Page 29 of The Pretty Savage

"I'm fine." And I was as stubborn as a mule, but I could do this.

Maybe it was idiotic standing here and pushing myself to the max, when I could already feel the weakness in my thighs while fatigue slowly circled around me, waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack. But there was no way in fucking hell I would let these people win, especially not in a fistfight.

There were not many rules as we got ready to fight, apart from one very simple one—do not die. Which, I had to say, confused me since I was under the impression this was a fight to the death, or at least that was what Gabriela had said. But I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had decided to change it at the last minute.

I guess whatever the reason for these fights was, they didn't want us dead. They needed us for something, every single one of us, and I wasn't as idiotic as some of the others were. They were testing us, seeing who could withstand the fight and who would be good enough for them.

For, no doubt, an army they were creating. I just had no idea what for.

"Piccola," the man started speaking again. "Listen to me, please. That fire in your gut can only take you so far. You're going to kill yourself."

My head swiveled to the side, my eyes connecting with his. "Bring. The. Next. One," I pushed out through gritted teeth. I didn't want to listen to him anymore or to all the reasons why I shouldn't be doing this.

It started as a way to protect Yolanda, but now that I was here, surrounded by so many people who did the same thing as me for a living, I felt… free? For the first time I could let go and let instinct take over. I didn't have to follow the rules set by The Schatten.

I’d been trying to remember the last time I felt this free, this unbothered, without the suffocating noise in my mind that was always there, no matter what I did.

The host, as I called him in my head since I didn't know his name, took a step back and then another one, going into the corner opposite of where I stood, while two guys entered the ring, going straight to the groaning girl. My eyes latched on to the splatters of blood on the floor, a stark contrast to the white surface, and I missed the newcomer that stepped into the ring, passing by the host and coming straight toward me.

I thought he looked imposing and dangerous when he stood next to that bar, but that was nothing compared to the furious energy emanating from his body when he crossed the ring, taking a hold of my upper arm, only to start pulling me toward the corner where our host stood with a smirk on his face.

"You're done," the masked stranger, whose touch felt like a scorching fire on my arm, gritted out. "Dante!" he yelled, while my brain tried connecting the dots and figuring out what was happening. "Find another one. She's done."

Done? Done with what?

And then it dawned on me.

"No!" I thundered, pulling away from his grasp and stumbling backward. His arm shot out, steadying me on my feet, while his dark eyes narrowed at me, making me squirm in his hold. "Let. Me. Go." I bristled, hating the unsteady tone in my voice and the tingles erupting all over my body from one simple touch.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" he asked, and for the first time, I fucking hated the mask he wore. I wanted to see his face, to bury myself in the scorching heat he was offering so freely. In an eternity of darkness he felt like a blinding light, and I hated it.

This wasn't what I needed, this stranger. There was no doubt in my mind—I had to stay away from him.

"Maybe." I grinned, taking a step back from him. "It's none of your business."

"Jesus Christ," he groaned. "Dante!" The host, whose name was obviously Dante, rushed toward us. "There's blood on her teeth."

"I know." Dante nodded, grinning from ear to ear. Gone was the concern he displayed for me earlier, replaced by something I couldn't quite put my finger on. "She's a fighter. She's gonna be?—"

"No," the fucker replied. No? What did he mean, no? "She won't do."

"Excuse me?" I exclaimed, feeling the chill seeping into my bones, just as Dante said at the same time, "Why not?"

"She's not pure." The fuckface looked down at me as if I wasn't worthy of his time. "Just look at her." Just. Look. At. Her.

His words bounced around in my head, catapulting me back into a time I thought I had forgotten. I wasn't a twenty-year-old anymore, but a six-year-old girl, standing in front of the nun from an orphanage as the family that took me in just a few months prior explained that I wasn't a good fit.

I wasn't good enough.

I wasn't happy enough.

I wasn't fucking pure enough.

A rage like no other started from the tips of my toes, spreading through my body like a wildfire, burning down the memories I tried not to think about. My body moved of its own accord, ignoring the blinding pain from my left side and the strain in my shoulder. I’d read about an out-of-body experience before, but as I moved faster than ever before, looking at my hands as they turned into fists, I realized I didn't care.

No one, and I mean no one, spoke to me like that. Never fucking again.

A roar tore from my lungs just as my fist connected with the cheek of the asshole who obviously thought he was better than me just because he belonged to some fancy family and had a fancy last name. A crack sounded somewhere in my mind and I knew that I fucked up my hand even before the pain started settling in, but I was too angry, with adrenaline coursing through my veins, for it to register immediately.

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