Chapter 32
Piper
The second we walk inside, noise hits us from every direction.
People shout over one another, cheer from every corner.
The crowd feels unhinged.
Half the academy seems to be here.
Possibly more.
The Thirteen Circle hosts these matches every now and then. Sometimes for entertainment, sometimes to make an example out of someone.
The line between the two tends to blur.
Which is exactly why they happen off academy grounds.
Things here have a habit of spiralling.
They become too bloody, too brutal, too mafia.
I’ve never attended one before, and honestly, I’m beginning to question why I allowed Adelaide to drag me into this tonight.
It resembles an underground fight more than anything else. At least MMA fights have rules.
Strict ones.
Here?
Rules barely apply at all.
Well… aside from the no killing rule.
And even if someone crossed that line, I doubt many people here would so much as bat an eye.
After all, on Elaris Isle rules tend to become rather flexible.
The academy belongs to our families. And so does the island. The police, the doctors, the authorities.
At the end of the day, they all cash cheques signed by the same hands.
“Do you want to wait in the office until I finish here?” Adelaide asks over the noise of the crowd.
I swallow hard. “I think I’ll have a drink first.”
We make our way towards a private section, a booth reserved for the Circle, I gather.
Adelaide tips her head towards the two men already seated there, and I recognise them as the right hand men to the Circle leader.
They acknowledge her with a nod of their own before their attention returns to the ring.
I glance towards it and realise we have a perfect view.
Probably the best in the entire place.
Only then does it properly register that a match is already underway.
Two men move around the ring as punches land hard and fast.
A waitress stops by to take our orders, and the second I look back towards the ring, one of the fighters hits the floor.
Hard.
He just lies there motionless while the crowd roars like lunatics.
The man acting as a referee—or whatever qualifies as one in a place like this—steps forward and raises the winner’s hand while the crowd grows even louder.
The fighters clear the ring, the unconscious man eventually regains consciousness and gets helped out while music blasts through the speakers and the next match is announced.
My strawberry daiquiri arrives, and I take a sip just as the hair on my skin rises.
Everything inside me stills.
And I don’t know why.
I look towards the ring the moment the next fighters step forward.
The first man is enormous.
His shoulders are broad, he’s tall and all muscle, built like a wall, really.
Then the second man steps into the ring, and the entire crowd loses its mind.
My heart stops.
Literally.
Hunter.
He walks into the ring with a level of confidence so different from the version of him I’m used to seeing that for a second, I barely recognise him.
Gone are the tailored suits, the immaculate hair, the expensive watches he seems to change every day to match whatever colour he wears.
Now there’s no trace of the man I’m used to.
He wears nothing but black boxing shorts.
His frame is massive, every muscle clearly defined, a faint layer of sweat visible on his skin, likely from warming up before the fight.
He’s always been broad, but standing in that ring somehow makes him look even bigger.
His shoulders roll slightly as he squares himself, his focus entirely on his opponent.
He looks so different.
Dangerous.
He’s still in control, but not in the way I’m used to.
It feels as if I’m seeing a side of him I was never supposed to witness.
The referee signals.
The bell rings.
And the first punch lands.
I nearly gasp but stop it at the last second.
I forget all about my drink on the table as my hands clench tightly in my lap and my entire body tenses while I watch.
I can’t believe this.
I mean, I know Hunter is dangerous.
He’s part of the elite, but same as us, his family has ties to the mafia, especially the Bratva.
And while I’m not personally tied to that world beyond having friends connected to it, I have a feeling Hunter’s involvement runs deeper than he lets people believe.
What I do know for certain is that, officially, he’s meant to take over the Wardgrave legacy.
Wardgrave Dynamics.
They are private defence contractors who work with the government, though everyone knows they do business with the Bratva and other syndicates too.
I watch intently as his opponent manages to land a few solid blows.
And then I see the man mutter something beneath his breath.
I don’t hear the words, but Hunter clearly does. Because one second later, something in him changes.
It’s like a switch flips.
He goes at him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“Fucking hell…” Adelaide mutters beside me, and I turn, startled, only now realising Milo Markev stands near her, his attention fixed on the ring below.
I hadn’t even noticed him arrive, too focused on Hunter.
Milo keeps his eyes on the ring, his usual amusement gone, replaced by something that almost looks like concern.
