Chapter 36
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
WILDE
I try to keep my distance and focus on training for the next week, but injury or not, it doesn’t stop me from climbing through Hudson’s window every second night. He’s too hard to resist, and the more time we spend together, the more sex we have, the longer I stay afterward.
At first, it was seconds. Then minutes. And last night, I couldn’t make myself get up and leave for a full half an hour. Even though my brain was very clearly telling me it was time to go, there was something instinctual anchoring me to the spot.
That same something I’m ignoring right now as I turn the bowl he gave me over in my hands. Gracie + Hudson. I’ve seen how much Grace has improved with her pottery, so I know she didn’t make this.
Hudson did.
He made it.
For me.
I swallow thickly and set it aside, my gaze catching on the small closet in my room. For the first time in … I don’t know how long, my fingers itch for rough strings, a steady hum, a soft, scratchy voice that I haven’t heard in so long. And never will again.
Yeah, I’m going to ignore that too.
Peril is tonight, and while I’m healing well, I know that Foley will target my injuries for a win.
It’s stupid to even go because I’ll walk out of there with wounds reopened and in worse shape than I am now, but it’s not like I can skip this one.
If I’d won last month, it wouldn’t be an issue, but with nothing last month, probably nothing this month, and then next month not being a guarantee, I don’t want to throw away a chance.
I’m only mildly embarrassed about talking Hudson’s ear off about it last night.
I’ve spent the morning warming up and the afternoon taking it easy, so once night rolls around, I grab my post and head toward the Lair.
With all the extra cars making their way into Wilde’s End, I leave my truck behind and take the distance by foot like usual.
The walk there and back helps clear my head, and afterward …
every single month for too long, I’ve gone down into Wayward.
Technically, there’s nothing stopping me from doing it again tonight, except for this off feeling.
Hudson and I aren’t exclusive. We’re not anything to each other.
We gripe at each other and sometimes get off, and once or twice, he’s brought out an emotion that wasn’t total irritation, but none of those things are reason enough to stop doing what I’ve always done.
None except that I don’t think I want to.
“ Argh .” I scratch the thoughts away and try to focus on the upcoming match.
Last time, the match went longer than they normally do, and Foley seemed like he didn’t even feel some of my bigger hits.
His torso was full of mottled bruises by the time we were done, and the only reason he won was because of a sneaky shot right to the armpit.
It was so unexpected I didn’t brace for it and lost my footing too easily.
This time, I’ll stick to the bigger, lower platforms and not let Foley draw me up higher.
Booker’s at the door to the Lair, and he eyes me as I approach. “This should be interesting. Like watching him play with roadkill.”
“Don’t count me out yet.”
He waits until I pass him and reach the door to speak again. “Your boy came to watch.”
“The fuck.” I swing around to him. “This is a closed event. Why did you let Hudson in?”
“Because I invited him.” I’m about to lose my cool when Booker goes on. “Interesting, though, that you immediately knew who I meant.”
I think back over his words, insides shriveling as it hits me that Booker never said his name. Goddammit. I storm inside before I can give him any other wrong ideas and go in search of Hudson.
People already fill the tiered seating, ready for the first match that has just been confirmed. I watch as money trades hands, gaze searching out the one man who shouldn’t be here.
He’s closer to the floor, irritating blond lock flicked up over his forehead as he looks around like he’s never seen a room so full of people before.
There will end up being a few hundred once everyone arrives, and while the Lair is big enough, it’s not huge.
The noise gets deafening, and the heat bakes into your skin by the time you walk out of here.
I take the seat beside him. “Why are you here?”
“Wanted to know what all the fuss was about.” Hudson turns his bright expression on me. “Where’s Foley?”
It only takes a quick glance around the room to spot him. He’s tall, bigger than I am, with smooth black hair and a skeleton mouth tattooed over his own. “Over there.”
“He looks like even more of a dickhead in the light.”
“Agreed.”
“Fucking hot though.”
I cut a look Hudson’s way, hating the darkness that hits at those words. “When he wins, why don’t you offer to fuck him then?”
He leans in, almost nose to nose. “Maybe I will.”
