Page 91 of Silver Elite

“Like poor Eversea. Tried so hard to please him.”

“I can’t figure out where you got the idea that I care about this,” I tell Roe.

“You’re the one staring at my brother.” We both watch Crosslaughing at something Ford said. It draws another chuckle from Roe. “Don’t let it fool you.”

“What?”

“The jovial captain. He’s a coldhearted bastard.”

“I thought you were the bastard,” I say sweetly, and enjoy how it extinguishes the humor on his face.

Before he can retort, a murmur goes through the crowd.

“Oh, this should be good,” someone near us says.

I glance at the pit in time to see Xavier Ford hop over the ledge and onto the sand.

Cross is jumping in after him.

Chapter 21

Cross strides toward Ford with an easy grace. He exchanges a few words with the lieutenant, who chuckles and shoves Cross good-naturedly.

“He and Xav have been best friends since childhood,” Roe says, bringing his mouth to my ear.

I shiver at his nearness. He’s only eighteen years old, yet everything about him makes me uneasy.

“Watch how little that means to him.”

I move a few steps to the side, hoping Roe will take the hint. He doesn’t. He sticks close, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

My attention returns to the sand, my throat running dry as my captain and my lieutenant strip their shirts off. Fabric is tossed aside to reveal two bare chests. Sinew and muscle.

The men square off in the center of the pit. It starts almost like a tease. Their movements are fluid and practiced as they circle each other. Ford is grinning. Cross licks his lips. The air thickens with tension. Anticipation hangs heavy over the makeshift arena. Even the volume of the music seems to lower.

I hear Lyddie gasp when they suddenly launch at each other.

Holy hellfuck.

The ferocity takes my breath away. They’re lightning-fast, trading blows with a savage intensity that borders on brutality.

I can’t tear my eyes off him. He’s ruthless. Unforgiving. Each blow is precise, delivering the damage he intends. He’s the first to draw blood, cutting Ford’s lip open and sending a red stream trickling down his chest. The lieutenant retaliates with a jab that has Cross’s head rearing back, and while Cross is regaining his balance, Ford slams a knee into his abdomen with such force, I fear for his kidneys.

“This is savage,” Betima breathes. She sounds impressed.

The fight rages on. The crowd’s yells mingle with the frenetic bass line and the sounds of grunts and labored breaths coming from the sand. Each blow lands with bone-crushing force and sends shock waves of sensation coursing through me, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce in my core.

I. Cannot. Look. Away.

I try to push the thoughts from my mind, but it’s no use. The sight of Cross, his muscles rippling with exertion, his features twisted mercilessly, stirs something primal within me.

Hunger.

I hate both him and myself for it.

I gulp, my cheeks flushing, heart pounding with a rhythm that matches the violent tempo of the fight. It’s vicious. I’ve never seen anything like this. Cross slams the other man’s face into the sand. Ford curls over on his side, spitting out dirt and blood. Cross pounces, straddling the lieutenant, and lands a final blow to the roar of the crowd, so loud it seems to rock the entire building. Finally, he rolls off his friend and lies flat on the sand, breathing hard.

And then they start to laugh.

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