Page 6 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

He grins, stepping aside and motioning toward the cage. “Got a few fresh meat boys itching to prove themselves, but if you want a real challenge…” He jerks his chin toward the opposite side of the ring.

A massive man, all brute force and mean eyes, is cracking his knuckles, watching me like he’s already planning my funeral.

I roll my neck, grinning. “He’ll do.”

Ramón claps me on the back. “That’s my boy. Now go make me some money.”

The bell rings.

And just like that, I’m home.

The moment the bell rings, everything else fades away. The noise of the crowd, the thick stench of sweat and adrenaline, even Ramón’s knowing smirk—it all drowns beneath the sharp, singular focus of the fight.

The bastard across from me is built like a goddamn tank, thick muscle stacked on thick muscle, the kind of guy who relies on brute strength to win. He cracks his knuckles again, smirking like he already thinks he has me figured out. Like he’s expecting me to go down easy.

We circle each other, slow, measured, waiting for an opening. He strikes first—a quick, testing jab that I slip with ease. I don’t bother hitting back yet. Let him think he’s in control, let him get comfortable.

Ramón’s voice cuts through the air, thick with amusement. “You gonna finish him off, Cast? Or are you just gonna keep playing with your food?”

With a snarl, I grab him by the collar of his shirt and jerk him upright, my fist swinging through the air again, connecting with his jaw, cracking it with a sickening thud. He falls back, dazed, blood pouring from his mouth.

Wiping his mouth, he comes at me again, faster this time, fists flying. I take a few hits—a sharp one to the ribs, another glancing blow to my jaw—welcoming the sting, the clarity that comes with it. But then I see the opening.

He throws another punch, this one heavier, aimed straight for my ribs. I step inside it at the last second, absorbing the impact as I slam my fist into his stomach, hard enough to make him grunt. He stumbles back, surprised, but it barely slows him. Good. I don’t want easy. I want pain. I want this to hurt.

My fist connects with his face in a vicious hook, and the satisfying crunch of cartilage shatters through the air. Blood sprays as his head snaps to the side, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

My knuckles split as I hammer another blow into his jaw, then another, knocking him back into the cage. He growls, spitting blood, and lunges forward in a last-ditch effort, aiming to take me down with sheer weight.

I let him get close before I drive my knee straight into his gut, stealing his breath. He wheezes, his body folding in on itself, and I grab him by the back of the head, yanking him forward as I smash it against my own.

Pain explodes through my skull, white-hot and blinding. But I grin through it, shaking the stars from my vision as he crumples to the ground. The ref moves in, checking if he’s still conscious. Barely. But it doesn’t matter. I already know I’ve won.

The crowd erupts, some cheering, some groaning over their lost bets. I barely hear them. My pulse is still roaring in my ears, my body vibrating with the high of the fight, the ghost of Willow’s name still burning in my throat. Ramón steps into the cage, whistling low as he looks between me and the bloodied mess at my feet.

Ramón grins wider, his voice thick with approval. “Damn, Cast, that was a show. You’re a fucking animal.” He tosses a towel at me, his eyes glinting dollar signs and excitement.

The ref steps forward, raising my arm in victory, but I don’t even acknowledge him. The fight is over butI want another one.

Just as the crowd’s cheers reach a fever pitch, someone hands me my vibrating phone. My fingers slick with sweat and blood, the glare of the screen making me squint. An unknown number.

“Who the hell—” I mutter, hitting the answer before the caller can hang up.

"Cast?" The voice is unmistakable. Vincent.

I freeze, my blood suddenly running cold. Before I can even growl at him, his voice cuts through, in a quick flurry of words.

“I’m still Damien’s emergency contact,” Vincent says, and every muscle in my body goes taut. “He’s in the hospital.”

3

WILLOW

Ilearned years ago that life is borrowed, but didn’t know my time would run out just when things were worth living for.

I was just about to marry Vincent, one of the loves of my life, and then my heart gave up like it couldn’t take the weight of all that love. I was going to demand we go get Damien and Cast to tell them they didn’t have a choice - they were stuck with me until death, but that was too much for my heart. Loving all three of these men is too much, an overindulgence I would happily die for.

The beeping of the monitors is a relentless reminder that I’m still here, that my body refused to let go even when my heart failed me.

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