Chapter Two #2
Five years ago, those words would’ve had all of us moving in unison, no questions asked. We were a solid front back then—brothers in blood and bond. Reign, Berk, the guys and me—we knew each other’s rhythms better than we knew our own. But everything fractured.
Now, there’s this silence between us, heavy and sharp, filled with all the things we’re not saying.
I see it in the way Rowen’s eyes narrow slightly when he seems to know I’m thinking about Berk.
In Emerson’s hesitation, the way he walks the line, never fully on one side or the other.
There’s still loyalty there, sure—but there’s doubt too. Doubt in her. In me.
And that’s the part I can’t stomach.
That they could believe for even a second that she might’ve betrayed us.
That she would’ve done something to deserve what happened that night.
It’s not just frustrating—it’s infuriating.
It festers in the cracks of our bond like corrosion, poisoning everything we were supposed to stand for.
We’re still a family, technically. Still fighting the same war, living under the same roof, bleeding for the same legacy.
But it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Not when the one person who should’ve never been doubted is the reason for the silence in the room.
Emerson drives us through the city, weaving through traffic like it’s second nature, his knuckles tight on the wheel.
None of us says much. The car’s thick with silence and barely veiled tension.
I’m still chewing on the same thoughts that haven’t left me for weeks, maybe years if I’m honest. But Craig messaged earlier, saying there’s some hotshot new fighter drawing a crowd tonight at the Underground.
Claimed she’s got the crowd foaming at the mouth, and we’d be idiots not to come watch.
I wasn’t planning on going out before my fight later tonight, but the idea of a distraction is too damn tempting. Anything to keep my mind off the past.
The moment we step into the warehouse, the place explodes around us—sweaty bodies packed shoulder to shoulder; the air vibrating with heat and adrenaline.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, a collective fever pitch pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Emerson leans in close, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
“Are they yelling… Cupcake?”
I narrow my eyes and listen harder. The chant rises again, louder this time. “Cupcake! Cupcake!”
I nod slowly, the name lighting something in my brain I can’t quite place. “Sure are.”
Rowen’s lip twitches, almost like he wants to laugh, but it never reaches his eyes.
We start pushing toward the ring, but there are too many people crushed around it for us to get anywhere near the front.
Doesn’t matter though, not when a flash of purple hair slices through the crowd and catches my eye.
And then she strikes.
A blur of motion, she drives her knee hard into her opponent’s ribs, the brutal crack of bones snapping echoing through the warehouse like a warning shot.
The poor bastard folds in on herself, collapsing under the sheer force of it.
The crowd hisses in response—one of those collective, teeth-sucking winces that says Damn, that had to hurt.
But it’s short-lived. Their sympathy burns off like steam, replaced with bloodlust as the announcer steps into the ring.
Craig’s voice booms over the speakers, full of bravado and pride. “Your winner!”
The place erupts. She barely lifts a hand in acknowledgment, already turning away from the spotlight like she doesn’t need it. Like she’s got nothing to prove, and no one to impress.
But something about her… it’s sticking in my chest like a needle. The name. That hair. Her fire. I don’t know why, but something about this girl is dragging my thoughts right back to places I’ve been trying to bury for years.
“Fuck, bro. Wish we hadn’t missed that,” Rowen mutters beside me, his tone low but laced with regret. His eyes follow the tattooed firecracker as she moves through the crowd like smoke, impossible to hold on to. “She looks like she’s got moves. I may have to introduce myself.”
I glance sideways at him, my jaw ticking. “Not if I get to her first.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, but I don’t wait for a response.
Crowds aren’t his thing—never have been.
He’s always been more of a shadow-in-the-corner type unless he’s fighting or flirting.
I take advantage of the chaos and start weaving my way through the sea of bodies, zeroing in on the flash of violet hair like a wolf stalking prey.
But she’s fast.
Too fast.
By the time I make it halfway through the pit, she’s already vanished, swallowed whole by the press of people and the pounding bass. I curse under my breath, sweeping my gaze across the floor, scanning for a glimpse—anything.
A second later, I realize I’m not the only one looking.
