Page 83 of Wrecked for Love
But it wasn’t just the stage that left me second-guessing how the night was going to end. It was what came next.
From the back of the room, heavy footsteps echoed, and a shadow emerged.
The moment he stepped into the light, my breath stalled. He was massive, even larger than I thought possible. His sheer presence seemed to suck the oxygen from the room. His calculating eyes locked onto mine, and in that instant, a terrifying realization hit me—there was no way I could fight him. I’d seen men like him before on TV—all show, all staged. But standing here, breathing the same air, it didn’t matter if he was acting. He could break bones and toss grown men like ragdolls. And tonight, I was his target.
Doubt crept in, threatening to crack my resolve. I’m dead.
“What’s the matter, Lucas?” Lucien’s voice slithered through the air. “Cat got your tongue? Not the fearless man your great-grandfather was, huh? You know the story as well as I do.”
“This isn’t the old days, Voss! We’re in the twenty-first century.” My voice rang out with conviction, but the bitter irony wasn’t lost on me. I’d thought about it a thousand times—settling those old scores in the ring and avenging Tessa’s death since the system had failed us. But it was the Vosses I wanted,not their hired muscle. And the price on the line should’ve been my life, not Claire’s.
“And yet, nothing’s really changed, has it, El? Sure, the stakes are different. Your great-grandfather fought for his land. But you? You’ll fight forher.” He presented Claire like she was some kind of prize he was offering up. “The game’s still the same, though. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Let her go, and we’ll settle this. Just the two of us.”
I looked at Claire, her wide, terrified eyes locking with mine, and something inside me shifted. She was scared, maybe more scared than I was. I couldn’t let her down. Lucien couldn’t win.
“Meet your opponent—Saxum,” Lucien said, motioning to the man stepping forward. “On loan all the way from a club in the East Coast, just for me tonight. Let’s just say I paid a premium. So don’t embarrass me. I expect a show worthy of the investment.”
“I’m not interested in your whore, Voss. I’m fightingyou!” I shouted, pointing my finger hard at him, countering the heavy beats behind my ribcage. “Come on, show me what you’ve got! Or are you just a coward, hiding behind—what’s his name again? That useless sack of a heffalump!”
Lucien chuckled darkly. “I don’t get my hands dirty. You know that.”
The man-sack moved to one corner, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He rolled his shoulders and threw a few quick jabs at the air, loosening up. Maybe I should, too, but what difference would it make?
Facing the inevitable, I braced myself for whatever was coming. Freestyle, MMA, Muay Thai—it didn’t matter. Most likely, there would be no rules. I yanked off my jacket, then pulled my shirt over my head. Oddly, it felt colder inside than out. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready for the fight.
My opponent roved over me, taking me in from head to toe, sizing me up from a distance.
“You sure know how to flex for the ladies,” he sneered, his gaze sliding over to Claire. “She’s a knockout, that one.” He blew a mocking kiss in her direction.
“Hey!” I shouted, stepping forward. “I’m right here!” There was no way I’d let him look at her like that.
His attention jerked back to me. “The real question is, can you back it up in here, in this ring?”
His wicked grin stretched wider as he approached, and for a second, a small part of me still hoped this was all just an act. Maybe he was playing it up for some imaginary crowd, thinking there were cameras rolling.
But I knew. This guy was the real deal, a walking wall of destruction. Claire’s life, everything she meant to me, was on the line.
I’d face this beast head-on. If I had to be broken tonight, fine. But I’d make sure I was still standing when it ended.
“I’d hate to tear apart that shiny muscle suit.” His gaze lingered on my abs. “Or that pretty face of yours. Just picture the bruises, the lacerations, maybe even a jaw that’s going the wrong way.”
I felt his stare—battle-ready, bloodthirsty. I matched his energy, taunting, “What was your name again?” Pretty sure it was Scrotum.
“The name’s Saxum! Latin for ‘rock,’” he boomed, like he expected a round of applause. “There’s still time to walk away, farm boy. Quit while you’re still in one piece.”
Lucien, fed up with the dragged-out prelude, barked, “Get on with it already!”
No backing down now. My opponent was fired up and raring to go.
The eldest Voss then delivered his final order. “Fight till the end. The loser’s fate will be in the hands of the victor. Make your ancestor proud, Lucas!”
35
CLAIRE
Some say being a spectator is always worse than being in the midst of the battle. My pulse tripped over itself as I watched Elia and Saxum, waiting for the moment one would strike first. The stage seemed to shrink as they stalked across it, their footsteps muffled against the old carpet.
