Page 97 of Fierce Monarch

“What?”

He grinned, but before he could explain, four more Aces stepped into the room. I was exhausted, my side was burning, and I just knew we weren’t getting out of this. One glance at the kid said he felt the same, but I didn’t see a hint of remorse on his face. He didn’t seem to care if he died here because he’d never really lived.

If I get out of here, I’m getting him out too.

They rushed us, jumping over their fallen comrades until they were throwing fists left and right. One caught me on my sore cheek and another to my stomach. I fought not to groan when they hit the stab wound, but my opponent—an older meathead well past his prime—doubled down, readjusting his grip on my shoulder so he could pound his fist right into it. I threw my own punches as much as possible without giving him access to more deadly spots, but I didn’t have much I could do. I was in bad shape, and Killer was across the room battling the other three as my already-dismal energy levels flagged.

I was seconds away from dropping when someone hauled the guy off me and into a trio of bodies ready to pound the shit out of him. They punched and kicked with laser precision, while I did nothing but watch. When my attacker was finally done for, they turned on me, and I realized I might have just traded one devil for another until I noticed they didn’t move closer.

“Are you all right?” I spun, arm flying, but Killer caught my fist before it landed. The move twisted my stomach, and I groaned under my breath.

“You’re hurt.”

I was up and in front of the kid before the other man finished, and he cocked his head. Taller than me by at least four inches and older, something about the way he held himself screamed military. The people who went in never seemed to be able to release those taught mannerisms, even after they got out.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked.

“A friend.”

“A Marcosa friend?”

“No.”

Well, that was direct and not at all what I wanted to hear. “I don’t take help from people I don’t know.”

Killer shot an elbow to my side, grimacing when I doubled over with a pained cough. “What the fuck!”

“Sorry, just…take the help.”

As I glanced up at the kid, he looked both grateful and wary, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. For his part, the newcomer ignored me, focusing on Montgomery instead.

“Take him to the infirmary. We’ll get rid of these idiots.”

Montgomery nodded, carefully wrapping a hand around my back. “Come on, I’ll take you the back way so no one sees.”

“Thanks.” The last thing I needed was an audience to my injury. The strong always hunted the weak, especially in places like jail.

We were steps away from the door when the leader called to me. I turned back warily, and his eyes seemed to lighten some. “Give the kid our best.”

What kid? I said nothing as we walked out, leaving the trio and the bodies behind. As soon as they were out of sight, I ripped myself out of Killer’s grasp and glowered behind us. “What the hell was that? Were they Marcosas?”

“Aces.”

Aces helped me? That didn’t make any sense.

Killer looked over at me and grinned. “They’re not like the others, though.”

“How so?”

“They stay out of shit. Most of them are too mental to be messed with, but those three stick to themselves. They never get into fights.”

Then why were they messing around protecting their sworn enemy? It didn’t make sense. My side throbbed, reminding me I had bigger problems to worry about.

“Fuck,” I hissed, holding my hand to the bloody wound. “Mari’s going to kill me.”

“The queen? Why?” Killer kept his distance, and I walked my happy ass to the infirmary. These assholes wanted to see strength, well, here it was. I wasn’t going down without a fight. If they wanted to jump me again, they’d better bring more men.

She’s my girl, was my first thought, but I wasn’t just Dominic in here. I was Dominic Marcosa, underboss, and the way I phrased things mattered. Mari had to hold the power, always. “I’m hers.”

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