by Callie Hart
My breath catches in my throat when Genevieve turns around. I don’t know what I was expecting. Bruises? Black eyes? Heavy makeup to conceal the abuse she’s been suffering under Alex’s hands? I don’t expect her to look, well, glorious. She’s practically fucking glowing. Her hair is arranged into an intricate mass of braids and curls, with tiny little white flowers woven into the style here and there. I know for a fact my sister didn’t do that herself. She must have had someone style it for her. She’s wearing a floor-length sheer blue dress that looks like silk, and her skin is a bronzed golden color. She looks healthy. When she locks eyes with Alex, she smiles and my stomach backflips. Fuck. She looks…she looks happy.
“What the fuck?” I groan. “I am fucking hallucinating right now.”
“She’s acting,” David whispers. “You know she is. If she came out here terrified and afraid, looking like she needs rescuing, you know what Alex would do. He would lose his fucking mind.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Even I can hear how unconvinced I sound, though. I’ve seen fake happiness before. I know what that looks like on Genevieve, and that’s not what this is. This is something else, and it’s making me really fucking uncomfortable.
Alex escorts Genevieve to her seat on the end of the row, and then he sits himself down in between her and West. The four of them up there look imposing to say the least. Like true royalty, presiding over their people. My left eye begins to twitch. I want to fucking kill him. Genevieve’s always been such a strong, fiercely independent, free-willed woman. I always used to feel sorry for the guys she dated; she was a hellcat, always only a second away from exploding if they did or said the wrong thing, which was often. To see her looking at Bastien with such fawning adoration in her eyes makes me feel like I don’t know her anymore.
“Not much chance of us catching her eye right now,” David says. “She’s not even looking out at the crowd.”
It’s true. She leans toward Alex, cupping her hand over her mouth as she says something to him, and he nods, head bowed, smiling. I think I’ve slipped into an alternate universe; it’s the only explanation for this fucking weird turn of events.
David looks like he’s going to throw up. “He leaves her alone when the fights are finished,” he says. “Not for long. Just while he announces the winner and lords himself over everyone. We’ll have to try and—”
Suddenly, Alex is on his feet, bristling, his eyes wide, his hands clenching into fists. Genevieve slams herself back into her chair, visibly frightened for the first time since she walked out onto the dais. Her hand flutters to the base of her throat, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The change of atmosphere inside the vault is instant; charged excitement and anticipation turns to muted fear in less than a heartbeat. A thick silence falls over the mass of people surrounding us, and my body begins to vibrate. He’s seen us. He’s fucking seen us. We’re going to have to fight our way to Genevieve, then fight our way out of here. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time. I’m probably going to die, and that’s okay. If it means that David and Gen get the hell out of here unscathed, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay. I’m about to start pushing my way forward through the crowds to meet Alex head-on, when he opens his mouth and speaks.
“What the fuck is this? Who allowed a woman on the fight floor?” He stabs a finger into the air, and it takes a beat for me to realize he’s not pointing it at me. He’s gesturing toward the back of the room, near the entrance. In unison, the crowd turns to look over their shoulders, and sure enough, there, at the very back of the room, halfway down the wide stairway that leads down from the Bastien vault, a woman stands on her own.
I know her immediately. I know her, because I’ve been thinking about her all fucking day—the angry therapist from the prison. I haven’t been able to stop replaying the defiant flash in those remarkable eyes of hers, or the sharp words she threw at me. I’ve been turned on all day because of her, and now here she is, in a place she most definitely should not be. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, and the fancy shirt and linen pants are gone, replaced with jeans and a black, low cut shirt, but it’s her.
It was a shock to see Genevieve down here even though David swore she would be. Alex’s rules are simple: there are to be no women on the fight floor, unless he’s brought them as his guests. In all the time I fought down here, I can only recall perhaps two or three occasions where he actually did bring one of the women he was sleeping with along with him. Under no circumstances are any of the spectators allowed to bring a female along when they come to watch a match. Even trying to bring a girl down here would be enough to get them banned from attending the events for life, and that would be getting off light. More likely, they’d lose a thumb or a couple of toes for even trying something so reckless and stupid.
