Page 1 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

Part I

The Destruction

1

Liam

Baker’s fist catches me by surprise. His knuckles skate across my jaw, my teeth cutting into my cheek. I jump away from him, and blood fills my mouth.

He grins.

I spit and try to focus, but I would swear there’s a familiar face in the crowd.

He comes at me again, emboldened by the blood on my lips.

Sometimes in life—no, almost every fucking time—there are rules. Law and order, if you will. It’s how society stays afloat. Most people hold on to the concept with their dying breath.

And then there’s us.

Baker leaves his side open, and I lunge for him. Duck his elbow and get inside his defense, hammering at him with both fists now.

I went looking for a place to expel my energy. I went looking for a fight.

Instead, I found chaos in the form of an underground fight club—Howl. We don’t operate by the rules. The fights are bloody and fast, and the winner takes all. The money, the pride. There’s a circle of chalk on the floor, and the only way the match ends is when your opponent concedes, passes out, or jumps out of the circle.

The crowd is just another part of it. Some days, some fights, fill the room. Others will only bring in the diehard fans. The ones chasing the money.

RJ sits halfway up a dilapidated staircase going nowhere. He’s in charge of the books, of paying out bets, and paying the fighters. His almost-identical twin, Colt, stands at the edge of the circle. He makes sure we all play fair.

Well, as fair as we can.

Baker knees me, narrowly missing my groin. It’s a cheap shot, but it gets me off him for half a second and forces me to raise my guard. I block a head shot—it would’ve landed on my ear, made the room spin if I was lucky. But he only glances off my forearm. I barely feel the burn of it and dart forward again, aiming for his face.

He grunts and brings his arms up, but this isn’t boxing.

We fall to the floor and roll.

He’s a beast of a man, six-foot-six at least and packed with muscle. But that muscle isn’t helping him now, when he lands under me.

The last few punches are different. A bitter mix of knowing the end is approaching and cruelty. I won’t stop until he taps out or passes out.

My first hit lands on his jaw, whipping his head to the side. Blood sprays out of his mouth, and he raises his hand. He pushes at my face, but that’s… ineffective.

Someone gasps.

I snap my head up.

The crowd never gets in my head during a fight, and it’s happened twice now.

Baker uses my distraction and flips me off him. I hit the floor hard on my back and try to inhale.

Get up.

My lungs don’t work.

“Get up, Liam!” someone shrieks.

That damn voice.

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