11.

ELEVEN

Rafael

Fuck him straight to hell.

It’s been four goddamn days.

Twice I’ve lurked outside his building, and nothing . Has he left the city? Jesus fucking Christ, where is he?

I almost broke down and asked Noah to find me his phone number, but I’m avoiding Noah right now. I have to.

He’s already annoying the shit out of me with daily check-in texts like I’m seventeen again. He started up after I killed that guy, whose name I’ve already forgotten.

I’ve had to be so fucking careful how I reply to keep him from coming to see me. Because if he’d laid eyes on me the past few days? He would’ve known what I was going to do.

I don’t do this often. Fighting without fucking isn’t my thing, and I don’t like getting my face beat to shit. But it’s this or kill someone, and I don’t have anything lined up.

Dante likes stalking around and studying people. He can get months of fulfillment out of that. I need more immediate gratification.

This fight club caters to gay men. Combatants are chosen for their looks as much as their skill. Should I be flattered that Ivan was so pleased to see me stroll back into his burlesque nightclub? I hadn’t been there in two years, but he wasted no time in sidling up to me at the gaudy bar with an offer to replace someone in tonight’s line up.

So here I am in the underground space, which is just as gaudy as the nightclub upstairs. The staggered levels feature chrome and a lot of toxic pink. Men dance on the half dozen poles scattered throughout the space, entertaining the crowd between fights. Any noise not contained by the walls’ sound dampening is covered by the rowdy burlesque upstairs.

Barefoot, dressed only in my black jeans, I’m about to step into the ring when Ivan snags my elbow.

“Make it last at least four minutes, or I won’t put you in again,” he warns.

I glance at my opponent. He’s warming up his gym muscles with almost as much flair as the pole dancers, moving across the white boxing-style floor like it’s a show. But then, yeah, it is.

Here’s the thing. I like gym muscles. I have them too, and so does Dominic. But if there’s nothing to back them up—no skill, no ruthlessness—they don’t count for much.

I frown. “Four whole minutes?”

Ivan’s grip tightens. “ At least four.”

“And what’s my reward for being such a good boy?”

“Him.”

Ivan jerks his chin toward the elevated VIP section. I glance up.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.

Dominic is leaning on the chrome railing, sexy as hell in his black waistcoat and white shirt. His eyes burn on me like he hates me. I scowl at him even while my heart is tripping all over itself.

“Four minutes,” Ivan reminds me then lets go of my elbow.

Huh?

Oh, yeah. Make this meathead last four minutes. I’ll do my best, but I’m not a fucking miracle worker. He’ll have to give me something to play with.

We circle each other in the ring. I dodge his jabs like I’m studying him, but there’s not much to study.

I slug him in the gut.

He lets out a grunt and backs off, dancing around to let the lights play over his shoulders.

Goddamn Dominic. I’ve seen no sign of him for four fucking days, but the fact that he’s here right now means he was watching me the whole time.

I duck a right hook before uppercutting into my opponent’s chin. It snaps his head back. He staggers. Now he’s pissed.

He comes in swinging. I duck and wheel around behind him for a kidney shot. His back bows.

I’m pleasantly surprised when he loses it and puts that gym body to actual use. He’s too slow and clumsy to dodge many of my half-strength hits, but he manages to get me in gut twice while I’m hunting for Dominic from the corner of my eye.

When his right cross grazes my cheekbone, I hook his left knee with my foot, yanking him off balance while I smash my fist into his jaw. He drops.

I feel like it’s been four minutes, so I kick him in the ribs.

He taps out.

I immediately look to the VIP section and see Dominic taking off his waistcoat. Our eyes lock as he unbuttons his shirt. I start getting hard as he pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. It’s funny how his body looks so different from the one I just put on the floor. His muscles move differently. His aura is darker, like the fact that he kills people somehow shows.

