“What’s wrong?” The heaviness in his voice wraps around me like a blanket.
“I’m too tired to talk.”
“That’s fine. The silence is alright if you’re there.”
Chapter 27
ISABELLA
The noises and smells of the arena aren’t any easier to handle the second time around. I’m sure my eardrums are a hair away from bursting with how loudly the guys behind me are yelling.
To make matters worse, the blonde from yesterday keeps shooting me dirty looks before sucking on someone’s face. Maybe she thinks I’m the reason she couldn’t get rich off yesterday’s victor. Or maybe she just doesn’t like rejection—an odd trait to have in her line of business.
Or, the blonde—along with every other freaking person in this arena—can see the three giant fuck-off hickeys on my neck. I’m not sure whether I look like a girl who had a very satisfying sexual encounter, or a girl who has been mauled by an animal.
When Roman and I arrived here and met Rico in the changing room, Roman pointed at the dark blue, borderline abusive looking bruises, then pointed at Rico, and said, “She’s mine. Touch her, and I’ll show you how artistic I can get with a knife.”
It was charming, if not embarrassing, until Rico said that he’ll give me another. Roman obviously reacted very maturely to the provocation.
“You know, one time Riviera said my name while sleeping, and I never felt so special in my life.” Rico has been regaling me with prison stories ever since my butt hit the front-row seats. I’ve zoned out for half of what he’s said because I honestly don’t believe that twenty-eight different girls were writing to him, wanting to be his slutty pen pal.
This guy is growing on me like a freckle. He’s there even though sometimes I don’t want him to be, but I’m stuck with him for the time being.
I glance away from the empty ring and to the ugly purple bruise forming on his cheek. Mickey showed Rico how good his right hook is （again） after the idiot said he’ll keep me company in the wrong tone.
To be fair, I felt the urge to do the same after all the shit he’s been talking. But I have a feeling the brothers planned it that way.
A riled-up Roman is a dangerous Roman.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. It probably wasn’t a good dream for you,” I slur—maybe I’ve drunk a bottle or two. Maybe three.
Rico crosses his fingers. “Riviera and Reyes are tight. Everyone knows. Two peas in a pod, causin’ trouble in B Block. My man would never hurt me.”
I nod toward his cheek. “Really?” I say blankly.
He waves his hand dismissively. “A one-time thing. He wouldn’t do it again.”
Damien grunts beside me, then sips his drink like he isn’t listening to our conversation.
“Did you share bunk beds?”
Rico whistles. “He wishes he could get all this.”
I roll my eyes, settling my attention on the empty platform. “Let me guess, you were too fast for him?”
His eyes twinkle. If he tells me how fast he is again, I’m going to punch him myself.
“You and me, chica, we’re the real pair. Riviera ain’t got shit to what we got going.”
I hum in patronizing approval.
With beer in my bloodstream, there’s no stopping my hand from slapping Rico’s chest when he tugs at my hair. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Don’t touch me. And don’t be a baby; I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“Here I was, innocently trying to make conversation and ask you what’s with the pigtails, and you attack me. You’re breaking my heart, bella.”
I let Roman do my hair today. He tried to act chill about it, pretending it was no big deal, like his offer was as mundane as asking if I wanted a tissue after sneezing. But the psycho started humming while getting all the accessories and items he needed. His step even had a tiny little bounce as he moved through the room. Then his forehead crinkled with concentration while he brushed my hair. Mickey went so far as to ask me what I was thinking of wearing so he could match the ribbons to it. But then he decided he would pick my outfit for me: his red shirt, my black jeans, red ribbons and black lace in my hair, and his zip-up and leather jacket. He also made me wear his studded belt.
I had to put my foot down when he tried to make us match. That’s too much, even by my standards. He reluctantly agreed, then shoved a red shirt into his duffle bag when he thought I wasn’t looking. The little shit.
“You could have ruined my hair,” I growl at Rico.