Page 11 of King of the Cage

“I’ll take him on, and whoever else wants to go against me. Why not? It’s all in good fun,” he called.

People cheered. It was smart. Since there was tension between the De Sanctis and O’Connor families, if Bran made it a free-for-all, with every family trying their hand at taking him on, then there was nothing political about it. Just a group of drunk, bloodthirsty savages needing a little light entertainment.

After Bran’s offer to take on whoever wanted a go at him in the ring, the guests sprang into action. Bran’s men set up a makeshift ring of chairs, and the spectators gathered around to watch, money exchanging hands. Sol went to speak to her family, quiet in a way that hurt my heart. I had to talk to her.

Enrico was in a heated argument with his father and brother. I made to step away when a huge hand closed around my wrist.

“Satisfied with your work?”

Bran stood over me. He’d taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his white shirt. More tattoos decorated his beautiful body. I worked hard not to stare. I’d seen a lot of ink in my years in the De Sanctis family, but Bran’s was startlingly different and unique. Half were prison tats, the rest Celtic designs. There was a particularly beautiful one over his heart. A long straight line, with shorter lines bisecting it at careful intervals.

“Someone needed to spice this party up. You’re welcome,” I stated, distracted by his gorgeous body.

He chuckled, and the sound did something to me. It was warm and welcoming, like a bath. I wanted to sink into it. The thought was jarring. I wasn’t someone who sought out hookups for comfort. I had hard, satisfying sex and skipped away, never to think about the guy again. That was the way I scratched my physical itches, and I had no intention of changing it. Especially not with a man like Bran. He didn’t seem like someone whowould lie back and give me control, then let me walk away unaffected. He was dangerous, and yet, I was pretty sure I’d led him to believe that I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me in return for beating up Enrico.

“Well, you managed that, all right.” Bran released my hand and went back to taking his shirt off.

This time, I stared, unashamed, as did every single other woman in the room (and some men). That torso was a thing of beauty. Muscled, inked, and scarred. I wanted to run my lips over every inch.

“My eyes are up here, Giada,” Bran murmured with a smirk.

I licked my lips and sighed. “I know, but they are no match for all this.” I waved my hand in the general direction of his torso. “But I guess you know that. So, are you going to be my champion?”

Bran considered my words and then nodded, tossing his white shirt away. He cracked his knuckles as he turned back to me. “If you’re asking if I’m going to pound this guy and anyone else who challenges me into the ground, then the answer is yes — swiftly followed by you.”

Heat flooded through me at his low, dangerous tone. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, take your panties off, wait in the bathroom, and bend over the sink for me. Tonight, wee one, you’re mine.”

His words, and the utter confidence in his tone, heated my cheeks.

I cleared my throat. “Big talk. Let’s see you win first, Irish. Maybe it’ll be you getting pounded… But don’t worry, I’ve heardSepriano isn’t particularly gifted in groin area, so it might not hurt too bad.”

My wisecrack only had him chuckling. He reached out and slid a finger down my cheek. His touch burned.

“Unfortunately for you, the same can’t be said about me.”

The heat dripping through me turned into a wildfire. I swallowed past my suddenly dry throat. “Very funny,” I quipped, more breathless than I’d have liked.

Then he grinned, and it was so wicked, the Devil himself would have been proud. “Not a joke, it’s an apology. I’m afraid you’ll be walking funny all week by the time I’m done with you. Wait for me, Giada. I won’t leave you hanging for long.”

3

GIADA

The fight started not long after that. The bloodlust was high. The crowd brayed and shouted when Bran flexed his huge shoulders and squared up against the first contender drunk and deluded enough to think he stood a chance against the Irishman. Bran didn’t stretch it out. With a pointed look at me, he knocked the first three guys out with the first punch.

Sworn enemy or not… it was hot.

Sol stood beside me, her hands curled into fists.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “Sure. It’s hardly the first time someone has liked you over me. Why am I even friends with you, remind me again?” She grinned and nudged me, but her tone was flat.

“You had me going there,” I admitted, my heart fast and my palms sweating.

“Seriously, it’s okay. I mean, looking at him now, it’s hard to see what I thought was hot,” Sol admitted.

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