But I say nothing.
Do nothing. I bite my tongue and watch. She doesn’t owe me anything. It’s not my job to stop her.
“Need a hand taking the edge off, handsome?” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. Roman’s hand is on her forehead, pushing her back until she’s a full arm's length away.
“Not interested.” A missing blotch of makeup the size of Mickey’s thumb marks the middle of her forehead. She blinks up at him in shock, but I have to hand it to her, she recovers quickly, plastering a saccharine smile on her irritatingly pretty face. Whether desperate or stupid, the woman reaches for Roman’s arm again.
This time, his lips crash into mine instead of moving her away. Like always, there’s nothing gentle about his kiss. It feels less like a claim and more like he’s making a pledge. He isn’t just declaring that I’m his, but he’s also mine.
Roman abruptly pulls away, leaving me breathless and my lips bruised. “Don’t touch me again. This is your only warning.” He levels her with a blistering glare that makes her rock back a step.
The blonde gasps before tucking tail and scurrying away to leave me with an amped-up Roman. Rico’s tongue is too preoccupied to notice the turn of events. As for Damien… well, he checked out the second he got paid.
“You can’t hurt her.” My voice is a combination of a plea, order, and scolding.
“I wasn’t,” Mickey says, offended. “If she tries anything stupid again, I’ll dump water on her head or something.” He angles my chin so his lips brush against my cheek. “We better get your sexy ass out of here before I fuck you while everyone watches.”
My eyes widen as heat instantly unfolds low in my belly.
“What? You think I wouldn’t have the energy to make you scream after I almost kill someone? Baby, that was an appetizer. You’re my whole meal.”
I breathe in short bursts against his face. “But…” I gulp. “I’m still sore.”
He rakes his teeth along my jaw. “Who said I need to fuck you to make you come?” He chuckles darkly and grabs a handful of my ass. “If only you knew about all the depraved things I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”
I bite my tongue when he pulls away with a devilish smirk. It’s impossible not to let his hungry eyes affect me. Especially when said eyes are paired with a bare chest, deep V, and a bulge tenting his boxing shorts.
Really, I’m fighting a losing battle over here.
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.