Chapter 19
Roman
Istand in the locker room, the raucous cheers from the crowd filtering into the room.
The fucking asshole is going down tonight.
Hancock is going to wish he never dared to utter my name or my pack’s from his mouth.
Fucking pussy isn’t brave enough to say it to my face.
He had to run around like a scared cat to the few followers he had.
“It’s crowded as hell out there tonight. You didn’t tell us you were the featured fight, Roman.” Nash says, as he finishes wrapping my knuckles. Holden keeps checking his phone with a sour look on his face each time.
“What’s your problem?” I ask him.
“Nothing. So, what exactly did this guy say?” he cleverly asks, changing the subject.
“Fucker claims I only accept matches with people I know I can beat. That I pay off the ref. It didn’t bother me at first because it’s all bullshit.”
“What changed?” Holden asks, as he rummages through the bag we carry with us to ringside that has water, towels, and medical supplies just in case we need them.
“He started running his mouth about our pack. How we don’t have an omega. No prospect in one. That Holden is a product of one of our fathers cheating, and they adopted you and made up the story about your parents to cover it up.”
“Fucking annihilate him,” Nash growls, his alpha dominance radiating from him.
“Oh, I plan to. The fucker will be lucky if he has any teeth by the time I’m done.” I let out a low laugh as I step away from Nash.
I need to get my head in the game and work through my pre-fight ritual.
Beginning with flexing my knuckles and clenching my fists.
I bounce lightly on my toes; every muscle in my body is wired, alive, waiting.
Sweat beads along my hairline, but I don’t bother wiping it away.
My chest rises and falls fast, and each inhale catches the metallic taste of blood from the last fight.
A throat clears, and I turn to the door to see Hal, the bouncer. “Hey Roman, they’re ready for you.” I nod and he turns, heading back down the hallway.
Holden and Nash step over to me, each of them placing a hand on one of my shoulders. “Drag it out. Make the fucker feel every ounce of pain you’re about to give him,” Holden says through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I plan to. He may get one or two hits on me, but that’s it,” I mutter, my head fully in fight mode.
I step out of the locker room into the hallway, my brothers falling in step behind me, flanking me.
The hallway narrows and darkens, the muffled thrum of bass swelling into something primal.
The crowd wants blood, and I plan to give them more.
As we step into the underground arena that the club plays a front for, I’m hit with a roar from the crowd.
The place is so packed that the bodies are crushed together.
Smoke and beer hang thick in the air, clinging to my skin.
Faces blur in the neon glow, some jeering, some hungry, all of them wolves catching the scent of blood and they're hungry for it.
I push through, the crowd parting just enough to let me pass.
Hands slap at my back, voices call my name, others curse it.
The sound is a storm—shouts, laughter, the metallic ring of chain-link rattling from eager fists beating the cage walls.
Each step winds my chest tighter, sharpening my focus until the chaos isn’t chaos anymore—it’s fuel, feeding the fire already raging in my veins.
And then I see it. The cage. Once we’re inside, there's no stepping out until the fight is over.
It looms in the center of the floor, brutal and unadorned, lit by harsh overhead lights that only emphasize the steel of the bars.
The concrete floor inside is stained with the ghosts of old fights, and it smells faintly of iron and sweat even from here.
Around it, the crowd surges, their roars bouncing off the walls, a living current pulsing through the room.
Instead of intimidating me, it only pumps me up.
I’m ready for this. I thrive here. My way of getting out all the anger and aggression within me. And tonight, I have a lot to disperse.
I roll my neck and shake out my arms as I step up to the cage. Holden and Nash head to the corner that’ll be mine, but on the outside of the cage. The only people allowed inside are the fighters and the ref.
This is it. The cage isn’t a prison—it’s a crucible. And I’m about to walk into the fire.
Hancock steps up to the door, a smirk on his face. He thinks he’s going to be the winner, but he has another thing coming.
“Let’s head inside and go over the rules,” Chad, the ref for the night, tells us, opening the cage door.
“Rules?” Hancock questions, but Chad ignores him and I love it.
“Inside,” Chad states again using his alpha bark, aiming it at Hancock.
Once we’re inside, Chad locks the gate behind us and heads to the center of the ring, placing his fingers in his mouth letting out a piercing whistle that quiets everyone.
“Good, now that I have your attention. We have a surprise for you all tonight.” The crowd lets out a roar and he motions for them quiet. “Tonight’s fight will be to knock out. It won’t end until someone is out cold.” Then he smirks and adds, “or he’s dead.”
