41 RHEA
The crowd roars as Julian takes another brutal hit, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the basement. Blood’s smeared across his face, his lip split, and his ribs visibly bruised. I glance at Corey, my stomach twisting.
“He’s getting destroyed. This isn’t right,” I say, my voice tight.
Corey’s jaw clenches. “He’s fine. Julian’s been in worse.”
“He’s not fine!” I snap, my hands balling into fists.
“That guy’s not fighting fair—he’s going to kill him.”
Julian stumbles, catching himself on the ropes.
The other fighter, a greasy-looking guy with a sneer, moves in for another strike.
Julian ducks, but it’s too slow. The punch lands hard, sending him sprawling to the mat.
“That’s it,” I mutter. “I’m getting the kit upstairs.”
“Rhea—” Corey starts, but I’m already moving, pushing through the crowd toward the stairs.
The chaos downstairs fades as I bolt up the stairs. I yank open the cabinet, grabbing the kit. My hands shake as I fumble with the latch.
Come on, come on.
A shadow moves behind me. I freeze.
“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice drawls, low and menacing. “You’re coming with us.” I spin around, clutching the kit to my chest. Two men block the exit—one beefy with a scar across his cheek, the other wiry with a wolfish grin.
“Fuck off,” I warn, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me.
The beefy one laughs. “Feisty. I like it.” The wiry one steps closer. “You’re gonna be our little distraction.
Your boys downstairs are too busy worrying about their booty call to notice what’s really going on.” I take a step back, my mind racing. Distraction? They’re rigging the fight. They’re going to kill Julian.
“You’re out of your minds,” I say, edging toward the bar.
The beefy one lunges. I swing the first aid kit, catching him in the face. He grunts, stumbling back, but the wiry one grabs my arm, twisting it hard. The kit clatters to the floor.
“Let me go!” I shout, kicking at him.
The beefy one recovers, grabbing my other arm. They drag me toward the back door, my boots scraping against the floor. I struggle, but they’re too strong.
“Corey!” I scream, hoping he’ll hear me over the chaos downstairs.
The wiry one clamps a hand over my mouth. “Quiet, sweetheart.
You’re gonna see how this plays out. Your boy Julian’s not walking out of that ring.”
The wiry one’s hand tastes like cigarettes and sweat as it clamps down over my mouth.
My back presses against his chest, and I can feel his ribs digging into me like a crooked ladder.
The beefy one’s got my arms pinned, his grip like a vice.
But they’ve made one critical mistake—they don’t know Julian’s been teaching me how to break holds like these.
I bite down hard on the wiry one’s hand. He yelps, jerking back, and I stomp my heel into the beefy one’s instep. He howls, and I twist free, adrenaline surging through my veins.
“You little—” The wiry growls, lunging at me.
I duck, spinning around him, and grab the first thing I can find— a full bottle of whiskey from Corey’s mini bar. I swing it hard, and it shatters against the side of his head. He goes down like a sack of bricks.
The beefy one’s still clutching his foot, but he recovers fast, charging at me with a snarl. I drop into a crouch, just like Julian taught me, and sweep his legs out from under him. He crashes to the floor, and I plant my boot in his gut for good measure.
“Mess with me again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk out of here,” I spit, grabbing the first aid kit off the floor.
I don’t wait for a reply. I’m already sprinting for the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. The noise from the basement hits me like a tidal wave—cheers, jeers, the sickening thud of fists on flesh.
I push through the crowd, shoving people aside, until I’m at the edge of the ring. Julian’s backed into a corner, blood dripping from his split lip, his chest heaving. His opponent—that sleazy, greasy bastard—circles him like a predator, a glint of metal in his hand.
“Julian, it’s a setup!” I scream, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Watch out—he’s trying!” Julian’s eyes snap to me, wide and alert, but it’s too late. The greasy guy lunges, the blade of a knife flashing under the lights.
Julian twists, but the knife catches him in the side, tearing through his skin. He grunts, stumbling back, blood blooming across his chest.