Page 30 of Knights Game

“Arben and four of his men have just shown up, they want to enter one of their men in the fight tonight.”

“The fuck…Have they got a death wish?”

“It would seem that way,” Levi replies. “I’m going to need Bennett, Fletcher and Rome. They’re always good in a brawl.”

“I need Rome, but I’ll give you Jackson instead.” I run a hand through my hair. Levi makes our family an absolute fortune running London’s underground fighting ring. Ever since the bastard watchedFight Clubas a kid, he’s had a hard-on for mixed martial arts, and an unhealthy obsession for Brad Pitt. The Brad phase passed, thankfully, but the fighting didn’t, and I’d hate to admit that Levi has found his strength and excels in it.

The instructions from John were clear though, no fights for a week prior to or after the gala. We don’t need our men standing out with the aftermath of the lethal fights at a black-tie event, including Levi who finishes the night with Last Man Standing.

And yes, that is exactly what it says on the tin, all rules gone, anything goes. I’ve watched the psychotic bastard bite someone’s ear off.

“I’m going to let them enter.”

“And then?” I ask.

“Then I’m going to kill the Albanian bastard.”

I smile wickedly. Levi may be a dickhead, but every so often we speak the same language. “Where am I sending the boys?”

“Duchess’ place.” Levi replies, muffled talking in the background.

“That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“It’s at Edge. Just tell them to be here.” He hangs up.

“Curve ball number one,” I explain to Roman. “Arben’s just shown up at Edge where Levi has a fight tonight. Call the boys.”

Fuck’s sake, I mutter to myself. Why is it always one step forward two steps back?

11

Luca

Sweat drips off mycousin’s back as he pummels the Albanian fighter once, twice, three times in the face. Blood splatters onto his knuckles, his fists, and his tattoos.

Rome and I aren’t supposed to be here, but Duchess asked for more people, and, well, I like Duchess.

The crowd erupts around us, and I can smell the metallic scent of blood in the air.

My men are scanning the crowd.

“Trouble,” Rome whispers in my ear and nods to where Fletcher is now locked in his own death fight with three members of the audience. The volume of the club gets louder as chaos quickly unfolds.

“Gun!” someone shouts and patrons around us start screaming, Duchess’ girls drop their drink trays and start to run to the exits along with everyone else who has realised the safety of the event has been compromised.

There’s something fascinating about watching human instinct take hold and civility disappear, as it becomes every man andwoman for themselves. Pushing, shoving and trampling anyone to get to the exit.

Levi runs his fight rings on respect: you come, you watch, you gamble, but all violence happens in the ring.

That rule was broken tonight, and I need one guess to know who’s responsible.

The Albanians.

“Help Duchess,” I instruct Roman, who’s armed and is as pissed as I am. “I’ll meet you back at the club.”

He nods once, then pushes his way through the carnage.

Levi’s still in the cage, the mangled face of the Albanian a gruesome sight as he continues to pummel him. Leaping up to the temporary ring Duchess has set up on her dance floor, I grab the rope and call, “Levi, we’ve gotta go.”

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