I think.
As long as he comes out of this alive, I’m willing to move on from this criminal chapter of our lives and pretend to be Alice and Michael, not Bonnie and Clyde.
Taking one last steadying breath, I force myself to get up. I stumble a couple of times before I make it to the sink to wash my hands.
If Roman saw me like this, he’d probably kill me.
Actually, I’m pretty sure he’d love having a drunk Isabella to himself. But a drunk Isabella alone in the bathroom of an underground fighting ring?
Wait, not alone.
There’s… is that a man?
Am I imagining things? Did I accidentally go to the men’s bathroom?
The man narrows the space between us, taking up all the oxygen. He’s the size of a mountain, maybe bigger. With long black hair tied back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, sides shaved to show a massive scar. He smells like danger and looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to turn my lights off. Permanently.
Oh God.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I broke my promise to Mickey.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
“What’s your name?”
He creeps closer. Every cell in my body screams at me to get out of there. I need Damien. I shouldn’t have left his side.
My heart rattles in my chest. He was one of the men from the Vargas Cartel that Damien told me to look out for because of the stolen cocaine.
His words ring in my head.
People like us hide our weaknesses so someone else doesn’t hit us where it hurts.
I’m trying to rationalize my safety with myself. The bouncer would have taken his gun off him, right? So I won’t get shot. Not like any of that matters. He and I know he won’t need a weapon to kill me. He has to be at least triple my size.
I push myself against the sink and try to inch toward the door, but he reads my thoughts. The next thing I know, he’s standing in front of the exit and staring at me with an excited glint in his eyes that raises the hairs on my body.
“Isa,” I whisper.
I chant Damien’s name in my head, thinking—hoping—he’d be able to hear me and come to my rescue. Roman would be too busy, and the last thing I want is for him to start a fight with this guy.
“Isabella?”
My throat seizes. How does he know my name? What else does he know about me? Could he know about Jeremy?
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Mickey isn’t the one I should have been worried about. I am.
I’m the weakest link. I am Roman’s weakness.
He owes the cartel money. They want to make him pay.
To destroy him, they only need to look at me.
I shouldn’t have had anything to drink, shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom alone, shouldn’t have left Damien’s side.
“What do you want?” I squeak.
He takes a step toward me, and I match it back. “Our money. But we’ll settle for you.”
My heart stops for a split second.
Everything stills.
Then I open my mouth to scream.
Chapter 28
ROMAN
Sweat trickles down my back.
Every inch of my body burns.
I glance at the wall behind the big fucker’s head, where the time stares at me in big, red, blinking numbers.
Fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds since the match started.
Another three minutes and twenty-four seconds, and another two grand will be added to my wallet. If we last to the twentieth, five grand will be added.
They want a show, not a quick knockout. But if one of us is still standing by the twenty-fifth minute, people get bored, and the money stops coming. This isn’t boxing. There’s no break every three minutes. So we’re tired and sloppy, but it still makes for a good show.
Vargas’s fighter looks even shittier than me. The guy is probably the best fighter that gang has. He’s strong but slow. His right hook is deadly, and my head is still swimming after failing to block one. But I’d wager that Bella has better endurance than him.
The bigger they are, the faster they burn.
He swings, narrowly missing my nose. With his arm suspended and flank open, I pivot on the balls of my feet. My kick flies into his ribs. It isn’t enough to make him stumble, but it takes him by surprise. I use the shock to land a punch to his cheek.
That’s the beauty of street fights; there are no rules.
Big guys like him prefer boxing, all hands and no feet. Until now, he thought I was a boxer, too, just a slippery one. Hopping from foot to foot, dodging more hits than I’m throwing to tire him out.
After fifteen minutes, he’s just found out that I am a slippery asshole who can kick. Guys like him are the same, all about smashing with zero tactics. Muscle and brawn, but no brain.
Spittle explodes from his mouth guard, and he blocks the next kick in time. None of my hits are doing anything but annoy him, but I’m just doing it so he finally moves, and I can go back to seeing Bella behind him.
My stomach sinks even further to my feet when he does move.
She’s not there.
It’s been four minutes.
She’s still not back.
Where the fuck did she go with Damien? Did they get a drink? Go to the bathroom? Are they in my changing room? I told Damien I didn’t want her leaving the building without me.
For the first time since the fight started, I look at Rico. Unease settles low in my gut. His annoying grin isn’t plastered on. He isn’t even looking at the action.
Something is wrong.
I can fucking feel it.
I go back to our dance, keeping one eye out for Bella. But as the seconds crawl by, the rock in my stomach grows heavier. And when Damien comes back to his seat, shaking his head at Rico, the rock sharpens and pierces my skin.
Bella isn’t with him.
He isn’t with Bella.
The second they glance at me, I know. I just fucking know it.
Something’s wrong with Bella.
A demon takes over me. A beast. I don’t see anything else anymore. I don’t know how I do it, not even sure if my limbs moved or if everything unfolded through willpower alone. I barely see The Unseen Destroyer fall to the ground beyond the red haze over my vision. The referee calls my win, but I couldn’t care less.
One second, I’m in the ring, and in the next, I have Damien in my clutches. Rico tries to pull me away, but it’s useless. Bella is the one thing I’ll never let go of.
“Where the fuck is she?” I roar. Damien—the fucking asshole—is calm as ever. “She said she went to the bathroom. But she’s not there.”
Nothing else he says registers because, from the corner of my vision, I notice someone looking at me. Not just anyone. Him. Vargas in the flesh. The man smiles ear to ear, staring straight at me.
I lurch in his direction, but someone holds me back. I swing my elbow and twist my body to try to break out of their grip.
“Don’t be stupid. They’ll fucking kill you,” one of the brothers hisses in my ear.
Vargas doesn’t look away, challenging me to take him on. He watches everything play out like this is going according to his plan.
If she’s hurt, I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll kill all of them.
If she’s dead—
It hurts to even think about it. There’s no story where Bella ends, and I don’t go with her.
Bile rises in my throat. I lunge for the asshole, only to be held back. “You better not have fucking touched her!”