Page 10 of Knuckles & Knives
“Something interesting about my reaction?” I ask coolly.
“Everything about you is interesting, Raven Blackwood.” He shifts slightly, and I smell his cologne again. I prefer his to Kieran’s. “The question is whether you’re interesting enough to stay alive.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Kieran Frost isn’t the only one who knows who you are now. Word travels fast in our world, and Vincent Blackwood’s daughter returning from the dead is the kind of news that commands attention.”
Ice runs down my spine even as the crowd below screams for blood. “What kind of attention?”
“The terminal kind.” Marcus’s smile is sharp as a blade. “The Kowalski family has already put a price on your head. Half a million dollars for proof of death. The Sterlings will match it within the hour.”
“A million dollars.” I let out a low whistle even though I knew this would happen at some point. I just hoped I might have more time before my reappearance was noticed. “I’m flattered.”
“You should be terrified.”
“Terror is a luxury I can’t afford.” I turn back to the fight, where Axel is systematically dismantling The Butcher with the efficiency of a surgeon and the artistry of a dancer. “Besides, a price on my head means I’m important. Important means valuable. Valuable means I have leverage.”
“Or it means you’re about to be very dead.”
“We’ll see.”
The fight below reaches its inevitable conclusion as Axel drops The Butcher with a devastating combination. The larger man hits the canvas like a felled tree and doesn’t get back up.The crowd erupts in a mix of ecstasy and outrage, those who bet on the underdog celebrating while others curse their losses.
But my attention is fixed on Axel as he raises his arms in victory, that wild grin splitting his face like he’s just experienced something better than sex. His brown eyes find mine again across the distance, and this time there’s something different in his expression. Challenge. He doesn’t like that he lost to me, and it’s starting to become personal.
He points at me and mouths words I can’t hear over the crowd noise but somehow understand anyway.
You’re next.
My blood turns to liquid fire. I beat him once, but next time…
Then he deliberately mouths,Come find me.
Oh…
“Well,” Marcus says conversationally, “that’s certainly going to complicate things.”
Dom’s hand closes around my upper arm, grip just shy of painful. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Like hell we are.” I shake him off, adrenaline singing in my veins as Axel vaults over the cage wall with predatory grace. “I came here for a reason, and I’m not walking away because some pretty boy with a death wish wants to play games.”
“Raven—”
“No.” I spin to face Dom, letting him see the steel in my eyes. “I spent five years preparing for this. Five years training, planning, becoming something harder and deadlier than the girl who ran away. I’m not going to waste that because you’re afraid I might get hurt.”
Dom’s face goes pale then red then settles into the granite expression I remember from my childhood. “Your father asked me to protect you.”
“My father’s dead,” I spit back, “and the promises made to dead men don’t bind the living. Besides, what happened to him being protected?”
Genuine hurt flashes across his features before he locks it away behind his professional mask. I can’t afford to be gentle right now. I can’t let sentiment compromise what needs to be done.
“Fine,” he says finally, his voice flat and emotionless. “But when this goes sideways—and it will go sideways—don’t expect me to pick up the pieces.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He turns and walks away without another word, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow. Part of me wants to call after him, to apologize for the cruelty, but that part is a weakness I can’t afford.
“Harsh,” Marcus observes, “but probably necessary. Sentiment is a liability in our line of work.”
