Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“Not bad,” the man decides after looking me up and down. “What’s your name, girlie?”
“Cherry.”
“‘Cherry?’ Like one of the girls out of Luc’s stable?” He addresses Paladin, not me. “Is she branded? Because this bastard’ll notice that shit.”
Branded like Lissa was on the back of her neck, as if she was nothing more than a cow.
Paladin shrugs. “I dunno.”
“She’s not marked.” Victor strides over to the table, then slides the phone onto the table in front of me and pushes play on a video.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see the guy whose life they want me to destroy. But as soon as I look, I can’t look away.
The fight isn’t in a proper ring, or even a cage. Instead it looks as if the audience creates the ring, surrounding the pair of fighters in a big warehouse. I recognize Paladin as the opponent—so here’s the man who pounded his face in.
He’s stripped to the waist and barefoot. Sweat gleams over tanned, tattooed skin. His hair’s short, and so wet with sweat that I can’t tell if it’s brown or dark blond. But Paladin was right: he’d be hard to miss. Not because he’s stunningly beautiful like the creep here—or because he’s a big, scarred fucker, like Paladin said—but because even in this short video, he seems to burst through the screen with the sheer force of his vitality. He dodges a jab from Paladin’s fist, takes a kick to the ribs that sends him stumbling back, and then laughs—loud enough to be heard over the cheering crowd—before charging back in.
Victor clicks off the video when he’s mid-swing, and I make myself breathe again. I don’t like watching fights. I’ve seen too many end in screams of agony, or with men pleading for their lives, and death. But I’d have liked to see this one slam his big fist into Paladin.
He’s not so amused, scowling as Victor tosses the phone back. “This is a waste of a favor. That fucker’s not so good. He barely won our match and only because he got lucky. He won’t last a single round in the Cage.”
“Yeah, he will,” Victor says. “He went easy on you.”
“Bullshit,” Paladin denies, but Victor dismisses him. Instead he looks to the blue-eyed devil.
“You see that tattoo on his shoulder? He was Force Recon. If you think he’ll be easy to take out, you’re a fucking idiot.”
The devil grins, a gut-clenchingly gorgeous smile, not the least bit insulted. “Every man’s an idiot when you put pussy in front of him. And a virgin?” His eyes go hot and lazy as they settle on me. “Just let him get a taste of what’s between her legs. There’s nothing sweeter than a girl with a cherry, especially if you make her come. It’s the best fucking drug in the world.”
Yeah, super creepy. And stupid. Body chemistry doesn’t change based on a hymen. The pizza probably has more effect on the taste of bodily secretions than my virginity does.
But I suspect that he’s not really talking about anything biological, anyway. Instead it’s all some mental shit that’s the equivalent of what played out in that video. Just some guy trying to beat another guy, but instead of in a ring it’s beating another guy to a girl’s vagina. Which isn’t about the girl at all, but just some sick male superiority over other males.
“I’ll put my trust in another drug,” Victor says, and something in his tone pulls my gaze.
He doesn’t give much away. But I’ve got a feeling that he’s disgusted by this whole setup. Not the part where we’ll be abducting a fighter, but the rest of it—that he thinks we’re under-prepared and that the others aren’t taking this operation seriously enough. And what was the difference? Seeing the guy. As if that tattoo really rattled him.
As if he’s thinking that a girl and a roofie might not be enough. As if he’s thinking this guy will see straight through me, then fight his way past anyone who tries to take him down.
I hope he’s right. But with luck, I’ll flag down a cop before that, and it won’t even get that far.
Too bad my luck is pure shit.
5
As we walk down the street, with my heart pounding and my stomach roiling with tension and fear, Victor warns me again.
“No tricks. You spike his drink, then you persuade him to go outside. And I’ll be listening to every word you say.”
Though a microphone in my wig. I didn’t know he was going to make me wear one. Nothing is going like I hoped it would. My plan to get the attention of law enforcement by any means possible was destroyed before we even left the house, when a man in a sheriff’s uniform showed up…and the Iron Blood handed him a wad of cash.