“Good luck with that.” The words barely make it past my teeth. Looks like I’m going into Wayward after all. I stand, intending to put as much distance between us as possible, but Hudson tugs me back down next to him.
“Not so fast. I need you to teach me the rules.”
“Why?”
“I want to know what I’m watching. I’ve never seen one of these matches before.”
I huff and point to the platforms at all the different heights in the middle of the room. “The aim is to stay on those and use this”—I tap my post—“to knock your opponent off.”
“So you run around hitting each other with sticks?”
“Basically.”
“Sounds like how my brothers and I used to sword fight when we were kids.”
This is nothing like that, but I don’t bother pointing it out.
Just wait for the first match to begin. The people new to Peril are up first, but even with their inexperience, they’re good to watch.
A man and a woman take their starting points on the floor, and once the buzzer sounds, they launch onto the platforms. There are ten in total, with bars hanging overhead that I like to use to evade Foley’s long reach, but most of the novices ignore those.
These two are the same, jumping from one platform to the next, mostly keeping their distance until one of them gets confident and moves in for a hit.
The first thwack echoes over the cheering around us and has Hudson jump in his seat. “Whoa, that sounded hard.”
“It was.”
He takes the post from my grip and inspects it. “Heavier than I thought.”
“Most people prefer the lighter ones because they’re whippy and easier to move with, but the heavier ones mean every strike counts.”
“This could do some real damage.”
“It’s why hits to the head are banned.”
“Good call.” He hands my post back to me as the two people we’re watching draw to a close.
The man has the woman cornered on the top platform.
It’s one of the smallest, barely enough room for one person to stand on, and any experienced fighter avoids being cornered there.
The man sends a slashing hit her way. She blocks the blow and charges forward, but right as she jumps, he redirects and takes a swing at her legs.
His hit collides with them both, sending her off course, and her post drops as she grabs the platform instead.
The metal slips through her fingers, and with a foof , she hits the padded floor, and the buzzer sounds, ending the match.
The crowd is an equal mix of cheering and booing at the result.
“Huh,” Hudson says, looking around. “It’s like American Ninja Warriors.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure I’d hate it.”
“The match was cool, though.”
And because I can’t stop myself, I add, “Wait until you see mine.”
“Even though you’re injured?”
“Even then.” I’m in for a world of pain, and my chances are slim, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. I test straightening out my leg, and the stretch sends frustrating fissures of pain through my thigh. “I’m going to kill Lynx.”
“Still hurt?”
I refuse to admit it out loud, but I guess that’s what happens when a machete takes a chunk out of you.
The next fighter stands and challenges an opponent. There are a few minutes before each match for side bets to be placed, and Hudson leans closer to me.
“Can you challenge whoever you want?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting …”
We don’t talk much after that. The stands fill with so many people in close quarters, the voices and cheering echoing in my ears.
One match bleeds into the next, and Hudson is hooked on it all.
As the night goes on, the more experienced fighters come out, and it’s a whole other level.
The more familiar we are with the place, the more the arena is used like an extension of our abilities.
There’s no regulation when it comes to our posts, other than being made of wood.
Some are long and thin, used like whips.
Others are short and heavy. Some people use one, and others use two. It makes every match so different.
It gets late fast, and the match we’re watching wraps up.
Foley shifts, like he’s getting ready to stand, and it catches my attention.
“Here we go,” I mutter to Hudson, nodding Foley’s way.
But almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth, Hudson pushes to his feet.
“I challenge Wilde.”
At first, I don’t think I’ve heard him properly. Then the pitch of the crowd rises over the way my name keeps repeating through my mind.
“ Me ? ”
He looks way too cocky. “Your name is Wilde, isn’t it?”
“You don’t even have a post.”
He shrugs. “Lend me one.”
“You don’t know the rules.”
“Now you’re tricking me. There are no rules.”
I stare at Hudson like I’m trying to figure out how to turn him down, but people are already placing bets. Bets on me.
The bastard tweaks my beard. “Scared, are you?”
“Only of hurting you.”
“I’m tougher than I look.”
I slowly stand, looking down slightly to meet his eyes. There’s no hesitation there, and who am I to tell him what he can and can’t do? I just have one question. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t want you to lose two months in a row, would we?”