Page 64 of Trust Me

Eventually, we came to a stop, and I sat up. I recognized the poverty-stricken area immediately. “What are we doing in The Dot?”

Keegan grunted, his eyes darting around. I had no reason to believe he hadn’t heard me and every reason to believe he was ignoring my question and trying to figure out what to do with me.

“I can handle myself,” I offered.

He met my gaze with scrutiny. “Lucifer would break my balls if I let anything happen to you.”

Heat filled my cheeks. “You mean Raphael ...”

Keegan pinned me with a mischievous grin. “Nope. I mean Lucifer. Which just gave me an idea—you’re coming with me.” He chuckled and shrugged off his leather jacket, tossing it on my lap. “Put that on first—this place is full of shady motherfuckers.”

“A what!” I shrieked, and Keegan wrapped an arm around my head, clasping his hand over my mouth. He was fortunate I was too stunned to consider biting him.

“A death fight. It means—”

“I know what it means!”

Then I assaulted his palm with my tongue until he let me go.

Keegan wiped my saliva off on his thigh with a grimace.

I focused on the beaten and bloody man standing upright in the Octagon. He looked like death on two legs, yet miraculously, the other guy looked worse.

Lucifer’s opponent—a man of similar size and build, and Russian, based on his tattoos and the men shouting in his corner—staggered to his feet.

I recognized him.

The dipshit from the restaurant who had called me a whore. The guy I’d meant to stab when Liam had decided to get in the way.

“You need to stop him!” I smacked Keegan in the gut with a flat hand to drive my message home.

He didn’t even flinch.

“He won’t listen to me,” he yelled over the raucous noise of the arena. He then grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “That’s why I brought you.”

The digital scoreboard affixed to the wall behind the ring told us that Lucifer had been fighting for nearly thirty minutes. A regulation fight consisted of three five-minute rounds, which meant Lucifer had already fought almost two legal fights and without formal rounds with one-minute breaks in between.

According to Keegan, Lucifer intended to fight until he or the Russian had fallen—permanently.

I lunged for the cage, but Keegan hooked an arm around my waist and hauled me back. “I didn’t mean for you to make a scene. We’ll just walk around to the other side so Lucifer can see—”

My elbow landed dead center in Keegan’s solar plexus, cutting off his air supply.

I sprinted around the Octagon as fast as my heeled boots would carry me. I couldn’t risk being behind Lucifer, thus asking him to turn his back on his enemy, so I’d have to reach him via the Russian corner instead. Men on either side of me spat in their native tongue, and a few wolf-whistled.

I curled my fingers into the mesh of the cage, then lifted myself until I was flush with the fence. “Hey! Satan!” I yelled, and the only response was a few ringside chuckles and a lot of goading.

I knew I was on borrowed time. In a matter of seconds, one of these gangsters was bound to say or do something that would inevitably get me in trouble.

As though he’d predicted the same outcome, Keegan appeared at my side with his hand resting on the firearm tucked in his waistband.

“Make it quick,” he ordered. “You’re gonna get us all fucking killed, babe.” There was a gleam in his eye that told me he was a ride-or-die and he liked the idea of us being friends too. We’d have a heart-to-heart about him calling me babe later.

I turned my attention back to the bloodbath in front of me. “Lucifer Flynn!”

Lucifer’s chin rose, and his eyes found mine. A gash above his brow bled freely, and his face was covered in nicks and raised lumps.

In that moment, I knew Lucifer wasn’t leaving the mat until one of them had taken their last breath.

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