Page 49 of Keep Me

The next time the man swings, Roan grabs the wooden handle and uses the leverage to land heavy kicks to his groin. The man’s knees buckle but he doesn’t fall, and he forcefully shoves the axe they are both holding, knocking off Roan’s grip as he staggers back.

I try to scream to warn him, but the back of his head smacks into the metal cage before the words can even leave my mouth. His neck jostles like it’s boneless and his eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back. He grabs onto the cage behind him to keep himself upright.

The man stalks closer, dragging his axe sinisterly against the stage. This is going to be a cold-blooded murder. I’m going to watch Roan be killed.

I run along the perimeter, pushing my way through the mass of people to be at Roan’s side. I reach him just as the blunt end of the axe slams into his jaw. His head whips to the side, and his eyes glaze over me as his hands slip on the cage. His body slumps as he spits out blood, his tongue tracing his teeth.

His eyes lock with mine for a brief moment, and my whole body feels weak when he gives me a crooked smirk. He pushes off the cage and laughs. “Wrong end, idiot.”

The man’s grizzly face twists into a menacing snarl and he roars, swinging the axe. Roan rolls out of the way, and the axe gets lodged in one of the squares of the cage. He drives a strong uppercut in the man’s elbow and there’s a sickening snap of bone as his elbow is forced the wrong way. He yells in agony and releases the axe.

My heart is beating so fast watching it all unfold, a dizzying combination of adrenaline and hope and utter terror. Roan dives for the axe handle, but the man knocks it away and buries his fist into Roan’s ribs so hard he’s lifted off his feet. He falls to the floor in a gasping ball and receives a rib-breaking kick to his side.

I rush to get as close as I can, yelling at him through the cage as he gets pummeled with powerful kicks. “Come on, Roan, get up, get up!” He collapses flat onto his chest, cheek on the floor. His tired eyes find mine, and I grab the cage. “I told you I’d be waiting when you win. Don’t make a liar of me.”

That sparks something in his eyes, and I see a new resolve form in them. When the next kick comes, Roan shoots for his standing leg and yanks it out from under him. He topples back, his giant body shaking the cage as he lands like a pillar of stone. Roan dives for the abandoned axe and gets his hands on it just as the man grabs onto his ankle with his unbroken arm, trying to pull him away. Roan uses his free foot to smash his heel into the man’s nose. Blood instantly rushes from it, and Roan’s able to jump to his feet, axe still firmly in his grasp.

His opponent is still on the ground, pushing himself up to his hands and knees, when Roan stomps on his back and flattens him back down. Pinning him to the ground, he lifts the axe above his head and brings it down with all his strength, a feral scream tearing from his throat. He strikes with enough precision and force to sever his head clean off.

Sprays of blood cover Roan’s heaving chest. He raises the axe to point at me, a primal ferocity in his eyes, then he lets it drop, his arms hanging heavy at his sides.

The crowd is going absolutely wild for the upset and decapitation. People knock into me and the noise of their cheers is deafening, but I can’t take my eyes off the bruised, bloody, and beautiful man staring at me with cold and wild eyes as the cage slowly lifts.

1. Lion—Saint Mesa

Chapter 22

Brutalized

Roan

The adrenaline doesn’t wear off until we’re halfway back to the car parked almost a mile away. Then the pain starts to set in. Each breath painfully stretches my bruised—probably broken—ribs. My jaw throbs, and the coppery taste of blood is a constant on my tongue.

“Let me drive,” Reggie begs, guilt so thick in her voice that it drills into my chest like a screw. She reaches for the keys in my hand, but I tug my hand away. “Please let me help you.”

I clench my teeth together, holding back the reply clawing its way up my throat. I push it down, yet my reply is stilted and harsh. “Get in.”

“I will when you give me the keys.” She places her hands on her hips, trying a different tactic to get what she wants. It’s always about what she wants.

“Get in the fucking car.” I pound my fist on the hood. “Now, Cortez.” She flinches, and the brave lift of her chin falls. I hate the way she scampers around the car like she’s scared I’m going to hurt her. I’d never hurt her—not unless she wanted it—and that’s the fucking problem. The absolute need, the deep instinct in my soul to protect her is going to get me killed. And I can’t bring myself to care about my safety, not when it comes to her.

My nerves are too frayed to deal with this. My body is exhausted and screaming in pain, and my soul is soaked in blood. My mind just wants to shut off and ignore all the feelings grappling inside my chest. Their mere presence feels toxic, weakening.

She picks at her nails, her hands in her lap the entire wordless drive to the safe house as she steals timid glances at me. I want to grab her by the chin and force her to look me in the eyes, hoping she’d see everything I can’t put into words.

Even the smallest movements—bracing my core as we make a turn, changing gears and pedaling the clutch—send splitting pain through my sides. That’s the bitch about rib injuries: they feel like they’re all over your body. Anything that causes your abs to tense, from sneezing to shitting, squeezes your broken bone like a vice.

Back at the safe house, I hesitate for two fucking seconds at the bottom of the ladder, and Reggie asks, “Can you do it? Do you need help?”

“I’m fucking fine,” I grumble, then force myself up the rungs, glad I’m facing the wall as I grimace the entire climb. I go straight to the window and light a cigarette, trying to distract myself by going over what the priestess told us after the fight.

“The Warden hosts hunting parties, and women are the prey. It’s incredibly secretive, near impossible to get information or an invitation without a previous guest vouching for you. I don’t know where it takes place, but it’s somewhere secluded and isolated. You’re not going to stumble upon it by chance.”

Something for Reggie seemed to click—I could see her thoughts shuffling with this new information—but she filed it away as soon as I said it was time to go. I was so worn from the fight, I was barely registering the information. Since then, all her nervous attention has been on me.

Even now, I hear the soft padding of her bare feet as she approaches me like I’m a feral animal in the wild. I don’t turn around or even acknowledge she’s there. I take another drag, savoring the calm of nicotine over the pain my expanding lungs cause.

Her silent presence shatters any semblance of peace one lousy cigarette can bring. I feel her soft, pity-filled eyes on my back like spiders crawling over my skin. “If you have something to say, Cortez, say it.”

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