Chapter Thirteen

Andre pales at the sight of Luke King.

I've never seen my coach so afraid. I shiver. Luke is an animal. He'll tear his brother to shreds without thinking twice.

"Luke told Elliott he had a surprise coming," Andre grumbles. "I didn't think that involved him following us to Savannah."

I try to catch Elliott's attention, but he won't turn away from his brother. The audience quiets. The profiles of the two boys are practically identical. Everyone in this room must know that they're related.

Elliott's hands tremble behind his back, a miniscule movement that wouldn't be noticeable to anyone who wasn't searching for it. He's perfected the art of masking his emotions for the crowd. He takes one step toward his brother, and Luke grins wickedly.

They meet in the center of the ring. Luke's mouth is moving, but I can't make out what he's saying over the noise of the mob.

"He'll be fine," Andre reassures me. "He's fought worse than Luke."

I don't believe him, but I don't have a moment to argue before the whistle blows.

I want to look anywhere else but the ring, but I can't. The tension between Elliott and Luke, the anticipation of the crowd, and the murderous hunger in both of their expressions is utterly transfixing. Those who came here for a show are about to get one.

Elliott throws the first punch. Luke dodges him without a moment's hesitation, as if he predicted the move—after all, Luke's probably the one who taught Elliott to fight in the first place.

There's an earsplitting sound as skin comes in contact with skin. I gasp. Blood pours out of Elliott's nostrils and drips onto the floor. He grips his nose with one hand and punches with the other. This time, he strikes Luke's shoulder, but Luke barely stumbles. He grabs a hold of Elliott's shirt and pushes his younger brother to his knees.

I lunge. Andre grips the collar of my shirt, holding me in place.

Luke slams his knee into Elliott's stomach. He falls onto his back with a sharp wheeze.

"He's hurting him," I plead with Andre.

Luke kicks Elliott again. Elliott curls onto his side, covering his stomach with his knees.

"Please," I beg.

Andre glances between me, Luke, and Elliott. Elliott lets out a moan that echoes throughout the arena. The crowd hushes, wincing at the pained sound.

To my surprise, Andre lets go of my shirt.

I don't hesitate. I sprint through the crowd, pushing people out of my way, and dive into the center of the ring. Luke, recognizing my face, breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter.

I swing my fist into the side of his jaw.

He freezes. A piercing pain explodes throughout my knuckles, but I'm too distracted by my proximity to Elliott's brother to care. Luke brushes his fingers against the spot on his cheek where I hit him.

Suddenly, Luke grabs my right wrist. He yanks me forward, and I gasp at the searing pain of my stitches ripping open.

"Was that fun?" he hisses.

We're standing only inches apart, and from this close, I can see the deadness in his eyes, the total absence of love or care. I clench my jaw. I won't give him the satisfaction of an answer to his question.

From the floor, Elliott groans before forcing himself to his feet.

"Go," he begs, meeting my gaze.

I try to turn around, but Luke won't release my wrist.

"Your girlfriend is feisty," he says. "I like her."

Elliott spits a mouthful of blood onto Luke's cheek. The older boy lets go of me and grabs Elliott's T-shirt with both of his hands. They stand, nose to nose, lungs heaving with the same tattered breaths. The heat of the burning rage between them is blinding.

"You look like Dad right now, with your brows all furrowed like that," Luke sneers, curling his lips.

"Fuck you," Elliott scoffs.

"When you brought her to dinner, I honestly thought it wouldn't last, but you always do the unexpected. You have a thing for crazy girls?"

"Elliott," I whisper, inching closer to him. "He's trying to piss you off. Let's go."

"Go?" Luke roars. "But we just started! Hit me."

Elliott stiffens. Luke lifts his hands into a mock surrender.

"Hit me," he begs his brother. "I want you to."

"This is ridiculous," I interrupt. "Come on, Elliott."

He seems to actually hear me this time. The muscles in his face relax. Elliott shuffles in the direction of the exit right before he turns around and punches Luke in the face. The audience erupts. Luke chuckles, imploring Elliott to keep hitting him. Elliott's knee slams into his brother's stomach, and Luke coughs up a fistful of blood.

"Elliott," I repeat. "Stop. You don't want to do this."

Luke's ruthless smile doesn't falter. He wants this. He wants Elliott to lash out, to do something that he can't take back. I wrap my fingers around Elliott's arm and pull with everything that I have.

"Stop!" I scream. "It's over! You won!"

Again, Elliott kicks Luke in the stomach. Luke topples onto his back, laughing uncontrollably through bloody wheezes.

"Please, Elliott." I whisper. "You're scaring me."

He pauses.

His bloody lips part. Slowly, he puts his foot down that was going for another kick. His adoring audience breaks into applause when Luke doesn't get back up. I glare at them as Elliott drags me out of the arena.

We stop once we reach the empty hallway.

"What the hell was that?" Elliott exclaims.

I clench my jaw. He's mad at me?

"He was hurting you!" I retort.

"He's my brother!"

I laugh neurotically. It sounds eerily similar to Luke's.

"So, in your family you beat the shit out of each other? How was I supposed to know that?"

Elliott stares, bewildered.

"I'm not going to stand by and watch you get your ass kicked, even if Luke's the one responsible," I continue, "Okay? I'm not. And if you don't like that then—"

Elliott stops my words when he presses his lips to mine.

I gasp at the sudden, all-consuming warmth of Elliott's kiss. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he pulls me against him. I breathe in the taste of the salt and blood on his tongue. Every muscle in my body relaxes into perfect stillness.

I wanted this. I didn't realize how badly until now.

Elliott melts into me, holding me close as we both pull away to take a breath. His eyes widen as he realizes what he's done.

"Shit," he mutters. "Sorry—"

I don't give him the chance to finish his apology. I kiss him back, harder this time, and wrap my hands into his sweat soaked T-shirt. The blood from his nose drips down my face, but I don't care. We stand enveloped in each other for an eternity until both of us have to breathe again. And even then, I wish it didn't have to end.

Elliott smiles weakly. He would almost look innocent if not for the battle scars dispersed across his body. "Please never punch my brother again."

I grin. It was reckless and impulsive and stupid, but I would do it a thousand times over if it meant kissing him. His fingers slide from the back of my neck all the way to my uninjured hand. He holds it steady, and I relax.

"You're a mess," I observe.

Elliott smirks. He uses his thumb to clean a trail of blood off of my lip.

"So are you."

Behind him, the door to the arena opens. Luke hobbles out, clutching his stomach and wincing with every step. Damon King lurks at his side. Elliott curses under his breath when he notices his father. I should've guessed that he might be here watching, but seeing him in the flesh makes me shiver.

Damon proudly holds up a pile of cash in his hands. "Good show," he proclaims. "The crowd liked it."

Damon admires me like I'm some sort of a trophy; a possession that he's only now decided is valuable enough to keep around. He steps closer.

"They liked you, too."

Elliott growls, but Damon ignores him, greeting me with a knowing smile.

"Your cut, sweetheart." Against my will, he slides some of the cash into my jean pockets. I swallow down a lump in my throat.

He smiles when he says, "Welcome to the family."