Page 6 of Fight

When they got to the edge of the ring, they did drop her, and hard. I flinched at the sound of the impact.

Then one of them pulled out a knife that gleamed under the light. She was still then, but her eyes burned with anger.

The man with the knife walked to her feet and then glared down at her, the handle of the blade firmly in his hand.

“If you kick me, I will cut your fucking eye out,” he said with menace.

I had not a moment’s doubt that he meant it, knew that he would without hesitation. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to see that happen.

For more than a moment, I worried that she would disobey but she stayed still when he cut the tape from her legs and then her wrists and arms.

When she was free, she moved tentatively, her features twisting as the blood again filled her limbs. Then she rubbed her wrists for a moment, seeming not to notice what was happening around her.

Then, an instant later, she jumped up quickly, looked around the room wildly.

Her face was bruised and not all of the marks looked fresh.

She didn’t look like one of Markov’s other girls. She was black, which wasn’t so surprising. Markov wouldn’t miss a chance to exploit anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path. But she was sober, which was surprising. It was no secret that Markov fed his girls a steady supply of drugs, enough to keep them desperate and compliant.

She was desperate, but she apparently wasn’t compliant, and she didn’t have that hunger in her eyes like so many of his others.

I looked her over, wondering what she had done to get on Markov’s bad side, but then wondered no more when she turned and started to run toward the back door.

She made it two steps before one of Markov’s men caught her by the thick ponytail fixed at the back of her head. She cried out, and then struggled against him when he locked his hand around her neck and squeezed.

I’d taken two steps before I realized it and stopped myself, not sure what the hell I’d been thinking. Hadn’t been thinking really. I had no power here, but I didn’t care. The need to kill the man who was treating the woman so roughly was one I could barely ignore.

Which was a fucking joke.

Rough treatment was one of my specialties, and I seldom—never—cared who the recipient was.

I couldn’t afford to start today.

Markov finally moved from his corner and walked toward the woman. His expression didn’t change, but I knew he was enjoying being the center of attention, liked the idea that every eye in the room was on him.

Or maybe he was more focused on the woman.

He seemed to pay no attention at all to anything else, and he walked, slowly, dramatically, until he was inches away from her. Then he looked her directly in the eye, or as directly as he could given that she was so much taller than him.

“You like to fight, remember, koshenya?”

Markov continued to stare at the woman, his expression light, but his words heavy with significance. “Now’s your chance.”

Then he abruptly turned and walked back to his chair, and his man let her go.

“Meet tonight’s competition,” he said as he resettled in his chair.

The room nearly exploded with energy, the fervor seeming to unleash in a heartbeat. I watched, knowing what was happening, but still disbelieving.

Markov was going to pit this woman against Ciprian.

And Ciprian was going to kill her.

---