33. Andre #2
The elevator was a luxury box with space to fit ten people. Yet, with the five of us crowded inside, the higher we went into the mansion, the thinner the air.
Unlike most fight clubs, when held at the mansion, the fighters were on the roof of one particular wing.
Someone like Vicente would have hated the way it went against the opulent beauty of the mansion, except he had it constructed in such a way it was a natural amphitheater, with stone benches for seats descending to a platform for the fights.
The only thing he would need to bring in were lights, which were easy enough to disassemble.
As the elevator dinged and the doors opened, we stepped into the empty hall. Now, this was eerie. There should have at least been an attendant here to greet anyone in a position of power who was attending the fight.
I almost pointed it out to my brothers, but I didn’t. We were late, after all.
The door to the rooftop opened easily, but it would lock once it shut. A way to keep the common attendees from accessing a private part of the mansion.
Booming Latin rap dominated the rooftop. Men and women, both young and old, mingled through the space. Some were dressed to impress; some were dressed to blend in with security. These types of events could always be counted on to have one thing.
Sex.
Many of the women from the Gallery were dusted in gold and dressed in sheer wraps around their hips, nothing to cover their tits as they walked around with trays of cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.
Except for a few discreet acts here and there, Vicente ran a classy event. The debauchery was always saved for the gallery. As the alcohol flowed, the women were choosing their targets to accompany them down after the fight.
Where the women at Maikel’s gallery were barely coherent, these women, many of who were proud to serve him, were some of the best spies. I’d tried to flip a few before, but I’d never had any luck. They were too blinded by his charisma and power. Snowed by his wealth.
We approached the bottom where the fight would take place. Grey’s top manager broke away from a group of men to collect him. He bent in his ear, probably giving him whatever update on gossip, Bruno, or overall mansion details he thought might help him.
For all my brother’s faults, he was respected by his men. The top advisors and managers would never betray him. Before he left with Garcia, Grey turned to Amorette. He swept the hair off her shoulder and bent down to lay a wet, licking kiss over her lips.
I could kill him.
We’d decided we weren’t going to make her a bigger target than what she was. And he fucking kisses her in front of the pit of vipers?
“Well, that’s my cue to check the pulse of the crowd, don’t you think?” Parker clapped me on the back then wove through the crowd. Probably to find his next fuck.
“Don’t let her out of your sight, got it?” Grey leveled fucking jittery Lafe with a death glare.
“I was the one who saved her in the first place,” Lafe returned through gritted teeth. “I think if anyone is going to protect her, it would be me. Putting a target on her back before you enter the ring is not protecting her.”
Grey’s jaw ground as he looked across the floor to Bruno laughing with his team.
He really was a big motherfucker. He was five years older than Grey, but he had three inches and fifty pounds on him. And he had a fucking meat tenderizer in his fist.
Was that his weapon of choice? Fucking shit.
He grinned at Grey, flashing a missing front tooth.
He’d lost it in a fight a few years earlier while he killed his opponent by strangulation.
And the crazy fucker never replaced the tooth because it was a trophy from winning.
Someone said he’d had it encased in gold and glass and on display at his house.
“Be careful, okay?” Amorette caught his hand as he started to walk away. If I were anywhere else and not under the microscope, I would have dropped my head in my hands. This kind of stupidity couldn’t be made up.
Grey at least knew better. And he better fucking prep her better next time too.
My lovestruck brother didn’t answer, he didn’t even smile. It was good to see he at least retained a few brain cells. These sharks would pounce on any advantage he gave up, and his out-of-character fondness for her was a weakness.
“You’re not allowed to die. Not after you forced me to accept this fucking life.” Amorette dipped her chin as a warning shot through her voice.
My psycho brother almost fucking grinned, but he managed to wipe it away and left her standing between Lafe and me.
“Come on,” I grabbed her arm, much like I had when I led her through the compound, as I moved us toward the first bench. With Grey fighting, we’d be right behind his team.
Vicente could either be next to us, across from us on Bruno’s side, or in the box with the announcer, lording over his people. With him, it depended on his mood. Only time would tell if this was a setup.
We shuffled Amorette between us, and I kept her half a step in front of us so she couldn’t be snatched without us noticing. Yes, I was that paranoid.
At that moment, I looked up at the box and locked eyes with Vicente. A cruel smile tilted his lips and he moved his gaze to Amorette, drinking her in.
He shook his head at me; his meaning was clear.
How stupid can you be?
Well, pretty fucking stupid. He was in the box, Grey was entering a fight to the death, and Amorette was a blinking neon light.
I scanned the crowd for Parker and found him, right in the center of the crowd, visible to almost everyone because of the bleacher-style seating.
A girl with a full head of black hair was on her knees, hands on his hips, sucking him off as he glared at Vicente in the box.
If Vicente noticed him, he didn’t show it.
He hated public displays of sex outside the Gallery and as soon as Parker had learned that, he made it his mission to flaunt sex acts in front of him, practically daring Vicente to punish him.
