Page 63 of Filthy Beginnings

All Damien could think of was Scarlett and how it had felt to hold her. Taste her. And how fragile and worried she’d seemed.

Soon, she wouldn’t have to worry any more.

Unlocking the small storage space allotted each fighter, he pulled out the canister of water Scarlett had given him and took a long drink, feeling closer to her already.

Crex staggered over to stand by his side, a curved spatter of blood along his cheek and cut above his eye, making him look like some clown raider.

“You did it.” Damien clapped his friend on the back. Crex had made it past the final sixteen and all the way to the last eight fighters. His prize money would be even greater than he’d expected, his sisters’ futures assured.

“Thanks to you.” Crex shot him a smile.

Damien shook his head. “You got yourself here. I only cut down the competition.”

“Right.” Crex didn’t look convinced. “Say what you want. I know the truth—and I’m grateful.”

Damien grunted back.

“You’ve got this in the bag.” Like him, Crex was studying the fighters left.

Three Brotherhood-sponsored fighters remained, including a plated, hulking Kuril Alpha and a blob-like fucker that could only be from the Prendel crime family. There was one other no-name, non-Brotherhood fighter like him and a few consortium-owned warriors, likely trained by Scarlett’s brother. And, of course, there was Kadon Stormhart. Still in the tournament, as predicted. Or perhaps someone had rigged that outcome, but there was only so much the consortium or Brotherhood could do. Damien would not be controlled by them.

He surveyed those standing between him and his goal.

Cuts and bruises riddled everyone left, including him. A few had broken arms and horns, and even more looked dazed, one listing from side to side. Those would be the easiest to take out next.

But fucking Kadon Stormhart looked as clear-headed and focused as ever. His gaze locked on Damien.

Scowling, Damien stared back, not looking away as he took another long chug of the water.

He’d taken out the fighters near him easily. But Stormhart was proving harder to dispatch.

They’d exchanged a few strikes when they crossed paths earlier, but there’d been so many bodies at the start and they both kept getting ambushed by others looking to take out the favorites fast.

Damien didn’t let it worry him. He’d get around to the bastard soon.

Because this time, a sense of control guided him on and off the ring. He felt centered in a way he hadn’t before. Stormhartwas just another fighter to defeat. A stepping stone to what really mattered.

Damien pictured Scarlett’s face and his true purpose reemerged, cutting past all the bullshit and the screaming crowd, golden lights, and flashing money signs.

None of that mattered.

Not even the title itself.

Not even beating Stormhart, beyond the fact that it was a means to his real objective.

His true end and his beginning was Scarlett Skolov.

He was going to be a better male for her. All grown up. Ready to be an Alpha she could be proud of.

He’d come to the tournament to prove himself.

He’d discovered, thanks to her, that he had nothing to prove—except that she was his everything.

He took another long drink.

The liquid cooled his parched throat. The thought of her caring for him soothed his soul.

They were going to be okay.

---