“Well this isn’t going to end well,” David murmurs.
Alex Bastien—tall, broad, dark hair slicked back, suit immaculate as ever—sighs heavily. The room is packed between the dais and the stairs, but his voice carries perfectly across the deathly silent space. “What are you doing here?” he says calmly.
Nikita raises her head rebelliously, squaring her shoulders. “I came to see you,” she says.
“Bullshit.”
On the dais, West and Vaughn are smiling identical, warped smiles. They look deranged. Evil. West gets to his feet and clears his throat. “Good to see you, Nikita. Been a long time.”
Nikita gracefully bows her head for a second. “It has. Though…” She glances at Alex. “Doesn’t feel like long enough, does it?”
Alex’s eyes are narrowed into a thoughtful expression. He’s trying to decide if this woman poses a threat to him. I know this because I know Alex, and I know precisely how his mind works. He’s trying to figure out if he needs to kill this woman on the spot for wandering into his den of inequity. He scratches at his jaw, his eyes flashing with malice. “You’d do well to remember why we haven’t seen each other in so long, Nikita.”
The woman doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I remember all right. I’m not likely to forget.”
Wait. They know each other? Sounds like they really know each other. There’s bad blood between the two of them, that much is clear. I never saw her or heard him mention her when I worked for him, though. He must have been keeping her under wraps.
“I can’t imagine why you thought it would be a good idea to show up here,” Alex growls. “Honestly, you’re lucky you’re still even permitted to live in this city. Knowing you’re out there, breathing the same air as me and mine has given me cause for concern on more than one occasion, I’ll admit.”
“Don’t worry. I only came to offer you my congratulations.” Her gaze flickers to her left, landing on Genevieve. “I heard you got married.”
Genevieve smiles. She stands up, her eyes skating nervously around the room. Carefully she places a hand lightly on Alex’s shoulder. “Well I for one think it’s lovely that an old friend has come to celebrate with us, Alex. Don’t you?”
“Oh, she ain’t his friend, honey,” Vaughn says, laughing flatly. “Nikita was our big brother’s first love. She dated him way back when. They were teenagers. Can’t have seen each other in nearly ten years, right, Alex?”
“Shut your mouth, Vaughn.”
Vaughn stops laughing. His expression dissolves, leaving behind a blank, unreadable mask. I think I see a glimmer of anger in his eyes, but it vanishes so quickly that it’s hard to be sure.
“You’d better leave,” Alex says to Nikita. “This isn’t an appropriate place for you.”
“Are you going to have me removed?” Nikita’s head tilts to one side. “Because I just paid a hundred bucks to an octogenarian to watch a fight. I’m damned if I’m not going to get my money’s worth.”
“Just let her stay, Alex,” Genevieve says. “She’s not doing any harm.”
“Give her a minute,” Alex snaps. “She generally needs a little time to warm up.”
“Alex, please…”
; Alex huffs down his nose. He is raging mad. Absolutely raging. He may seem relatively calm and held together, but I used to make a habit of studying this man’s mood swings. He’s unpredictable and violent at all times. The smallest tic at the corner of his mouth is sometimes the only indicator that he’s about to pull out a gun and shoot someone in the back of the head. A realignment of his shoulders is often the only thing that will warn you he’s about to lose his fucking mind and explode. Genevieve seems to be calming him down, though. I’d never have said it were possible if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own two eyes.
“Fine. You can stay,” he grinds out. “But don’t say you haven’t been warned. This isn’t a place for women. It’s dangerous.” The threat is heavy in his voice. I hear it, and so does every other hot-blooded male in the place. He’s sending a message to those listening in the crowd: this woman is not under my protection. I’m not going to have you killed if you scare her a little. Maybe more than a little.
“Jesus,” David groans. “She’s not gonna last five seconds down here.”
