Page 57 of Wild Side
It’s watching him move that has me tilting my head.
It’s the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides, the thumbs swiping over his index finger.
It’s the way he walks that has my breath freezing in my lungs. The raw power he exudes, the way he holds himself like a king, commanding the thousands of people in that arena to acknowledge him, follow him.
It’s the detailed black tattoos that swirl on his right arm that give him away.
Heat suffuses my body. I may barely know the man, and I may have never watched wrestling before, but I identify him instantly.
Recognition pounds me, and all the bits and pieces of him come together. Hours at the gym. Weeks away. Thebruises.
God. It all makes so much sense.
Now I’m the one turning toward the kitchen as though I can see around a corner. Can he hear us? Does he know? Is he assuming I won’t recognize him with that mask?
“Your dad is waiting,” I say, bringing my splintered attention back to Cora.
“Yeah. Just hang on. Wild Side is my favorite. This won’t take him long.”
Her definition ofwon’t take him longmight be different from mine. Because the wrestler takes his sweet-ass time strolling down the walkway, the crowd growing more excited with each step. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush, considering there is a man getting the shit beat out of him by three others.
He stops close to the ring, and the screen switches to a camera angle with a closer view of his masked face. Thoseshapely lips quirk up in a cocky smirk, and his tongue presses into the side of his stubbled cheek. He oozes an unbearable amount of confidence.
It does funny things to my ovaries.
“They’ve done it now, Pete,” one of the announcers says with a gleeful flourish. “They haven’t had to worry about Wild Side doling out his own special brand of justice for several months. Looks like he’s here to remind them who the boss is around these parts.”
With that, the man who I’m sure is Rhys takes an absurdly graceful leap onto the ledge of the ring before planting one hand on the top rope and vaulting himself into the melee.
At once, the three men set their sights on him, but it’s a feeble attempt.
One goes down with a head butt that makes me wince.
The second meets his match in the form of a booted high kick.
The third lingers back a bit before charging.
“Ohhh, he’s gonna take him over the mountain. I just know it.” The announcer’s gritty voice rings through as Rhys ducks the man’s attack, then spins on him as he launches backward off the ropes like a rock from a slingshot.
Rhys picks the large man up like he’s nothing and spins him around in some sort of eye-crossing flip before body-slamming him onto the mat with alarming speed and strength. I can’t help but flinch.
“Dope, right?” Cora says with a slow nod and hearts in her eyes.
Me? I swallow away the dryness in my throat. “Yeah. Totally dope.”
The camera shows Wild Side giving the injured man from before a hand up and leading him out of the ring as he steps over a body he left behind. The fans are feral. There are men, women,children, people of every age and ethnicity. There are signs that read everything fromWILD SIDE IS BACKtoWILD SIDE, I’LL HAVE YOUR BABIES!and the frantic announcing only adds to the feeling of pandemonium.
It’s honestly a perfect match for what’s going on inside my head right now. Chaos, confusion, amusement. They all war together with a heavy serving of red wine as I walk Cora back out to Ford’s SUV and bid them good night.
Then I walk back into my house to face Wild Side.
Rhys is in the kitchen, his back to me, a glass of red wine in one hand, the other casually slung into his pocket as he looks out over the darkened backyard.
Like this, in his tuxedo, he looks too refined for the type of brutality I just watched him dole out on TV—allegedlydole out—and I could burst at the seams with all the questions perched at the tip of my tongue. I could use another glass of wine, but not before I get this out of my system.
“Hey…”
His head inclines in my direction, but he doesn’t turn.