Adelaide doesn’t look away from the fight as she speaks over the noise.
“There’s a no kill rule here, Markev,”
“There is,” he says, “but I don’t think he gives a fuck about that right now.”
My attention snaps back to the ring, and I realise the man is down now.
And he’s still.
So, so still.
He doesn’t move at all.
But Hunter doesn’t stop.
He keeps hitting him.
Again.
And again.
Like he’s somewhere else entirely, too far gone to snap out of whatever rage took hold of him.
Like he only has one goal left now.
Kill.
If nobody stops him, he’ll succeed.
I don’t even think.
One second I’m seated, and the next I’m on my feet, shoving through the crowd and ignoring the complaints, the bodies in my way.
I reach the edge of the ring.
“Hunter!”
I scream loud enough to be heard over the roaring crowd.
His fist lifts again, and stops mid-air.
His head snaps towards me, and those amber eyes land on mine, so dark that it makes something inside me tense.
It sends a shiver down my spine.
But I don’t feel even the slightest trace of fear.
And he almost killed someone.
Right in front of me.
I should run.
Far, far away.
But I stay rooted to the spot, feeling a thousand different things while fear remains completely absent.
Which probably says something deeply concerning about me.
But deep down, I just know Hunter would never hurt me.
The rest of the world, though?
He’d rip it apart with his bare hands if he wanted to.
“Stop,” I say, my voice steadier than I actually feel. “You’re going to kill him.”
He just stares at me, his fist still frozen mid-air.
Then, slowly, I see his eyes starting to focus again. Like he has to force his way back into reality after disappearing somewhere else.
I watch the exact moment he properly registers me, the unconscious man beneath him, where he is.
For a second, he looks disoriented.
But then, without a word, he rises to his feet.
The referee and several others rush forward immediately and drag the unconscious fighter away while the crowd practically loses its mind, but Hunter doesn’t even look at them.
His eyes stay on me as he climbs down from the ring and walks straight towards me.
And with every step he takes, I feel like prey while he looks exactly like the hunter.
Fitting, really.
I instinctively take a step back, but it makes no difference.
He closes the distance within seconds.
His hands are still wrapped, the white material stained red now, and the second he reaches me, he lifts me clean off the ground.
My legs wrap around his waist on instinct while my hands grip his shoulders for balance.
He breathes hard, and I feel every rise and fall of his chest beneath mine.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
And then his mouth crashes onto mine.
The kiss is overwhelming.
Wild and possessive.
Completely out of control.
My body reacts before my mind even catches up, heat rushes through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
My thighs tighten around his waist while I cling to him, every hungry sweep of his tongue over mine only makes it worse.
He holds me so easily, one arm enough to keep me up while the other slides to the back of my neck and keeps me exactly where he wants me.
Like he has any right to kiss me like this.
Like I have any right to kiss him back.
Like I’m allowed to want this.
Like I’m his.
Like he’s mine.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, alarm bells start screaming at me.
But they aren’t loud enough.
I’m too consumed by the thought of what my life could have been if I hadn’t been trapped by a damned signature.
I could have had this.
Freedom.
But this isn’t my reality, and I know I should stop this. I should pull away.
Yet I don’t.
I can’t.
If this leaves this building, it could get me killed.
But right now?
I don’t think I care.
His tongue glides past my lips and he deepens the kiss until it consumes me completely, leaving no space for anything else while he kisses me like a man starved.
Eventually, we break apart.
And only then do I register how unusually quiet it is.
Reality crashes back in instantly.
My breath catches hard in my throat, and within seconds the panic takes over. I can’t breathe properly. It feels like I’m suffocating.
I press my forehead into his shoulder, my hand tighten at the back of his neck while I try—and fail—to calm my breathing.
What have I done?
There are going to be photos, videos.
“Make sure nothing from this leaves the building,” Hunter snaps at someone, but I struggle too much for air to lift my face from his neck and see who he’s speaking to.
A voice answers immediately. “Consider it done.”
Hunter moves through the crowd, his hold on me tightens slightly as his voice drops.
“It won’t leave this building,” he says firmly. “I promise you that.”
I nod and finally manage to pull in a proper breath.
I know he did this for me. More than once, Hunter made it clear he doesn’t care if people know about us.
“Breathe, love,” he says, his British accent even stronger than usual.
And I do.
Breathe a little easier, I mean.