Chapter Eighteen
“Hey man, I thought Brick was on the schedule tonight. You got me down for the first round with a… Dionysus ?” I call to Oz as I round the doorway into his office.
Tristan hates that he’s an Ace, but the guy doesn’t seem to care much for the Club’s dealings outside of his little haven down here in the Underground—the fighting pit hidden beneath the Guardhouse. He only cares about filling his cage with bodies each week.
And how many rounds they can last.
I’m his top earner.
“Nah, Brick called in last minute, said his ‘Ma was in the hospital’,” Oz replies with air quotes from where he’s lazily reclining in his beat-up swivel chair. He follows by throwing his pair of ancient shitkickers up onto the desk and crossing them at the ankle.
“Smells like bullshit,” I offer. The aptly named meathead hasn’t turned a single match down since he signed on over the summer. I would have thought he’d miss his Ma’s own funeral if the price was right.
“Mm, I think this new guy was just hungry for a spot,” he bobs his head in agreement, a cigarette defying gravity as it dangles precariously from his mouth. “Must be a helluva sweet talker.”
“Have you seen him yet?”
“Yeah, big blond fucker,” he muses, lips twitching. “Might give you a run for your money, actually.”
“You mean your money,” I say, rolling my eyes.
I don’t do this for the cash. Though every dollar I do earn, Atlas immediately invests for us—and in turn, I manage to rest a little easier at night. The only real currency worth earning here is the cold, hard satisfaction of my fist connecting with an opponent’s jaw. Blood pounding in my ears and a crowd so loud that it drowns out the sound of the angry hornets living inside my chest.
The nest of hornets she keeps fucking kicking over every time she walks into the fucking room.
Fuck.
Oz shrugs, oblivious to my internal war. “It’ll be a good fight.” Then he waves me off, reminding me I still need to get ready.
“Alright man, thanks,” I throw back at him as I turn and head out to claim my locker for the night. Just as I make it down the makeshift hallway outside the organizer’s office, however, I catch a glimpse of that increasingly familiar long, ash-blonde hair, and the furious buzzing starts up all over again.
Because I’m here tonight for one reason, and that reason isn’t to see my 5’10’’, sass-mouthed ghost of my childhood past.
It’s to beat the memory of her out of my head using my cage rival’s face.
What I need to do is just head straight to the bathroom—tape up, stretch, and get myself into the mindset needed to walk out of that bloody arena as nothing but the victor.
Instead, I’m striding straight toward our specter like a man possessed, pulled like our chests are linked by one of those fucking red ribbons of fate, or some shit.
She’s not looking at me and I have to force down what feels like a growl. Her head snaps up from her phone only after my boots stride into view.
“Ares,” she greets warily, tipping her chin at me. No doubt trying to gauge my reception to her following all the messy bombshells she’s been dropping on my family this week.
Ares.
Definitely still getting my head around the fact she went to the trouble of giving us all codenames—though now I know a little more about her connections, the why makes a little more sense.
But I must not secretly hate it too much because my chest puffs right the fuck up at the sound of it.
And considering where we are, it’s pretty fucking fitting, actually.
“Winters,” I grunt. “You’re here.”
Of course, she’s fucking here, you idiot.
“Yeah,” she huffs, turning to elbow someone in the ribs. “Although Fight Night at the Underground wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my Friday evening when I said I wanted to go out.”
Fucking tunnel vision. I was so focused on Sabine, I hadn’t even noticed the other man standing directly beside her.
“But D’s sick of being stuck in Rox City with only Knox to spar with, so I agreed to tag along. Thought I could also suss it out for recruiting potential,” she continues, eyes roaming over the rowdy, red-faced patrons slowly filling up the stands.
I grunt. Finding out Sabine Winters is now a headhunter for a corrupt criminal organization might just edge out this bullshit with Tristan’s paternity for its level of weirdness.
She’s wasting her time, though. Most of this crowd are Aces or Ace groupies.
“I guarantee you will get all hot and bothered, though,” the guy with her purrs. He gives her a sultry eyebrow waggle, earning a playful slap to the chest with the back of her hand.
My teeth click as he glances up and I lock eyes with him.
Fantastic.
It’s the blond fucker from the diner.
The one we followed out to the middle of nowhere and had to watch play cat and mouse with our girl.
The lighting was shit, and he’d been wearing a mask, but I assume that was also him hovering behind her like an overgrown bulldog at the Symposium.
“ Ow, fuck,” Sabine grouses, flexing out her fingers. “Are your pecs filled with fucking concrete?”
My own fists flex in response to their playful banter, seeing how relaxed their exchange is. Easy .
“ Au naturale , babygirl,” he grins, lifting her knuckles and pretending to inspect them for damage. He smirks up at me and then makes a show of leaning down and running his tongue along them with a single, languid lick.
All while holding my gaze.
What the fuck.
“ Why the fuck are you even here?” I blurt, taking a step forward before I catch myself. That angry swarm in my chest is vibrating louder; the reins I try to keep in place on my temper in real danger of slipping away.
