“Lucky man,” Raffie says. “The main event will begin soon.”

“How’s it been so far?” Matteo asks.

“Good. Bloody.” Raffie gestures to the table. “Come. Drink. Eat. Enjoy.”

As we shuffle around the table, I don’t have time to slow down to choose where I sit, meaning I end up wedged between Riley, which is fine, but with Carlo on my other side. The smell of his cologne is almost overwhelming. He brushes his arm against mine, and it feels like a bee stinging me.

When he tries to shift even closer to me, I turn to him, giving him a look. He grins as if to say,Ah, you won’t be so stubborn at the end of the night. My skin crawls, but leaving this place feels suddenly impossible. I try to gameplan it out. If I was going to get up, I’ve got to shimmy by Carlo. I can tell he’s the sort of creep to make it weird. Riley’s talking with Matteo, but I can’t even hear it; I can’t hear anything over the music and my heartbeat in my ears.

Swallowing, I stare down at the blood on the canvas. It makes me cringe slightly, but not much. I’ve seen much worse while caring for Mom when Lacey or one of her other nurses was busy.“A girl has to harden herself,”Mom said after Dad, but I can’t think, care, or pretend.“A girl has to keep her cool.”Mom was so cool before she got sick. What a horrible, evil thought. It’s the kind of thing I can think about but never say. With her lopsided grin and her cocky wink, she was always cracking jokes, always making fun of herself in the cutest ways.

“Are you okay, Maya?” Carlo says, leaning his weight against me, and it’s weird. It’s like his image is mixing with the blood on the canvas, like if he pushed more, the blood would expand, and that’s just so … funny, isn’t it? He laughs when I do, and I hate the sound of his laugh, but I like the idea of the blood expanding and retracting in time with his weight.

What am I thinking?

“They are having a giggle fest over there,” somebody calls, and there’s more laughter and blood; it’s so beautiful. I could write a poem about it. What’s wrong with me? Have I just, what, embraced the sick side? The shit side. The ugly side.

Riley touches my arm. Oh, that’s so much better. I move away from the ocean of the stink of Carlo’s cologne and fall right against my friend. She wraps her arm around me. “Isn’t this just the greatest night ever?”

“Yeah, you’re so warm.”

She giggles. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more.”

“No way, it’s not possible.”

“Holy shit, it’s starting!” Raffie leaps to his feet, pushing against the fence. A chain-link fence borders off the raised section, and it looks as if the fighters will jump up here and start swinging at us.

“This is going to be crazy,” Carlo says excitedly.

“Mess him up, T!” Raffie yells, slamming his fist against the fence.

Everybody is around the caged area now, watching closely, the masquerade masks dancing and becoming huge ghoulish grins and then frowns, and it’s so captivating. It’s all I can look at or think about. It’s like time is doing strange dances, refusing to behave normally.

Riley nudges me. “You’re going to miss the fight.”

“Huh?” When? Now.

“Look.”

I drag my gaze up, struggling not to fall over at the same time. Doing both at once is difficult until it’s not. There he is, but we’re in reverse positions this time. I’m looking down on him. Am I dreaming?

Tristan stands under the harsh light in the cage. My body heats up the second I see him.

Shirtless and glistening with sweat, every sinew and muscle is defined like they’re tempting me to trail my finger along them. His broad shoulders taper down to a chiseled chest, each muscle sculpted and powerful. His biceps bulge as he flexes, veins snaking across his arms like tributaries.

His abs are a series of intricate and taut ridges, each standing out like a stone in a riverbed. I can’t take my eyes off how his muscles move and shift under his skin with each breath he takes. His skin gleams with a sheen of sweat, accentuating the contours of his physique and making him look almost like a living statue.

Despite the chaos around me, my eyes are locked on him, every detail of his body burning into my core. His legs are thick and powerful looking, supporting his impressive frame with a solid stance. Amid the crowd and the noise, he seems to be the only real thing.

What am I even thinking?Realthing? I lick my lips. I wish Tristan were kissing me. I wish he were shirtless with me for a different reason. God, I’m hot all over.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TRISTAN

The sleazebag touches her arm again. What the hell is she doing here? I can’t look up there at her, can’t focus on the way her dress hugs her body, her cleavage pushed up with thatfucktouching on her. People are yelling and cheering for me or the man opposite; it doesn’t matter to me.