He takes off his shoes and socks then walk down the steps to the ring. Usually, there’s softer entertainment between the fights, but the tension between me and Dominic is palpable. Everyone is watching. Even some of the pole dancers have stopped their routines.

Either Dominic isn’t hard or he’s wearing compression shorts under his snug dress pants to hide it. Both possibilities annoy me. My dick is bulging in my jeans by the time he’s walking across the mat.

“Where the hell have you been?” I ask the second he reaches me.

He punches me in the gut. As I curl around his fist, he grabs my hair.

“Focus, Rafael,” he growls into my ear.

I yank upright to headbutt him, but he’s ready for it. The hand gripping my hair pulls me off course. My throat is exposed now, and he grabs it.

It’s a dangerous position for me, one I have to get out of. I bring up my knee and nail him in the side. It throws me off balance, and I hit the floor, but I’m free. I scramble back and burst to my feet as Dominic comes at me.

He grabs my wrist, obviously aiming to grapple tonight. I use his hold to swing myself around behind him. I get my free arm around his neck and jump up to hook my legs around his waist. It won’t end well for me, but it’s worth it to press my dick against his lower back and get my mouth by his ear.

“How much have you thought about my ass?”

He can’t flip me over his head with my legs hooked around his waist, so he goes for a modified shoulder toss, throwing himself down with me. He lands on top of me. The impact stuns me enough that he gets out of my chokehold.

“You shouldn’t be here, letting other men touch you.”

I jack my legs up and get one hooked around his neck, yanking him off me. I slam him to the mat.

I snarl, “If you don’t want to touch me, someone else will have to.”

I’m halfway up when he hooks me and slams me down. He grabs my hard cock through my jeans. I gasp—and his fist slams into my face.

Dazed, I only dimly register him getting up and stalking away.

***

I’m in the alley when they jump me.

Here’s the thing. This is actually what I came here for. I knew the official fights wouldn’t do much for me. (I’m not counting Dominic—I didn’t expect him.) I came here because I knew there was a very good chance that some shithead who got his ego bruised in the ring would come after me with backup. And, yeah, Mr. Gym Muscles has brought three friends.

Here’s another thing. If my head was a mess before I came here tonight, it’s an absolute Jackson Pollock now.

So I don’t put up a fight. I barely wanted to in the first place. (Like I said, this is what I came here for.) So now? I let them hit me. When they shove me away and my back hits the alley wall, I start laughing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mr. Gym Muscles demands.

Who the hell knows?

I let my head thump back against the wall as blood runs down my chin.

I know where they’re going with this. Of course I fucking know.

“Let’s teach him a lesson,” someone grumbles.

“Arrogant prick,” mutters someone else.

I smile. “At least I’m not a little prick—like you.”

There’s a lot of uncreative name calling, then they start hitting me again. It’s a lot. It hurts, which brings some fight back into me. That’s the beauty of intense moments. It’s like playing music. You stop thinking.

I throat punch Mr. Gym Muscles. He staggers back, choking. His friends take it personally.

When I get smashed into the wall again, it’s face first this time. They pin me. They tear chaotically at the button and zipper of my jeans—

There’s a nasty, deep-sounding thud.

One of the assholes thumps against the wall beside me and slides down.

Shouting, the others spin around. I’m slower about it, but I do get turned before sliding down the wall like the limp, maybe dead, guy beside me.

My ass hits the ground and I take in the partially lit scene.

My savior—it’s Dominic, of course—tears through the pathetic trio that remains. He’s so fast for such a big guy. He ducks one punch and lands his fist in another gut. Someone gets Dominic’s elbow to the face. Someone else gets kicked in the balls. That fucker goes down.

It doesn’t take long before they’re all down, leaving Dominic standing solo in the middle of the alley.

He’s breathing hard, but I think it’s mostly because he’s pissed. He stalks my way. He crouches in front of me. His face is shadowed, hiding his expression, and he doesn’t speak. All the same, I can feel every ounce of his intensity as he raises a gun—and brings the butt down on my head.