Page 35 of Murder & Mayhem

Oliver just gives me another of his knowing looks. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t jump in front of a bullet for either of us?”

I’m still thinking over my response—because, would I? Fuck, yeah, I think I would—when we step into the converted gym, and the lyrics ofAlkalineby Timeflies come belting over the speaker and drown out my train of thought.

Looking around, the place is packed tonight. More full than I’ve ever seen it before. “Wow,” I remark, not that Oliver hears me over the sound of the music and roaring of the crowd.

Presumably seeing the look of shock on my face, he leans in to shout in my ear. “There’s always a big crowd when Cain or the kids are fighting.” Tugging me to one side of the room, he shouts, “Come on,” and I follow as we press through the crowd until we reach a raised platform.

Climbing the steps, I look out over the crowd. You can see the whole room from here. My gaze lands on the bright lights illuminating the emptied swimming pool where the current fight has just ended. Some guy I recognize from around the Reject clubhouse steps into the pit with a microphone and begins to announce the next fight—Bones vs. Headlock.

Dressed in only a pair of basketball shorts, his toned chest on display, Jon jumps down to join him as his name is called. The crowd goes wild, screaming and stamping their feet as he throws his arms in the air, grinning like the crazy kid he is. I notice Luc and the others standing at the edge of the pool behind him, clapping and screaming as loud as everyone else. It’s impossible not to get wrapped up in the atmosphere, and I find myself yelling out his name as Oliver pulls me down to sit beside him on a small sofa.

I tear my gaze away from the pit to look around me, noticing that we are alone in a small seating area with sofas, armchairs, and low tables placed around the platform. A waitress comes up the stairs with a tray in hand and strides toward us. I notice her glance around, as though looking for someone, before her gaze lands on Oliver and me, and she smiles.

“Hey, Oliver,” she greets, handing him a glass with amber liquid in it. “What can I get for your friend?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” I answer for myself.

She hands me the other glass of whiskey on her tray, which I’m guessing was meant for Cain.

“Can you bring us another glass and the bottle?”

With a nod, she disappears down the stairs again as Jon’s opponent steps into the ring, putting on an over-the-top, cocky performance. Not that I can blame him. He’sripped.His muscles have muscles, making Jon look like the scrawny kid he is.

My wide eyes swivel to Oliver, who just laughs. “Just watch.” His casual tone does nothing to ease the anxiety growing inside me, but I turn my attention back to the pit as Cain crests the top of the stairs and comes striding toward us.

He looks at the empty space beside me before opting for the armchair, and I have to quell my disappointment. Focusing on my drink instead, I take a sip of the whiskey, relishing the rich texture and smooth burn. I’ve never had whiskey like the shit I’ve had at the clubhouse or here. I’m used to the bottom shelf, will-fuck-you-up, kinda shit, butthisis top-quality whiskey.

The announcer continues on his spiel about the fighters while the waitress returns with another glass and the whole bottle of whiskey. Her eyes light up when she spots Cain, making my teeth grind in annoyance. Instantly, there’s a change in her demeanor as she flicks her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and sways her hips more provocatively as she strides toward us in her high heels and booty shorts.

She deliberately moves around to Cain’s side of the table and bends low, ensuring she pushes her tits together and bats her eyelashes as she says in a seductive purr, “Hi, Cain.” It’s nothing like the friendly yet professional tone she used on Oliver, and I immediately want to shove her over the edge of the platform.

Cain looks away from the fighting pit, and his eyes land on her tits. How could they not when she’s practically got them shoved under his nose? A sly grin curls one side of his lips as he leans back in his seat and spreads his legs.

“Hey, Cindy. How have you been?”

“All the better for seeing you here tonight. Do you have plans for after the fight?”

My hand, resting on Oliver’s thigh, tenses, and I dig my nails into his jeans to prevent myself from scratching her eyes out. It’s an utterly irrational impulse. I have no claim over Cain. Haven’t I told myself a hundred times that I don’twantany claim over him? So why am I acting like a jealous bitch all of a sudden?

“Not yet. Why don’t I come and find you if nothing else comes up?”

She beams at him while licking her plump, cherry-red lips. “Sounds perfect.”

I glare laser beams into her back as she strides away, wishing I had the ability to kill her with just a look. Chuckling, Oliver pulls me in closer against him and lowers his lips to mine. “Chill, Trouble. He’s not going to fuck her.” How the hell can he know that? Did he not see what I just saw cause that looked exactly like two people arranging to meet up later so they can fuck.

Movement in the pit captures my attention, and I put all thoughts of Cain and the waitress on the backburner as Jon and Headlock step into the middle of the pit. My nails dig into Oliver’s thigh once again as I lean forward in my seat, equal parts enraptured and terrified as the announcer calls the fight.

Headlock immediately rushes Jon, but the kid is quick on his feet, and he darts out of the way at the last second, sending Headlock crashing into the side of the pool. It looks like he snarls—not that I can hear it over the roar of the crowd—as he spins to face Jon, rushing him again. Jon just as easily evades his blow, beaming like he could do this all night. He probably could, and unlike Headlock, he hasn’t expended any energy yet.

Grinning, Jon says something. I don’t hear what, but based on the purple-red color that Headlock’s face turns, and the way the muscle in the back of his jaw tightens, I’m guessing it was intended to rile him up. And it worked. Pushing off his back foot, he takes yet another run at Jon. Jon just stands there and grins smugly at him. Everything about his expression screamscome get me,and it only eggs Headlock on more.

At the last second, Jon steps to the side and kicks out. His foot connects with the side of Headlock’s knee, and he stumbles. His knee slams into the hard pool tiles as Jon pounces on his back. His arm wraps around his neck, his other hand coming up to grab his wrist so he can tighten his hold on Headlock’s neck, wrenching it back at a painful angle.

Flailing, Headlock scrambles to dislodge Jon, but he struggles to gain any purchase as Jon clings to him like a goddamn spider monkey, unphased that Headlock is leaving deep scratch marks on his arms.

As his lips turn blue, Headlock climbs unsteadily to his feet and runs backward until he collides with the side of the pool, crushing Jon in a last-ditch attempt to dislodge him. Jon grunts in pain, his face scrunched, and my hand flies up to cover my mouth as I gasp, and the crowd boos. Luc and the kids are standing right behind Jon and Headlock, and they bend down, shouting words of encouragement.

Despite how much that must have hurt, Jon holds tight, waiting him out until Headlock falls to his knees, on the brink of passing out. Then Jon grabs a fistful of his hair, and with savage brutality, he smashes his face into the floor of the pool three times, until bright red blood coats the tiles and runs down Headlock’s face.

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