Page 51 of Fight

He doubled over, but I kept punching, the sounds of the bones in his face breaking even louder than the groans that poured from his throat, louder even than the crowd, which cheered passionately now.

But I ignored them all and kept punching until he was silent.

P

I hadno idea what the etiquette of any situation was, but I really had no idea about this one. I’d been wound tight since my earlier conversation with Ioan, worried about him and feeling guilty as fuck.

Money was one thing, but what Ioan was doing was something else altogether. He was putting his body on the line. How could I ever hope to repay him for that?

A tough question, but not nearly as tough to handle as my fear for him. As he’d walked out of the door, I’d only barely resisted throwing myself in front of him to keep him from leaving.

And every second that he had been gone was excruciating, my mind working overtime as I pictured Ciprian or someone like him relentlessly attacking him. Ioan would probably be pissed that I had even a question about his victory, but I’d never been the optimistic sort.

Now, as the night inched closer to morning, another worry began to emerge.

He’d be back. I kept telling myself that over and over again, which left the question of what would happen then. I’d been jumpy and way too wired to sleep. I’d also convinced myself that I should stay up to greet him when he returned.

But how did one greet a man who was returning from a mob-sponsored bare-knuckled fight?

Did one greet such a person?

Probably not. In fact, I was pretty well convinced I should stay in my room and leave Ioan alone to decompress or whatever. The chances of that happening were nil, so instead I sat at the kitchen table like it wasn’t almost four in the morning.

When he finally walked back through the door, I thought I would be sick with relief. It left me feeling shaky, almost meek with it.

I’d thought I was calm, or at least had told myself I was, but the instant I saw him all the emotion that I had kept inside came rushing out.

The source of that emotion, I couldn’t say for sure, but when he came in, I felt like I could breathe.

I also realized that me waiting for him held more than a whiff of neediness, desperation. A more sophisticated, smarter person would have stayed away, tried to play it cool, or at least be nonchalant.

I was none of those things.

How could I be?

The fact was, Ioan’s successes or failures were also mine, so I had every reason to want to know how things had gone. Seeing him, reassuring myself that he was okay, was simply a bonus.

He walked into the kitchen but stayed as far away from me as he could be and still be in the room. The only light was the small one over the stove and it cast him half in shadow. I couldn’t see his eyes, much of his face at all really, save his jaw, the corner of his lips. But from just that little glimpse, I knew that his expression was tense, bordering toward angry, which I had so seldom seen from him.

Only once, actually, the first time I’d looked at him mere seconds after he’d saved my life. He’d been holding back Ciprian but his eyes had been on Markov, burning hot with rage.

I hadn’t seen that look again until now. He’d been annoyed by me, exasperated, but never angry.

He was now though, and the longer I stared, the more signs of it I saw. His arms hung loosely at his sides but his fists were clenched, not quite a fist but curled in a way that told me he was only keeping them loose through sheer will.

I saw it even more in the rise and fall of his chest, his breaths quiet but the harshness of his exhales unmissable. He was dressed differently today, his usual professional attire discarded in favor of a tight black T-shirt and athletic shorts. It had been impossible to miss how tall, how muscled he was, but his size and power were on full display as he stood, body broad enough to fill the door frame.

My blood rushed through me, the emotions that filled me as I watched him—relief at knowing he was okay, some small hint of fear at his stony, silent presence, breath-stealing desire—left me shaken.

I’d been so preoccupied with when he would come back that I hadn’t thought of what would happen when he did. What had I expected? That we’d chat over a cup of warm milk, have him tell me about his day?

Whatever I’d thought I’d see, it wasn’t this unfamiliar side of Ioan, one that reminded me of how dangerous he could be. That should have sent me running away in fear. So little time had passed since I’d been in Markov’s clutches, and as much as my instincts told me otherwise, I couldn’t be so certain Ioan was all that different.

Seeing him like this should have reminded me of that. But it didn’t. It only reinforced how much I wanted him.

I jumped from my seat, the nervous energy driving me. “I have some things for you,” I called over my shoulder, not really looking at Ioan’s still form.

I scurried about and pointed to the pot on the stove. “Warm compresses that have been simmering, not too hot, but warm. Wait, I already said they were warm.” I giggled quickly and turn the stove off, then headed toward the freezer.

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