“ I'm the guy you’re about to tap out for, sweetheart,” he taunts right back with a dangerous grin. One that has all sorts of memories swirling forth—his wicked laughter, his large body caging Sabine’s up against the door of his car.
Pinning her body to the floor.
If this really is my opponent—then for the first time since I stepped foot inside the Underground's cage, I’m not one hundred percent confident about the match’s outcome.
“ You’re Dionysus?”
D . That's what she'd called him. I should have fucking put two and two together.
“In the flesh,” he winks, but then follows it up with a pout. “I see that little fucker Hermes didn’t mention me, then.”
“ D, ” Sabine cuts in like a warning.
I shoot a searching look between them, now thoroughly confused. Hermes is what she was dubbing Miller that night after the Guardhouse shooting, right? But how would this guy know that? That was after he’d seen us at the warehouse.
“Lake?”
“Blond, yay high, likes being turned into a Double Stuff Oreo?”
“ Orbison ,” Sabine hisses again, her eyes flashing toward mine.
With the cautious look she now assesses me with, coupled with the smug expression on Dionysus’s face, it doesn’t take a genius to guess exactly what happened.
I feel dizzy. “What, all three of you?”
When my brother had managed to drag himself home—smelling like sex and sea salt and on the edge of a manic episode—I tried to ignore the fact it was because he’d hooked up with her .
After hearing that he and Tristan had both fucked her—together, and in Tris’s bed, no less—those same feelings of trepidation had only deepened.
Not because I’m jealous of my brothers.
The idea of my sharing her with them isn’t a new one.
Sabine’s always been ours .
But because I’m afraid she’s not the same girl we lost six, almost seven years ago.
That she’s apparently got this whole other life—one that we’d also have to learn to share her with. I’m afraid that if we let her worm her way back in and we start playing house with her, that we’d just be packing all of these unresolved feelings down inside the cracks of our foundation like a bunch of C-4.
At which point, we may as well hand her the match so she can skip straight to lighting the cord and blowing our hearts to fucking pieces.
Again.
And I know Lake's not as discerning as the rest of us with his bed partners, but hooking up with this guy? It almost feels like a betrayal. Like he’s been sleeping with the enemy.
“Ares—” she starts, and for once, it seems she’s unsure about her next words.
To be honest, I don’t know what she could say in this moment that wouldn’t make me want to crack a tooth. Luckily for her, she’s saved by Oz’s grizzled voice coming over the tinny PA system to announce last bets on round one.
“That’s our cue, babygirl,” Dionysus declares, slapping her on the ass.
“ Asshole , I’m going to do a lap of the crowd,” she chides, but the scowl she gives him is playful. She’s not exactly short, but fuck , in comparison, he makes her look almost…delicate.
Yeah, not liking my odds tonight.
“C’mon, the thought of watching the two of us—shirtless, sweaty, and getting our bloody punch on– isn’t tickling your kitty’s fancy?” Dionysus teases. “Not even a little?”
Jesus Christ, it’s like this guy’s dial is permanently stuck on seduction .
“Go warm up, or whatever the fuck you need to do,” she gripes this time, shoving him in the direction of the mini locker rooms they have set up for the fighters. He finally relents, sauntering off with a last wink at us both.
“Look—” she tries as soon as he’s out of sight.
My boots squeak against the damp concrete floor as I immediately turn, ready to head in the same direction as my opponent.
“ Wait ,” she calls to my retreating back.
It’s all I can do not to turn back at the hint of a plaintive lilt in her voice, but I can’t deal with any of that right now; I’m just about out of time to get myself fight-ready.
“Come find me after,” I growl over my shoulder. “We’ll talk then.”
Damn , he can move fast for being such a large motherfucker.
I might have several inches on him, but this Dionysus guy’s built like a powerhouse—all broad, solid muscle mass.
I pivot, his knuckles only grazing my cheekbone instead of the hard jab behind them finding its connection.
Trap muscles ache sharply as I bring a wrist up to swipe across my forehead, matching rivulets of blood and perspiration inching down my face.There’s a tiny amount of satisfaction when I see Dionysus do the same; forced to squint against a small but aggressive bleeder that’s now dissecting one of his brows.
A tiny amount because absolutely none of it’s slowing this fucker down. At all . And I’ve already lost track of how long the match has lasted, thus far.
Even still, I can’t help the manic grin I’m wearing.I always feel at home in the cage. The adrenaline of the fight loves to hold me hostage on the canvas, and it’s been so long since someone managed to put me through my paces.
Dionysus returns the wide smile with one of his own—lips and teeth equally as bloody as mine. He runs a sweat-slicked palm down the line of his obliques. “Not slacking on me, are you, Ares ?”
Asshole.
I’m starting to flag, and he knows it. I can see him sizing up the condition of each of my weak spots.
Sees I’m tight around the lats, that my range of motion isn’t all there.
Clocks the knee I’m slightly favoring.