Rowen and Emerson flank me, both of them slightly out of breath, eyes darting over the crowd like predators locked on the same target. Their expressions match mine—frustration with a splash of intrigue. There was something about her, something familiar and sharp that cut through all the noise.
“Damn,” Rowen mutters again, dragging a hand through his hair when it becomes clear she’s long gone. His voice loses that predatory edge, slipping into something more casual. “Hanging a left to find another bunny for the night.”
Typical.
Before I can reply, he’s already strutting off toward the bar, where a small herd of women start flocking to him like he’s holding auditions. I watch for a second, shaking my head, but my eyes drift back toward the path that mystery girl took.
She moved like she knew the layout. Like she belonged in the shadows. And somehow, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen her before.
Emerson and I trail Rowen through the crowd, keeping low-key as we move past the crush of bodies pressed into the bar.
This place always reeks of sweat, alcohol, and desperation, but tonight there’s something else in the air—something sharper.
Like a charge lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to snap.
We order a couple of drinks and hang near the wall, nursing the silence between us. It’s not awkward. We’ve grown used to avoiding genuine conversation, especially when it comes to the things that matter most. The ghosts between us are louder than any small talk could ever be.
Eventually, Craig signals it’s time. I down the last of my drink, and we make our way toward the ring. The closer I get, the more my chest tightens, like a pressure building in my ribs. I brush it off as pre-fight adrenaline, but it feels… off. Different.
Once the corner clears, I climb into the ring and start warming up, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet.
Rolling my shoulders. Stretching out the tension.
But the moment my boots hit the mat, my skin prickles with electricity.
It starts at the base of my neck and spiders across my shoulders, racing down my arms until the fine hair there lifts on end.
It’s like being watched. Not in the typical crowd-of-strangers way. This is intimate. Specific.
Targeted.
I pause mid-stretch, my eyes scanning the crowd. It’s a wall of faces. Screaming. Drunk. Hyped. But none of them holds my attention for long.
And yet… something keeps me searching.
I don’t know what I’m looking for. Just that I’ll know it when I see it.
That hum under my skin won’t let up. My instincts are flaring—louder than they should be for a simple fight. Something about tonight feels familiar. Like a whisper from a dream I can’t quite remember, wrapping around my spine and pulling tight. It’s ridiculous, but the sensation—the pull—is there.
I blink, trying to push the sense away, but my chest throbs with that buried ache that never really left. The last time I felt like this was years ago, back when Berk was still around. Back when we thought we had all the time in the world.
She’s not here. I know that.
Still… I can’t shake the feeling.
Across the ring, Rowen’s leaning on the ropes, but his gaze is distant, stuck in some memory he won’t talk about. Emerson’s no better. His eyes usually sweep the crowd like a sniper, but tonight they’re unfocused, drifting. He’s not watching for threats—he’s lost in thought.
And I get it. Because I’m unraveling too.
We haven’t spoken her name in years. We buried her right alongside the truth—swallowed our doubts, choked down the lies.
But the silence didn’t kill the questions.
Didn’t erase the look in her eyes the last time we saw her.
Didn’t stop that fucked-up text I got the night she vanished from clawing at me when I sleep.
It didn’t read like someone who was running.
It read like someone begging to be found.
And now, here I am—back in this pit, fists clenched, heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the guy I’m supposed to fight.
Because someone’s watching me.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel alone in the dark.
The announcer’s guttural shout of Go rips through the air like a starting pistol—and with it, the beast that’s always crouched beneath my skin unfurls.
It doesn’t take a breath before lunging forward, hungry.
It’s always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to tear something apart.
The only thing that ever soothed it was her—Berkley’s softness, her laugh, the way she anchored us without even trying.
But she’s gone.
And without her light, I’ve stopped pretending I belong anywhere but the shadows.
Everything around me dulls—noise fades, motion slows. The roar of the crowd becomes a low hum in the background; the overhead lights blur into one glaring ring. The only thing I see clearly is the man across from me—my opponent—and the fear bleeding into his wide eyes.
He’s already lost. I can see it.