“She won’t stay,” I reply. “No fucking way. She can’t be that crazy.” I’m so sure she’s going to see sense and do a one-eighty, turn around and walk back up the stairs, that I turn away from her, focusing my attention back onto my sister. Alex’s frown deepens, though, a dark fury settling over him, and I know I was wrong. She hasn’t left. Nikita has stepped down onto the fight floor and disappeared into the mass of surging bodies gathered around the cage.
Girl has some fucking balls, that’s for sure.
David’s about to open his mouth but I shut him down immediately. “She’s not our responsibility. We came here for Gen, remember? Don’t get caught up in things that don’t concern us. We’re in enough shit as it is.”
He grunts by way of response. His need to play the knight in shining armor has gotten us both into trouble plenty of times before. Tonight is not a good night for heroics. We’re meant to be flying under the radar, not launching a full-scale attack of any kind. I’m insanely attracted to the woman, but I can’t see helping her doing us any favors.
The room gradually grows louder and then positively deafening as Alex sits down beside Genevieve, scowling like a petulant child. The PA system booms as the MC announces the first fight of the night. People resume placing their bets, frantically waving wads of money in the air and shouting at the bookies that are being mobbed all over the place.
Minutes pass, and David and I take the opportunity to slip off to one side, standing at the far right of the tomb, our backs pressed to the wall. We’re unnoticed here. A part of the shadows. The fighters come out next, two kids I don’t recognize, both of them covered in ink and bruises. They’re what we always used to call the shit-kickers in the Champion Ultime tournaments. Bottom rung guys who have to fight every single night of the week in order to climb up the ladder and into Alex’s good graces. I spent a very brief amount of time as a shit-kicker. I was a fucking good fighter. I was savage, merciless, which Alex liked, so he promoted me quickly. Still, I remember how fucking painful it was getting hit every night. I remember how doped and drugged and crazy I felt half the time, drowning in adrenaline and testosterone. And I vividly recall how satisfying it was to finally win over the crowd, after so many nights bleeding and brawling on the canvas for them, waiting for their approval, for them to finally start chanting my name.
Their fight doesn’t last long. Eight minutes, total. Disappointment sweeps through the crowd as the shorter, stockier guy in blue shorts catches his apparently stronger opponent on the jaw with a right hook, sending him crumpling to the ground. Out like a light. I could have told the guys betting on the dude in red how it was gonna go down three seconds after the fighters stepped into the ring. Yeah, the dude in red was taller, with a longer reach and more muscle mass, but his guard was sloppy and his footwork even sloppier. The shorter guy took a full minute to test out the other guy’s range. He watched him. He was light on his feet, and he didn’t fall for the feinting and dodging the other guy kept throwing out there.
The second fight is over even quicker. Three minutes even. Doesn’t even make it out of the first round. I don’t watch the third and fourth fights. I watch Genevieve on the dais. She seems relaxed enough, leaning back in her chair, smiling brightly whenever Alex turns to talk to her, but I can sense the uneasiness in her. I think Alex can as well. He smiles at her often, too, pointing at the men in the octagon, obviously telling her what’s going on, explaining the fights to her (as if she needs them explaining), but he’s suspicious of her, I can tell.
The final fight eventually arrives, and David elbows me hard in the ribs. “Get ready. Once the bout is over, he’ll head into the cage to announce the overall winner. We’re gonna need to move fast.”
I feel like snapping at him, telling him I know how this whole thing fucking works, but it would be a waste of energy that I’m probably going to need really soon if the shit hits the fan. I’m tense, but I’m in control. I bite my tongue. A few years back, I would have popped him for trying to tell me what to do. Now I rule my temper with an iron fist.
“—think you’re doing? Get…get your hands off me, motherfucker.”
Oh, God. Here we go.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her: Nikita, being mauled by three huge guys, their hands roving all over her body. The men are tall and stacked, but they’re not big enough to be Alex’s guys. Alex only hires ex-fighters and retired body builders, and these guys are just gym rats, hopped up on steroids by the looks of things. All of their heads are shaved, and all three of them are wearing wife beaters, displaying an array of terrible tattoos. Tattoos that look like a monkey drew them with a ballpoint pen. Dog shit, faded, green and blue tattoos that are so badly smudged and distorted that you can’t even tell what they are anymore.
