Chapter 30
The day drags on. I’ve not heard from Killian or Derren, other than Derren telling me he’ll pick me up, as we need to talk. I spend the day trying not to think. Trying not to look at the tattoo. And just ignoring the fact that my love life is going to shit.
I dress smart but casual, which, I suppose, is my go-to.
My reflection mocks me, I barely recognise myself in the mirror.
All this started because I longed to be wanted, to have someone.
To be in a genuine relationship. Comparing the two men has become an obsession, which is unfair to them both. It’s not getting me anywhere.
I need to give Derren a chance tonight. I need to see what he says and if there is anything there.
He told me he loved me, but I get the feeling it was more manipulation than an actual “I love you” moment.
But I’ll give him the benefit, for now. Once I see what Derren says tonight, I’ll know what to do.
The pip of the horn startles me, and I calm myself. I grab the glass of Steven’s whiskey from my dresser, drink it, and head down the stairs. As my hand reaches the front door, Steven stands from the sofa.
“Scott, be careful, okay. I don’t trust him.”
When I turn back, there’s a letter in the letterbox. I snatch it out of the door, and Steven walks over to me.
“What is it?” He leans over my shoulder. I rip it open to find a key and a note inside.
Scott, I’m sorry.
I’ve returned the key.
Hopefully, if things go well tonight,
I’ll be out of your hair.
Just remember. I love you.
Say bye to Steven for me.
Love Always.
Killian.
XX
“Steven, what does this mean?” I gasp.
“I don’t know. Look, you go. I’ll try to get in touch with Killian. I’ll message you if I figure it out.”
I nod, but nerves roll over me, and I suddenly don’t feel so sure about going out. Derren is parked by the curb, and I slowly make my way towards him. As I get nearer, I see the guys in the back, and I tense. I clench my fists at my side and stand on the curb, staring into the back of the car.
“Hey, get in. I’m only giving them a lift.”
“I thought we were going to talk.”
“We will later.” My nostrils flare, and I glare at him, but I climb in, needing to end this, knowing I’ll never be his priority. I chew on my lip as we drive. I stare out of the window as they laugh and joke. Wishing I’d realised Derren wasn’t the guy for me before I wasted so much time on him.
We pull up outside the warehouse we went to before, the one with the fights, and I stay in the car. The others get out. Derren wanders over to me and opens the door. Come on, we’re going in here for a bit first.
“Derren, we need to talk.”
“I said we’ll talk later,” he snaps as he turns and walks away, the guys falling in step behind him. I lean on the car, my head in my hands.
I hate that I haven’t seen it before. I just wanted to be loved, and I thought that’s what this was.
My feet lead me over to them, and I join the queue.
Derren tugs me through the small space between them and wraps his arms around me.
I grit my teeth when he pushes me in front of them.
He holds me tight, but it doesn’t feel like a loving embrace; it’s more like a restraint.
I don’t want to argue in front of them. I freeze at his touch, but he doesn’t notice.
He’s too busy laughing and joking with the guys.
He tugs me tighter. “I’ve got a lot of money riding on this fight, and you’re the key to my winning.”
I turn in his arms, “What do you mean?” I ask, confusion and uncertainty spread through me. I have a feeling that whatever is about to happen, I’m not gonna like it.
He leans in, his face twisted in a snarl. “You’ll see. When I win, I’ll take you somewhere nice, and we can talk.”
“Really?” He nods, leaning in and kissing me. I don’t trust the look on his face, the way his eyes twinkle as if he knows something I don’t. I’m on edge. Once we talk, I’ll be able to move on. When we’re alone, I’ll end it.
We walk inside. I hang back and let Derren pay, which he glares at me for. I see it now, the way he used me before, manipulating me, the money he spent on my card without me knowing.
Once he’s paid, he reaches over and grabs my wrist. He tugs me forward, but it hurts.
I try to pull back, but he glares at me and then drags me inside.
Resisting, I put up a fight, but dense hot bodies crowd my back.
When I glance over my shoulder, his friends glare at me, pushing me forward.
I stumble in through the door, feeling unsafe and wondering if I can slip away and call Steven.
But I’m dragged further inside. Derren shoves forward through crowded bodies, his grip tight on my wrist while his friends push me.
The constant rumble echoes across the vast ceiling.
