Page 7 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

He realizes his approach isn’t working, and redirects his next punch at the last second, managing to catch me off guard. My head snaps to one side as his fist connects with my jaw. The throb of a hit is a familiar, deep ache, rattling my teeth and filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. It’s the sharp sting that burns across my skin that I’m not prepared for. I reach up tentatively and pull my hand back to find my fingers wet with blood. Asshole must have something sharp stuck in his knuckle wrap.

I narrow my eyes and spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor, then lunge for him. He isn’t prepared for my fist plowing straight into his nose, and as soon as he stumbles back, I use his momentary lack of balance to take out his legs with a kick to his knee. He crumples, and I jump on him, straddling him before he has time to recover. I let my fists fly, a primal, satisfied growl rumbling in my throat as I pummel him. The wet sound of flesh on flesh, the smell of blood in the air, the frenzied screams of the crowd. It’s all a blur. The only thing that feels real is the pain radiating through my knuckles with each fresh blow.

I’m vaguely aware of being hauled off of my opponent, whose name I never bothered to learn. Dragging in ragged, heaving breaths, I wipe the back of my hand absently over my jaw, feeling the heat of the blood that’s still flowing from the cut. The high of violence slowly starts to fade and the crowd of men around me gradually unblurs, one face in particular coming into sharp focus.

Standing front and center, wearing a suit that’s completely out of place in a shithole like this, his dark hair neatly coiffed, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to kill someone or fuck someone… Elio fucking Moretti.

Of fucking course he’s here.

Chapter 4

ELIO

Rage rushes and churns inside of me, pulsing white hot until it tastes like ash on my tongue. I barely register the disdain in Orion’s eyes when they land on me, I don’t even get a chance to savor and fucking wallow in it. He’s hustled out of the makeshift ring in one direction, blood dripping from the slice along his jaw, and his opponent, Timothy Riker, is roughly shoved in the other direction by another large, impatient employee.

As much as I want to follow Orion, to get another hit of the drug I’m so fucking addicted to, there’s something I need to take care of first. Timothy’s height makes it easy to follow him through the crowd, his head towering above all the others. I shove past the men who are pressing up close to the ring again, salivating for the next round of fighters to enter the ring. Most of them are too drunk or too stupid to recognize me on sight, but the few who do fall over themselves to get out of my way.

Timothy doesn’t bother to stop to lick his wounds. He grabs a handful of napkins off the bar as he passes it, not slowing his stride, and heads straight for the stairway that leads back to the alley. By the time he reaches the top of the steps, I’m only a couple of paces behind him, taking the last two stairs at once to close the gap between us.

I grab him by the back of the shirt before he even realizes I’m behind him. It’s damp with his sweat, twisting easily in my fist. Jamming my knuckles into his spine, I use the leverage and the element of surprise to swing him into the nearest wall. His reflexes are quick enough that he catches himself with his hands before his already bloodied face can connect with the rough brick of the building’s exterior.

“What the fuck?” he grunts, struggling against me.

I pin him to the wall with my elbow shoved roughly between his shoulder blades, and lean in close to his ear. The salty, metallic taste of blood and the stale smell of the bar cling to him.

“That’s exactly what I was going to ask.” The humorless laugh I let out sounds menacing even to me, and Timothy struggles harder against my hold. I jam my elbow harder into his back, gritting my teeth as I growl the next words, “What the fuck makes you think you can put goddamn weapons on your knuckles before a fight? What the fuck makes you think you can make Orion bleed like that without paying the price?”

“Are you insane?” His voice is pitched a few octaves higher with the realization that he’s not going to be able to throw me off. “It’s a no-rules fight. Anything goes.”

“The greedy maniacs who organize this shit might not have any rules.” I drop my voice lower, quieter, letting every ounce of menace I possess slip into it. “But the Morettis do.”

He yelps like a trapped animal and the sour smell of piss fills my nostrils.

“Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Orion was… protected or whatever. Fuck, please, I… I have a kid.” His babbled pleas turn him from a vicious fighter into a scared little boy in the blink of an eye.

I chew on the inside of my cheek for a minute, holding him silently in place while I decide what to do with him. The visual of the blood running down Orion’s face is still stoking the flames of rage inside of me. But underneath that, I’m a reasonable man. At least, I like to think I am. With another low growl in my throat, I yank Timothy away from the wall and spin him around to pin him again, so we’re face to face this time.

“Orion Barros is protected. Spread the word. The next person who tries to fight him dirty is going to end up with their head splattered against the nearest available surface. Got it?”

He grimaces, the silver fangs he has fitted over his canine teeth glinting in the moonlight as he nods rapidly.

“Good.” I let go of him and take a step back, but he doesn’t move, still plastered to the wall, not sure if a single twitch of his muscles will end with a bullet between his eyes. “Go,” I bark, jerking my head towards the mouth of the alley.

I don’t wait around for him to make his escape, smoothing my suit down and turning back towards the entrance. The bouncer is standing silently, his eyes dutifully fixed on the wall. Smart man. He pulls the door open again in a hurry, and I descend the stairs back into the dank bunker of a bar below.

The smell of blood and alcohol hangs heavily in the air. With Timothy dealt with, the only thing on my mind now is finding Orion. Since the alley is the only exit, I know he hasn’t left yet. I make my best guess and head towards the bathroom.

I blink in the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom as I step inside. Sure enough, Orion is standing over the sink, looking at his reflection in the mirror that hangs on the wall over it, rust gathered around the edges. He’s holding a paper towel against his jaw, scowling before he even notices me standing behind him. His eyes flicker to mine and the furrow between his eyebrows deepens, his lips curling into a snarl.

“Nice fight.”

He narrows his eyes at me, but before he can respond, the stall door a few feet away swings open and a drunk man stumbles out. My patience is already hanging on by a fucking thread tonight, the tension that gathered in my shoulders when I saw the blood bloom across Orion’s face during the fight still lingering. I flick the button on my suit jacket open and reach for my holstered pistol in one quick motion.

“Get the fuck out.” My tone is cold as ice, and the drunk’s eyes go wide. He holds one hand up in surrender and books it for the bathroom door, doing up his belt with his other hand on his way out.

I tuck my gun away and turn my attention back to Orion, catching his eyes through the reflection in the mirror again. They’re harsh, dancing with bitter disdain that makes my heart race and my cock swell.

“That easy, huh?” he scoffs, dabbing his cut again before pulling the paper towel away and wadding it up in his hand. “You wave a gun around and people do whatever the fuck you want? Does that make you feel like a big man?” He spins around to face me, the harsh words ricocheting through me like a slap.

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