I don’t fall for his taunt though. Instead, I crack my neck and slide my feet back apart. Bringing the weight forward onto the balls of my feet. Waiting on tenterhooks, hoping to catch any hint of his next plan of attack, all while trying not to lock any of my aching joints into place.
He nods in approval at my show of resolve, knowing I’m not going to be the one to go on the offensive this time. Not in my state. So it’s only another slow blink of heavy eyelids before he makes the first move, feet gliding across the cage floor like he was born to dance, not bare-knuckle fight.
My eyes are hooded, but they still eat up every vibration of muscle, every rise of his chest, until?—
Right there.
There’s a split second between heartbeats when I telegraph the subtle drop in his torso, and I finally realize he’s about to try ending this thing in a grapple, not a strike.
I brace my weight then, pitched forward to meet him; slick, tattooed muscles slipping and sliding when we collide in the middle.
The sides of my ribs pinch as I haul one arm up and under, snagging him before he can manage to readjust his axis. The clinch is fucking messy; there’s just too much sweat and blood and fibrous tremors to pull it off with any sort of finesse.
But it works.
It fucking works.
I know it does the moment I feel his pelvis flex forward and his knee rotate inwards, shifting his center of gravity just past the stable point needed for a guy his size.
And I know for sure it works the moment we crash to the floor and the takedown is mine.
Fuck.
It’s done.
“ Shit , I really fucking needed that,” Dionysus gasps out from beneath my chest. He’s staring up at me intensely, something like pride in his olive-green eyes.
I hum before clambering gingerly to my feet, feeling like every blood vessel in my body is trying to fill itself all at once. I glance down at him, mind blank of anything but a cloud of endorphins, before finally offering out my hand. He takes it with a cheerful slap of his palm to mine, letting me haul him to his feet. My ribs and thighs bark with the effort.
Another enthusiastic slap—to my upper back this time—and I don’t protest at all when he uses the hand to steer us toward the gate. I can barely even hear the roar of the crowd right now; my head still feels like it’s underwater with the rush of the win and the throb of my injuries.
“Can’t wait to work with you, man,” Dionysus is saying against the shell of my ear. “You’re gonna be dangerous once we finish polishing you up.”
“We?” I croak.
“Knox and I will train you, fit you out. I’m sure Zeus will be happy to jump in on marksmanship. You any good with long-range weapons?”
“Uh, only ever run with handguns. A few blades.”
“All good, we’ll sort it,” he says with a grin.
I blink, twice, when I’m suddenly deposited in front of Sabine. Somehow, we’d made it all the way out of the cage and back onto the Underground floor.
“Babygirl! Ares for the win ,” Dionysus crows, cuffing my head and giving it a gentle shake while I sway in place. “Alright, I’m hitting the showers, our girl will take care of you,” he adds with a final slap to my shoulder. I nearly groan out loud when my abused delts scream in response.
But then my eyes land on her and all the pain takes a backseat and the familiar buzz starts back up behind my sternum.
“C’mon, big guy,” her mouth says, and all I can think is that fucking mouth.
I realize, rather belatedly, that she’s started gently herding me in what I think is the direction of the locker room. She has one arm wrapped around my waist, the other held gently against my abdomen. And I’m struck by just how non -Sabine the gesture seems.
Because there’s nothing gentle about Sabine Winters.
She also doesn’t shrug off the arm I settle around her shoulder, and for just a moment, the droning din of the hornets lowers—just a little.
I can make out the doors to the improvised bathrooms when our path is darkened by one of the absolute last motherfuckers I want to be dealing with when I’m still coming off a fight that intense.
Or ever.
“ Baker ,” I grit out.
“First Sinclair, now Jameson, Winters?” the prick says, dragging his eyes down her body, the disdain clear in his voice. “Do they know you broke into their place yet?”
“Le -on ,” Sabine greets him, enunciating his full name in a way that, for some reason, has the sneering linebacker flinching. Interesting . “If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions. Again.”
The fact these two hooked up is not news to me, but it still torques the fuck out of my guts just thinking about him being with her.
Inside her.
My eyes burn.
This fucker’s days are numbered.
“Rich coming from you, Baker. Why don’t you fuck off back to your little biker clubhouse?” I growl, very casually pressing her closer to my side. His eyes flick down at the movement before he redirects his sneer to me.
“Says the wannabe gangster. Don’t hate because you and your boys passed on an opportunity,” Baker mocks, spreading his hands.
“Not sure if wiping Club asses is anything to brag about, but you do you, I guess,” Sabine shrugs, trying to tug me forward.
“We passed for a reason, dumbass. Enjoy our scraps,” I jeer.
“Enjoy mine ,” he spits right back, with another pointedly aggressive rake of his eyes over Sabine’s slender form. His smile is oily.
Just before I can lunge at him, Sabine yanks me sideways so suddenly I almost pitch over. She uses my momentum to turn us and then bodily steer us away from the smug fucking Titan.
“Raincheck,” is all she says, staring straight ahead.
Looking forward to it.
Because I didn’t miss the look of dark fury that flashed across Baker’s face the moment she turned her back on him.