We head towards the seated area, and Derren flashes something at the bouncer, and we’re allowed in.
We step up to the ringside, and Derren pushes me into the seat.
One of his friends sits next to me, and the other sits behind me.
Derren never releases my wrist. If anything, his grip is tighter.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. He sits staring into the cage.
His friend slides a backpack from around his shoulder, placing it between his legs and reaches in, pulling out a stack of plastic cups and a bottle of cheap vodka.
He starts filling cups, and I shake my head. Derren pushes his cup to my lips.
“Drink.” When I try to say no, he thrusts the cup to my lips and tips it. I gasp as the liquid spills into my mouth and down my chin. I cough as he pulls the cup away, but when I try to move, Derren’s friend behind me grips the back of my neck and leans in.
“You’re our meal ticket. You’re going nowhere,” he snarls over my shoulder.
His grip tightens. I wince as the other friend fills the cup again and shoves it at me. My hand shakes, and I take it from him and have a sip of the alcohol.
Derren lifts the back of the cup, and I splutter as it floods into my mouth.
The heat buzzes through me, and the noise grows muffled.
My eyes glaze over, but I sit and hope I can get away soon.
The first fight happens, and I sit numb.
Two men, beating each other, blood splatters on the mat, fists crunch, and I grimace at the sound of bone hitting bone.
I stare at the floor. I don’t want to watch this.
I can’t. I don’t understand why anyone would see this as fun.
They shout and scream and enjoy the barbaric sport.
I remain seated. I notice that Derren’s grip relaxes as he drinks more.
One fight rolls into the next, and I shut it out.
I sit staring at the edge of the cage. I can’t bring myself to watch two men attack each other.
I don’t know how long I have to endure this, but my mind wanders, playing over the conversation I want to have with Derren.
I want to end things. I don’t feel safe tonight.
Although his grip has eased on my wrist, his friend’s hand has moved from the back of my neck, but it rests intimidatingly on my shoulder, reminding me he’s still there.
I lean toward Derren. “I need to go to the toilet.”
“You can wait. The main event is about to start, and trust me”—he actually turns to face me, his face contorts as he snarls at me—“you won’t want to miss this.
” He glares back, and his friend behind me grips my shoulder tighter.
Leaning in, he says, “Keep your eyes on the cage. You’re gonna love this. ”
I keep my hands on my knees and my head down. The room goes silent as the referee steps into the cage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the reason you’re here.
Please welcome Widowmaker to the ring.” The crowd claps and whoops, and Derren and his friends jump to their feet, hollering.
Yelling out, “Yeah, he’s going down. Come on, Widowmaker!
” I try to dart away, but they snatch at me, grabbing my wrist and throat and shoving me back in the chair.
“Nice fucking try,” Derren growls at me, and their grip tightens, holding me in place.
As the lights go down and a heavy rock song kicks in, booming in the open space.
Two half-naked women prance around in front of a huge man as they dance towards the centre of the room.
The man yelling out, roaring into the crowd, riling them up.
He climbs the steps and into the cage. He’s tall, well over six feet, but he’s heavy; his stomach and chest bulge out, built more like a strong man than a fighter. He shakes his hands as he claps and punches the air. He cracks his neck and steps over to his side of the ring.
“And the reigning champion, the one you’re really here to see. Let’s hear it for,” he draws out the word, yelling it into the air before he drops his voice and growls. “Killer.”
The crowd erupts. Screams are deafening. The spotlights shine on a single figure, in a hoodie split down the sides pulled up over his head, his hands hang loose at his sides, bound and taped up, his bulging arms and thighs heavily tattooed. There’s no music, no fanfare, just him.
When he steps towards the cage, people are screaming, throwing things towards him, women whooping and gasping, but he never looks up. Until he gets to the stairs, he takes the steps slowly and carefully. When he reaches the cage, his head lifts, and he slowly removes the hood.
My hands cover my open mouth as Derren and his friends jump to their feet, booing. When the fighter hears them, his face turns, and his eyes settle on me. I slowly stand, my hands gripping my open mouth, but they shake as I stare at Killian.
He rips the fabric over his head and tosses it on the ground as the cage clicks closed behind him, and they step into the centre. The referee talks to them both, and Derren grabs at me. I realise I’m still standing, gripping my face, frozen. I’m yanked back down, and Derren snarls at me.