Skin of a Sinner: A Dark Childhood Best Friends Romance(89)

He adjusts himself and throws on a top and jacket. None of the men acknowledge each other’s departure as Roman pulls me in the opposite direction of the arena to a set of stairs leading to a fire exit.

Before I realize what’s happening, he throws me over his shoulder. “You’re not walking fast enough.”

I shriek, but I don’t fight him. I can’t believe he’s real and this is happening. This man has survived prison, worked for a cartel, walked into a ring to fight the best, and came out victorious. He killed the people abusing me, took me away from a life that wasn’t leading anywhere, and set up a house just for us, all so we could have our own slice of paradise. Above all of that, he chose me.

Every single time, he chose me. He does it all for me. How many times has he risked his life, just to spend the money on something that would put a smile on my face?

He’s real, and he wants me—not my flesh, me. He could have anyone and anything, and he still chose me.

I’m breathless with the weight of the knowledge when he buckles me into my seat. Mickey goes on, recounting the fight and reliving every moment of it, but I’m still stewing in my disbelief.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to win again,” he says with confidence I don’t feel. “And when I do, I’m dedicating my victory to you.”

Tomorrow.

Another day, another match.

I don’t need him to fight for me or for us. Not if it means that I could lose him.

“It’s not just a fight, Mickey.”

He squeezes my thigh. “It’s business, Princess. Those men walk into the room knowing they could lose money. I’ll be okay.” He bites the inside of his lip, smiling to himself. “I like it when you worry about me.”

I sigh. “There has to be another way to make money without putting a target on your back.”

“Didn’t I promise you this will be the last one? I’m going clean after this.”

“You have an itch that always needs to be scratched.”

He can dream all he wants about keeping his fists to himself, but the liquid pumping through his veins is ninety percent bloodlust. He can’t just quit. Because then he’ll realize that a starved lion will eat anything. Someone will set him off, and we’ll end up in the same place, amongst the same crowd. And maybe he’ll end up in prison again, and I’ll be alone. Again.

“How will you stop it from festering?” I add.

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as tension gathers in the air. “Do you know what happens when you fight in prison?”

I shake my head.

“They put you in a box,” he starts. “Four walls. Six feet wide, twelve feet long. One bed, one toilet, one sink. There’s a blurred window the size of my hand, so I can’t see out of it. You don’t talk to anyone, don’t see anyone, don’t have anything in there to make the time go by. You just sit there. Sometimes it’s cold, and sometimes the air conditioning is conveniently broken. Then the lights go out.” He laughs half-heartedly to himself. “What do you do when you have nothing to do all day? You sleep. What do you do when the lights go off and there’s nothing but silence and you can’t sleep anymore?”

My fingers tremble as I wrap them around his hand.

“I thought at twenty years old, a basement would be nothing more than a room. But some basements are rooms, and some are prisons. The only difference between the two is what I bring inside.”

Tears gather on my lower lashes. Squeezing his hand, I bring it to my lips and press a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

“I went in the box once, then never again. Any fight I got into, I didn’t start. Any energy I needed to burn found an outlet that didn’t involve anyone else. Flat hands, my shrink called it.” He turns to me so his silver eyes can sear into mine. “I won’t go back into the box, Isabella. I stopped once; I can stop again.”

“I believe you,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the top of his knuckles.

“I’m not leaving you again. I promise you. This is it. Tomorrow’s win will set us up for the whole year. Just trust me, okay?”

“I do.”





Chapter 26





ISABELLA





Heat licks at the base of my spine, seeping desire into my bloodstream. An ache grows slow and needy in my core, building faster with every second and spreading along my every inch like wildfire. It’s a blinding spotlight within the darkness, calling me closer.

I’m chasing it, but it’s not enough.

More.

I need more.

My body moves, searching for release while debauched noises escape past my lips. I’m too delirious to figure out what sound I made or to be embarrassed.

I know it’s cold—the type of cold that makes my nipples hurt. But it’s confusing. I don’t know how or why, but the bottom half of my body is warm, and my blood is on fire. I can’t stop moving. It feels too good to stop. The light is right there. It’s so close. Just a little more and I can reach it. I have to reach it.

My body takes over, attempting to move my hands to my center and take what I need. Yet, I… I don’t move. I try again, but my hands, they’re… stuck?

Pleasure curls through me, forcing me to shiver, even though my hands are still fixed together.