Nikita looks furious. She rips her arm free from one of the guys and slaps him across the cheek. Hard. “I’m telling you now, you do not want to fuck with me, asshole.”
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing his thumb to his mouth, checking for blood. He has a dangerous look in his eyes that I’ve seen before. “Oh, sure I do. I want to fuck with you real bad.”
“Things are about to escalate,” David says, his voice going up at the end in a sing-song way. “You sure you’re gonna stand right next to me and watch three dudes hammer the shit out of a girl? Because I know you, bro, and I have a horrible feeling you’re going to try and ignore what’s going on here until you absolutely can’t anymore. And then, when we reach that point, you’re going to go nuclear.”
I shrug, arms folded across my chest. My teeth are gritted together hard enough to grind the enamel into dust. “I said we shouldn’t get involved. We’re not getting involved.”
“All right, man.” David’s tone of voice clearly says he doesn’t believe me, not even for a second. “All right. Just give me a heads-up before the fireworks go off, okay? I wanna be ready for this shit.”
“Just watch the dais. Watch Genevieve. Keep your head down and mind your business.”
The three guys continue to paw at Nikita. They’re testing her, seeing how far they can go before she lashes out. All three of them laugh as they grope at her, one at a time, hands darting out to grab at her. I’ve never understood why groups of men find it entertaining to gang up on a single woman. I’ve seen it so many times before, and it makes zero sense. One of them is bigger and stronger than Nikita. One of them is powerful enough to restrain her and take what he wants. So three?
They need each other’s participation in order to do what they’re doing right now, because they know it’s fucking wrong. They need accomplices, other guys who’ll act out along with them, to make it okay, so it’s not a big deal. So that their consciences don’t give them hell. If he’s doing it, then it must be fine. If both these other guys think it’s okay to harass, molest and rape a woman, it can’t be a problem. Right?
They all know, though. They all know, just under the su
rface, below the bravado, the laughing, the poking and the teasing, that what they’re doing is an evil act.
I try to follow my own advice: watch Genevieve, and mind my own damn business. It’s not an easy thing to do, though. Not when the woman’s standing less than five feet away from me, and now more guys have turned away from the cage and are watching what’s going down.
Alex really did pour gasoline on this fire by making it clear that Nikita wasn’t protected as his guest. I can feel a sour, violent, aggression building in the air—the kind that comes from a group of men already fired up by the sight of blood, suddenly all interested in a vulnerable woman. As a rule, the fights don’t attract morally upstanding members of the community. And even if a percentage of the crowd are typically good guys just looking for a surge of adrenaline, it’s amazing how quickly a group mentality can change even your basic views on right and wrong.
The fight in the cage ends. I don’t know who wins. The MC makes an announcement over the rattling PA system, and there’s a low rumble that travels through the crowd. A group of five guys beside us turn and look toward the dais, and I can hear Alex speaking but I’m not really listening. I’m watching the situation to my right, arms folded across my chest, my heart rate quickening with every passing second. It’s getting harder and harder to remember why I shouldn’t be stepping into the middle of this cluster fuck, and David isn’t helping.
“Fuck,” he grinds out. “What the fuck is he doing?”
“What?”
“Alex. He’s not leaving her. He’s taking her with him into the cage. Christ, Tommy, open your goddamn eyes.”
Behind me, Alex has already jumped down from the dais. He’s reaching up, his hands on Genevieve’s hips, and he’s lifting her down into the crowd after him. Shit. He can’t seriously be planning on walking her through the crowd. Not when he can easily see what’s happening to Nikita? Then again, the guys here might be easily led, but they’re not stupid. They’re not suicidal. While Nikita’s not in Alex’s good books, it’s very clear that Genevieve is. Laying a hand on the head of the Bastien family’s wife? Yeah, that’s grounds for immediate execution in this world.
