Roman’s eyes flicker my way for a split second. Out of nowhere, and with energy I thought he no longer possessed, he delivers a clean blow to the other fighter’s jaw. Copper’s head whips to the side, and an audible gasp rips through the arena.
The boys weren’t kidding.
This is a game, and Roman has Copper right where he wants him; tired, shaken, and delusional.
That’s my man up there.
“Go, Mickey!” I yell with every bit of energy I have.
Roman’s smile isn’t slow or weary; it detonates across his face. But he isn’t looking at his opponent like he’s the prey. He’s looking at me like I’m the one he wants to ruin.
Before Copper can recover, Roman uses the momentum to send him careening back. Gone is the fighter who took the blows. Ares is a god here to remind Copper that metal is nothing in the face of the divine.
Murderous energy vibrates from Roman as he lands hit after hit, after hit, until the Russian is backed into a corner. Ares is acting like a madman. An absolute lunatic.
“If Copper loses, he doesn’t get to fight tomorrow,” Rico says.
“Tomorrow?” I squeak. He means I have to go through all this again? I have to witness Roman getting his ass kicked again?
I can practically smell the Bratva’s anger from here. A fight means money. Roman is making them lose money.
Oh God.
This isn’t just a fight anymore. This is a death wish. What if they retaliate for losing? What if the next fight kills him?
Copper doesn’t tap out, even though he can barely block Roman’s punches anymore. One right after the other, Roman descends his fists onto his prey. People with eyes filled with bloodlust wince, but they don’t look away from the massacre.
And I realize in an instant, as I avert my gaze from the fight, the Bratva aren’t the only ones who are pissed.
Ares is a nobody around here, and he just proved everyone wrong.
Chapter 25
ISABELLA
My stomach knots as I watch Copper drop onto the floor. Another man falling unconscious inside the ring.
A quarter of the crowd roars with victory. The brothers beside me join in, but I can’t bring myself to do the same. The people who’ve bet on the underdog are few and far between. Only a handful of the men’s eyes are burning with excitement, their lips pulled into smiles stretching from ear to ear.
I’m frozen in my spot as Roman winks at me and slinks back into the darkness, leaving behind the crowd to collect their winnings or mull over their losses, and for the very pissed-off Bratva to drag their fallen man out of the ring in shame.
A prickle of awareness heats the side of my face, but I can’t spot anyone looking at me when I turn.
I’m running on an adrenaline high like some junkie. My veins are buzzing from the fight, turning my blood both hot and cold. The brawl was vicious, but it doesn’t feel like it’s close to being over.
Rico’s arm curls around my shoulders, crushing me against him as he leads us to the same door Roman went through. “How good was that, aye? You know, I was thinking, if you want a tattoo too, just give me a call. Imma set you up with a real good deal.”
He slips a piece of paper into the pocket of my hoodie, and his older brother mutters, “Fucking idiot.”
Rico smiles stupidly and continues, “Promise I’ll be gentle with you, chica. I have what some people call magic hands.” He winks as he rakes his gaze up and down my body.
“Because one day they’ll disappear.” I force a chuckle at Damien’s response.
“I’m too fast for that.”
I roll my eyes without meaning to.
Rico scratches my head like I’m a dog. “What? You don’t believe me? Come to one of my matches and you’ll see your pretty boy ain’t shit. I’ll win every match just for you, bella.”
It’s odd, but I kinda like it. The only person I’ve had this dynamic with is Mickey, which makes me feel compelled to say, “I don’t know how you’re going to fight if Roman cuts off your hands.”
He smirks as he pushes the door open. “I can take Riviera. How does the saying go? Win the fight, win the girl?”
“I’m not an object.”
“Don’t need to be an object to be a prize, mu?eca.”
The idiot with the death wish doesn’t let go of me as we round a corner into the room where Mickey is wiping his body with a damp towel. His eyes brighten when they find mine, only to turn pitch black when they go to the arm wrapped around my shoulders.
The smile he draws on his lips is easy, but there’s no mistaking the deadly intent radiating from him in suffocating waves.