Lucky for Parker, I—and later Grey—seemed to get the majority of the punishments.
The music stopped and the conversation died down.
“Gentlemen. Ladies. Lovers and fighters. Welcome to tonight’s entertainment. I hope you’ve placed your bets because the pool is now closed.” The announcer’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Tonight, we have special guest, Grey Morozov, and reigning champion, Bruno Vasquez.”
He went on to list stats and accomplishments that didn’t matter one fucking bit. I turned my attention to Grey. His team was smearing Vaseline over his face and body, taping his hands. They did leave the tape on his right hand a little light.
Smart. He’d be able to handle the knife easier.
I almost whistled when his weapon glinted under the lights. It was a wicked long blade with a serrated edge. The curved length was as long as his forearm and most likely weighted for better impact.
No one made blades quite like Grey.
Amorette made a choked sound as the fight officially started, and Grey entered the makeshift ring and circled Bruno.
He should have had weeks to train. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Vicente wanted one of them dead. But was it Grey or Bruno he wanted gone?
Never one to wait for the fight to take place, Grey suddenly yelled and attacked Bruno, but he was ready. They clashed together in a series of punches. Neither seemed inclined to use their weapons yet. In that they both had the same mindset.
A quick fight wasn’t any fun…
Watching them beat the shit out of each other was like watching a deadly, dangerous dance of furious fists and flashing weapons. For every punch that Grey landed, Bruno got one too. In the first five minutes, they were evenly matched.
Then they started to use their weapons.
Bruno caught Grey’s side with the hammer, right over his liver.
Wincing, but showing no other outward sign of pain, Grey caught the skin on the outside of the thigh with his knife, leaving the skin in tatters from the jagged edge. Blood sprayed the mat and ran down his leg in dark ruby streaks.
Another hit from the hammer, this time to the hip. Another slash from the knife on the backside of the knee. It at least seemed like Grey had a strategy of where he sliced. Bruno was getting sloppy with his hits.
He got more in, but that fucking mallet haphazardly caught random parts of his body.
Amorette gasped, pressing her fingers to her lips as Bruno caught Grey’s jaw with his meaty fist.
Stupid girl. She was giving everything away.
Grey stumbled, and I bent forward, ready to leap down if he fell to the ground. He didn’t. One of Bruno’s team caught him and pushed him back into the ring.
And that fucker caught him in the stomach with his tenderizer. Grey doubled over, spitting blood across the ground.
Then the moderator called a short break.
I started to breathe again as Grey chugged a bottle of water as his team spoke in low tones. He nodded, then stepped out onto the floor.
Bruno took his sweet time drinking his own water, and once he finished it, he shot Grey a bloody smile, as one of his eyes was already swollen shut.
Both men were littered in quickly forming bruises. Bruno sporting a few cuts.
Vicente was sitting forward in the box as Pilar leaned against his back. He had bloodlust in his eyes as he waited for the match to start again. Pilar glanced at me but didn’t make any gesture of hello.
That was good. She needed to steel herself for the night to come as his chosen companion tonight.
The fight resumed, but instead of attacking Bruno as was his typical style, Grey wove on his feet.
“Andre,” Lafe said, a frantic note in his voice. “Do you see that?”
I did. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Intervention in fights could mean a death penalty for the interrupter and the one they rooted for.
“What? What’s happening?” Amorette turned to me then Lafe when I didn’t pay her any attention. I was too focused on watching Grey as he struggled to lift his arms.
Bruno stepped forward and started wailing on his face, his tenderizer forgotten as he dropped it to the ground.
“He was drugged,” I said robotically.
Grey had taken so many hits or the drugs were too strong that he was only upright because Bruno gripped his neck.
“Stop it!” Amorette screamed. She started to run out, but Lafe picked her up and swung her behind him.
I didn’t wait to make sure he had control of her. I jumped to the bottom level, only one row down, and ran to Grey.
Men tried to stop me, but I punched one in the mouth and head-butted another. Then they let me through.
“Stop!” Vicente yelled through the microphone just as Parker, Lafe, and I placed ourselves between Grey and Bruno.
The crowd had gone eerily silent. We’d never interrupted a fight before. In fact, we were the monsters most of these pendejos were scared of.
Vicente covered the mic as he spoke to the announcer next to him. When he spoke into it, my stomach plummeted.
“It seems there’s been a violation of house rules. Grey Morozov has been drugged. Bruno forfeits the fight and, therefore, his life.”
Screams and whistles echoed off the roof as people geared up to get the bloodshed they’d shown up for.
“What?” Bruno whipped his head up to face Vicente. “I didn’t. I no cheat,” he bellowed.
But I didn’t wait for the executioner. In this, because Vicente had declared it, I pried the knife from Grey’s loose fingers. Parker yanked Bruno’s head back as I sliced the blade across his throat, taking too much enjoyment from the gurgled pleas.
Parker dropped him, and we turned back to Grey, where Lafe had shoved his shoulder under his arm to lift him from the ground. Parker took the other side, and I turned to the bench and froze.
Amorette.
She was gone.