders.
He walked toward the ring in a hooded black sweatshirt and white boxing gloves, the contrast stark.
When he ascended the stage and pulled back the hood, my heart stopped.
His face wasn’t the face of the man who held me; it was a mask of cold, dead stone.
He handed his hoodie to James, his expression utterly void of emotion.
Unlike the others, he didn’t strip down. He stayed in a long-sleeved black shirt, hiding his ink, hiding the parts of him I knew.
The bell rang. Usually, Tristian was fluid, a predator in motion.
But tonight, he stayed rigid. He didn’t move to study the “Killer.” He just put his hands up in a defensive stance and waited.
My heart hammered against my ribs as the opponent lunged, throwing a hook and a cross.
Tristian blocked them, but he didn’t counter.
He just stood there, taking the impact. Why?
A jab landed, snapping Tristian’s head back. I saw him wince, a small, human crack in the mask. Instead of exploding back, he lowered his guard. He let the man hit him again. And again. Three times, the sound of leather hitting skin echoed like gunshots.
The crowd was turning, cheers morphing into confused murmurs.
I leaned forward, my breath hitching in my throat. Tristian wasn’t fighting; he was enduring. I looked toward the corner and saw James and Kane vibrating with fury, their faces red. Then I looked at Darragh. He was leaning back, a look of pure, satisfied malice on his face.
Have you ever seen Tristian lose a fight?
We’ll see about that…
The realization hit me instantly. Tristian was losing on purpose.
“Not really living up to your new name, are you, Reaper?” The Killer taunted, circling Tristian like a shark. “You’ve lost your fire...”
I stood, my palms slick with sweat, my heart screaming. I looked at Darragh, and he met my gaze with eyes like daggers—a silent, lethal warning to stay down.
The Killer followed Darragh’s gaze to me and scoffed.
“Got a new dollbaby that’s making you change… No wonder you’ve gone soft. Gotta be nice to her little pussy, huh...”
The shift was instantaneous. Tristian’s spine straightened. The temperature around the ring seemed to drop. Kane and James went deathly still. The room began to quiet as The Killer, sensing he’d finally found a nerve, leaned in closer.
“Yeah, bet she’s fucking tight, huh? With that little body on her,” he mocked. “Well... just like you got your own little bitch, Darragh made you into his.”
The Killer swung for another throw, but the man he was fighting wasn’t there anymore. Tristian blocked the blow with a crack that sounded like breaking bone, following it instantly with a devastating body shot and a lightning-fast uppercut.
The Killer staggered backwards, stung. He let out a humorless, shaky chuckle. “Struck a nerve, huh?”
The crowd began to boo the Killer, the tide of the room turning. But he just laughed, looking around as if he’d already won. Behind him, Darragh was no longer smiling. He looked livid.
The Killer looked back at me, his voice carrying in the silence. “When you lose, hope you don’t mind letting me use her for a quick fuck—”
The rest was lost in a blur of violence. Tristian landed a sucker punch that nearly took his opponent’s head off.
And just like that, the Reaper had arrived.
He moved with a terrifying cruelty, landing another two jabs and an uppercut that sent The Killer reeling. He stumbled, his eyes glazed, but Tristian wasn’t done.
My hands flew to my mouth as Tristian unleashed a barrage—ten, no twenty blows back to back, driving his opponent into the corner.
The ref’s whistle shrieked, but Tristian was deaf to it. He was a machine of destruction. Face, chest, stomach, jaw. I heard the sickening crunch of a nose breaking. The crowd was a riot of noise, but no one moved to stop him.
Tears blurred my vision as Tristian delivered a final, crushing blow. The Killer crumpled to the mat, out before he hit the floor.
Tristian didn’t celebrate. He ripped his bloody white gloves off, the Velcro tearing loudly, and hurled them at Darragh’s feet. When the ref raised his hand, Tristian didn’t look at the crowd.
He looked at me.
His face a dark scowl, Darragh turned and walked away into the shadows without a word.
Tristian grabbed his duffel bag and vanished toward the locker rooms.
I pushed through the sweating, shouting crowd, my heart in my throat as I followed him. I was terrified. Seeing that much power, that much rage, was paralyzing, but the need to be near him was stronger. I needed to know he was still the man who held me.
Tristian walked into the locker room, and I slipped in after him. He fell heavily onto the bench and began unwrapping his hands, his breath coming in deep, jagged lunges.
“Go home, Ingrid,” he muttered, his back to me.
I took a trembling step closer. “You won...” I whispered.
He spun, and the anger in his eyes made me flinch.
“I was supposed to lose,” he admitted.
I bit my lip, my fingers tangling together. “W-why?”
He let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
I moved until I was only inches away, the scent of sweat and leather thick between us. “Did it have something to do with me?”
For a long moment, he just stared, gaze lost into the floor. Then, finally, he said, low, “It was to keep you safe.”
“Safe from Darragh?” I asked.
Tristian’s silence was all the confirmation I needed.
The fear that had been holding me together broke, and I threw my arms around his neck, my face buried in his chest as the tears finally came. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his heat, and I choked back a sob.
“H-how hurt is he?” I asked. “That Killer guy?”
“He’ll be in the hospital for a while, doll...”
“Is that what he would’ve done to you?” I asked, my voice thick.
Tristian shook his head. “Not tonight. Maybe in future, if I let Darragh push me around for long enough. But I’m not going to do that. I can’t.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whispered, and I meant it with every fiber of my soul.
“I didn’t want you to come,” Tristian growled. “I almost killed a man because of what he said about you... and I failed to keep you safe.”
I shook my head, holding him tighter.
Tristian had scared me. The violence had been absolute. But as I stood there in his arms, I realized I’d never felt more secure. Maybe my father had broken that part of me, the part that knew to run from dangerous men.
Or maybe Tristian was just different. He was a monster to the world, but he was a shield to me. He had nearly killed a man to protect my name, and in the dark reality of my life, that made him the only sanctuary I had left.