The chain-link rattles as eager fists pound from the outside, excited for the change of events. Hancock’s steel exterior falters for a second as I let out a laugh, and he quickly regains his rigid stance. That’s right motherfucker, this is the consequence of running your mouth.
We stand in the center of the ring, each poised and ready for the fight. All I see is the look in Hancock’s eyes—sharp, unyielding, a mirror of my own hunger. Our gazes lock, and for a moment the noise of the crowd blurs into nothing.
I roll my shoulders, and shake out my hands, my breathing slow and steady. The fight hasn’t begun, but in my head it already has. Every nerve is awake, every muscle strung tight as wire.
Right here, right now, in this moment, there is only me and Hancock.
“Do you both understand the rules?” We both nod in understanding and he steps back, moving out the path of our fury. Then it happens.
The bell clangs.
I tune out everything but the fight.
I surge forward, no hesitation, the sound of my heartbeat louder than the crowd’s roar.
I bring my fists up, keeping my shoulders loose, my eyes locked on Hancock as I bounce on the balls of feet, ready to pounce.
We circle once, like predators sizing each other up.
Then he throws his fist, aiming right for my face, but I’m quicker and able to duck, already moving my hands in response, cutting upward, catching his chin, knocking his head backward.
The crowd erupts.
Adrenaline floods through my veins, fueling me. Hancock regains his footing and fires back, a low kick to my left thigh followed by a powerful punch to my chest. Pain flares, but I welcome it. Such a pussy move on Hancock’s part.
“Just like I said. You aren’t shit against a worthy opponent,” Hancock snarls.
“Ohh, don’t get cocky just yet. Those were lucky ass shots. Don’t expect anymore.” Then I draw my fist back and punch him square in the jaw not once, but twice. I don’t know what takes over me, but my whole plan of making him suffer for a long time just flies out the window.
The cage rattles as bodies slam against it, the steel shaking with every lunge. The crowd is on fire now, every punch, every grunt swallowed by their frenzy. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I don’t blink. I can’t. No way in hell will I leave the fucker an opening to get another hit on me.
My right hook connects, rattling his skull. He stumbles backward, dazed as he gazes up at me, seeing only the feral, hungry gleam in my eyes as I flash my teeth at him. Blood pours from the cuts on his face, and his right eye is swollen and hideous.
This is what I came for. To show him who is the head dog around here, and it sure as fuck isn’t him.
I toy with him for another fifteen minutes before knocking his ass out cold, leaving him a bloody, broken heap on the concrete floor. The ref raises my hand, announcing me as the winner, and before I leave, I give Hancock a swift kick in the gut.
***
“Really, your phone again?” Nash gasps, causing me to laugh. Holden rolls his eyes, placing his phone back on the table.
“This partner really has you worked up.” I comment before taking a bite out of my steak taco. We stopped at our favorite Mexican restaurant on the way home and picked up a celebratory meal. “Are you sure that you’ve never met this person?”
Holden lets out a heavy sigh as he rubs his left temple as if he’s trying to alleviate a headache.
“No, I haven’t. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know why I’m so frustrated that she hasn’t responded to my message.
I don’t get it. There’s just a nagging feeling inside me.
” Holden tries to explain why he’s in the mood he’s in.
I don’t understand it. But I never discount how my brothers, my packmates, feel.
Holden picks up his taco, taking a large bite as pieces of cheese, onion and cilantro fall from the shell.
“Think Hancock’s going to be spouting any more of his bullshit?” Nash pipes up, reaching across the table, snagging a chip and dipping it into some queso, before eating it.
“If he does, he’ll have a lisp. Seeing how I held true to busting out his front teeth. I didn’t see them on the floor, so he must’ve swallowed them.” We all burst out laughing. I start coughing, nearly choking on the food in my mouth, and quickly take a swallow of water.
“Do you still need us for the estimate on that deck job on Saturday?” Holden asks at the same time his phone vibrates on the table.
“Yeah. Told them we’d be there about ten. Once we have that done we can head out to the gym for a workout.” I watch as Holden’s eyes dart from me to the phone. His fingers fidgeting, fighting to pick up the electronic device. “Go ahead. I know it’s killing you.”
He presses his lips together, but picks up the phone, his mood instantly changing as the corners of his lips turn upward.
“I’m going to finish eating in my room.” He picks up his plate, phone and drink and heads out of the kitchen.
“Guess she wrote back,” Nash says playfully.
“It seems so.” Why do I now have a nagging feeling that something big is about to happen and our world is about to change?