Page 21 of Dmitri

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. But do you remember that woman you enjoyed after the fight?”

My entire body locks. “What about her?”

“She’s been at the Scrapyard every night since. I think she’s looking for you.”

Chapter5

Daelyn

I swear this stupid warehouse is gaslighting me. I know damn well this is where that cage fight was two weeks ago. Ace drove me here, so I never got the actual address, but I distinctly remember the faded sign propped on the edge of the roof with the words worn off it. The atrocity looms over me now, taunting me.

That night still feels like a fever dream. The fighter I fucked being nothing more than a fantasy I’d made up in my warped little mind. But I remember, with perfect, clarity how his strong hands grazed my body. How his lush mouth pressed against mine. The scent of his blood while it dripped all over the floor and my chest. His deep voice rumbling against my ear when he asked if I’d come there of my own volition.

All because I can’t figure out how to find this man doesn’t mean he was a figment of my imagination, damnit.

Marching around the building, I look through one of the filthy windows like I have every single time I’ve been here in the past two weeks. And just like every other time I’ve looked, the inside is still completely empty. Not a trace of that night remains. It shouldn’t be possible. I saw the lights and all the equipment the other night. It was allhere. That man was fuckinghere. Larger than life. Unforgettable. But now the cage is gone. The chairs aren’t here. No bars loaded with booze line the back nor are there projector screens covering the four walls. No trashcans, or lights, or people, either. The entire place looks like an abandoned hollow shell.

Frustration makes me want to scream.

Okay. Chill.It’s not like I was in my right state of mind when Ace dropped me off that night. And it was super dark out.There aren’t any lights in the parking lot either, so maybe I’m not in the right place after all.

Shit.

“Can I help you, darlin’?”

Startled, I spin around, clutching my heart. “Oh! Sorry.” The old man coming closer doesn’t look happy to see me, but I am very, very happy to see him. He’s the one who chained me against the wall in the bedroom upstairs. “I’m… um. I was here a couple weeks ago. Do you remember?”

His expression is unreadable.

“For the fight?” I add, hoping I don’t sound delusional.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but this is private property. I suggest you move along. It’s getting late and nothing good happens around here at night. Especially to pretty women like yourself.”

I’m not scared. I’ve faced worse than whatever could come get me here. “I know you remember me. I was the woman you brought upstairs.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I was there for the winner,” I press, starting to second-guess myself again. “There was a cage in there. And hundreds of people.”

The old man purses his lips and shakes his head. “You got the wrong place, darlin’. This building’s been closed for over a decade. And I’ve never seen you before. I’d for damn sure remember a pretty little pussy cat like you.”

“I’m telling you, I—” Forget it. He’s either suffering from memory loss, lying, or I’m certifiably crazy. “Sorry, I’ll leave.”

My heart clammers in my chest as I walk around the side of the building towards the front again. I had to take the bus here, and it’s a long way back home. For the past two weeks, I’ve come here every night, expecting to find that fighter only to leave empty-handed.

He’s not here.

Nothingis here.

Kaleb’s going to be furious that I’ve failed him, but this isn’t the place and I don’t have a name to search. I don’t have anything except the phantom sensation of that fighter’s huge cock between my thighs and the red skin on my wrists from the cuffs, which have already disappeared like they never existed in the first place.

Ace won’t help me either, even though he’s the one who drove me here that night. It’s like everyone’s making my mission more difficult on purpose, and I hate it.

Fuck all these assholes.

Leaving the parking lot, I sense that old man’s gaze burning into my back. Anger spikes in my veins and I ball my hands into fists, relishing the bite of my nails digging into my palms. I want to punch something. Someone. Anyone.

I’m not crazy. Thisisthe right place.

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