Chapter 28 #2
The whole room hissed and held their breath.
It was the first shot to land on Drew’s body, and the fighter he was facing made it count.
When Drew regained his footing, he ran a bare-knuckle over the corner of his mouth, a slight curl to his lip making it look like was smiling when he looked back up at the man he was facing.
That blood was a reminder for him to not get complacent and Drew charged forward, his biceps tense and bursting at the seams. He threw a sharp left himself—telling the world he was ready to fight to the death.
This round was much more even, a couple more shots hitting Drew hard in the stomach, turning his tanned skin raw and red, but no matter how much of a good fighter that Nav turned out to be, he wasn’t a true match for Drew—the man who’d been taught how to survive using his fists by Pete.
The Nav crashed to his knees suddenly, his nose bloody and his body weak, and Drew brought his own knee up under the guy’s chin, sending him backward at once. His descent to the concrete floor seemed to happen in slow motion before all eyes turned back to Drew.
For the first time, he was bloody, and now the game had changed.
He spat a mouthful of blood to the side, refusing to look at me when he pointed to his brothers and croaked roughly, “Ben.”
And off he went again. Another man. Another fight. Another round of pure, agonizing torture for him and for the rest of us.
No matter how strong he was, he was only human, too.
Fatigue was setting in, and I could tell by the groans and the growls of frustration he was letting slip free that he was finding it harder as time went on.
This Nav came out with brass knuckles on his right hand, and Drew’s eyes widened as he took it in.
“Come on, fucker,” his opponent taunted sadistically, and Drew froze, his brows rising high.
“What did you just call me?” he whispered.
The man sneered, smug and arrogant, waving his clenched fist back and forth as a promise of destruction. “Fucker.”
The corner of Drew’s mouth twitched in amusement.
He lunged forward, not throwing a punch, instead stepping into The Nav’s personal space, grabbing his wrist, and bending that wrist back with a hard snap until all that could be heard around the warehouse was the high-pitched screams of what sounded like a dying cat.
“My fucking wrist! It’s broken!” the Nav wailed, dropping to his knees as his face turned purple.
Drew didn’t even look at him. He paced in a circle, his chin to his chest and his eyes cast down, that jaw of his that I’d kissed so many times now unapproachable as it clenched and twitched to keep him under control.
“Slater!” he cried.
“The man’s a fucking machine,” I heard a man in a Nav cut mutter beside me.
He wasn’t wrong. As Drew paced like a caged animal, the back of his hand running under his nose, the man I knew no longer existed inside of him. It wasn’t forever, and it didn’t scare me as much as it should have. He’d buried that part of himself in order to do what he needed to do.
Eric groaned somewhere behind me as my guard stepped to the side. With one glance over my shoulder, my eyes met Eric’s. I couldn’t read Eric like I could Drew. There was no open communication between us, but a shadow of his own regret haunted those eyes that were so familiar to Drew’s.
The tone of the crowd shifted, bringing my eyes back to the circle that had now formed around Drew.
His new opponent—a guy with a wide chest and a bald head—parted the crowd and stepped into the circle of bodies with a smirk of arrogance in place.
His face and head were covered in ink, the words and images bleeding together, making him look deranged.
He curled his body for attack. His large hands gripping the thighs of his jeans and tugging to make more room for movement.
He didn’t mess around like the others.
The punch he landed on Drew’s face split his left eye open, the blood spurting out in a rush—the force of the shot so hard, it sounded like he’d snapped a bone.
Drew had barely said two words during all of this… until now. There were mutterings of pain being grumbled under his breath in the few seconds he took to himself before he righted his body, brought his shoulders back, and stumbled to the left, his vision clearly off.
“Ya like the taste of that fist, tough guy?” the fighter teased.
“Now, we have a fight,” Trigger mused.
Drew blinked wildly, his eyes as wide as he could get them before he blinked again and shook his head to try rid himself of whatever was causing him a problem.
There was so much blood.
So damn much.
“Again!” Trigger called, and the Nav moved, his arm pulled in tight before he landed a left fist in Drew’s ribs, bringing his body in on itself as he took the pain with a grunt of acceptance.
It was the first sign of weakness I’d seen in Drew, that any of us had seen, and the way Trigger leaned forward with a sick, satisfied grin on his face only made the rage inside of me flare into a full-blown wildfire.
The whole room was focused on the two men in the middle now.
Even the man supposed to be guarding me was too invested in the possibility of his asshole friend besting Drew.
The noise that rose from the opposing sides was thunderous.
The Hounds hollered out encouragement, advice, and told Drew to focus—to get his head in the game.
The noise made my head swim, and the words made my world vibrate painfully.
Kill him, being the loudest of them all.
Drew managed to avoid the next swing, but the guy recovered. It was barely enough time for me to step out of the line of men, but it was enough for me to deliver my message as Drew glanced my way through wounded eyes.
“End him!” I cried.