by Vivian Arend
It was Peyton.
I tried to slam it shut again but he shoved his foot in the crack. His physical body pushed against my magical wards, trying to intrude, trying to shatter them. My magic held firm. I couldn’t shut the door, but he couldn’t get inside, either. “Come on, baby,” he said. “Aren’t you going to give me a kiss for luck before the match?”
Peyton was going into the cage. He was going to try to become a werewolf. “I hope Big Papa rips your throat out,” I said.
“Don’t get your hopes up, sweet tits. I know what you are. I know what you can do. As soon as I’m a werewolf, I’m going to take you as my mate. I didn’t tell the incubi who you are because I want you for myself.” He leaned in close to whisper that last part at me.
I couldn’t resist. I slammed the heel of my palm into his stupid fucking face.
The blow was hard enough that his head snapped back, but he reacted just as quickly. He snatched my wrist. Jerked me through the door, flung me down the stairs. Dirt burned against my bare knees.
I was outside the wards.
Scrambling to my feet, I tried to hurl myself back up the stairs again, but he caught my hair and jerked me back to the ground.
The scream escaped me before I could think to stop myself. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing it hurt. He had hurt me enough over the years. But it came out of me ragged and raw and aching, voice cracking in the dry air.
Peyton yanked my head back and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’m going to love claiming that cunt of yours again. I wonder how much the rest of the pack will pay for the privilege of doing the same.”
I tried to elbow him, but he was so much stronger than me. I didn’t even stagger him. He grabbed my wrist, twisted it behind my back.
“I’d rather die than let you fuck me again,” I ground out through gritted teeth. “You made me a whore, but I’ve still got standards.”
“You don’t get to die,” Peyton said. “I’m going to teach you a lesson for running after I sold you off. You embarrassed me. I’ve got so many lessons to teach.” He yanked my braids again and licked up my jaw.
This time, I screamed because I was pissed, not because it hurt. “Gloria!”
It wasn’t my friend who responded.
Cooper hurtled out of the bar, Mad Dog about three feet behind him. They moved so fast that they blurred.
The fist seemed to come out of nowhere.
Bone cracked against bone. The hand in my hair was suddenly gone, and Peyton sprawled out on the dirt behind me. Cooper jumped on him, grabbed him by the vest, slammed his fist into Peyton’s face again and again.
A gentle touch on my shoulder made me jump, startled. Mad Dog was trying to help me stand up. I allowed him to pull me to my feet. I was shaking too much to do it on my own.
Peyton shoved Cooper off of him, scrambling away on hands and knees before standing up again. He was bleeding out of his right nostril. “You fucker,” he breathed, spraying blood on the dirt. “I’m going to tell the Needles.”
Cooper seized him by the throat. “Tell them what? That you’re violating the peace in Lobo Norte?”
“The peace doesn’t mean anything tonight,” Peyton said. “All the rules have been broken for the new moon and the cage match. I can do whatever the fuck I want to that bitch.”
I lunged for him. Mad Dog gripped me tighter, holding me back.
Cooper’s eyes were glowing with fury. He dropped his grip on Peyton’s throat. “The rules are gone, huh? Good to know.” His voice had dropped an octave to a deep, rumbling growl that shot heat right between my legs.
Fear flashed over Peyton’s face. He covered it fast. He always had. “Don’t get cocky, Trouble. I’m coming after you.”
“I hope you do,” Cooper said.
Peyton smoothed his hands over his vest as he backed away, working nonexistent wrinkles out of his clothes. “See you in the cage.” He didn’t run back to the camps across the street, but he didn’t exactly walk, either. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he left.
Cooper rounded on me, capturing my face in both of his hands. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him. He’s not going to see another sunrise.”
I buried my face against his chest. His touch felt so good after Peyton hurting me. “I would rather die than be stuck with him again, Cooper. I mean it.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said.
“It won’t,” Mad Dog said. “Trust me. Peyton’s not joining the pack. We’ll make sure of it.” They couldn’t promise that. They didn’t know Peyton. If there was a way to buy his way to victory, he’d do it. Cheating, lying, getting his big ugly friends to help—whatever it took, he always won.
But Cooper’s body, trembling with rage against my cheek, made me think that he might stand a chance. In fact, he was shaking really hard. Worryingly so.
“Are you okay?” I asked, stroking his jaw.
“The moon,” he grunted. “It feels like I’m about to lose it.” I knew he meant that to be a bad thing, but a thrill of excitement shot through me. I suddenly couldn’t seem to breathe.
“He’ll be fine in the morning,” Mad Dog said. “You probably want to back off for now.”
I didn’t want to back off. I wanted to wrap myself in his arms and feel the change shiver through his muscles.
But Cooper pushed me away. The camp was breaking up as the bikers streamed toward the bar. The generator was running full bore, music pounded inside, and I could hear screaming.
It was time for the cage match to begin.
They were already cleaning up the first fight when I followed Cooper and Mad Dog into the bar.
I say “cleaning up” because the guy that Old Yeller had been fighting was no longer alive. I couldn’t even tell who he was—just that he’d been one of the South Side Furies, judging by what I could see through the blood on his vest. Old Yeller was coated in his blood up to the elbows. He was smiling, baring fangs that had begun to protrude from his gums.
“Next!” he crowed, kicking the other biker’s body out of the cage.
Gloria checked her chalkboard. “Larry Smith!”
The big man lumbered into the cage, slipping on the blood twice before finding his footing. The door shut behind him.
I hid in the shadows behind the bar, watching with my heart frozen in my chest. The fight was brutal. It was a new moon—how could it be anything else? Old Yeller fought like he’d already changed into a wolf.
Larry stood up to him for a minute—two minutes. I watched the clock. He only needed to survive five. I wasn’t sure he’d make it. He was trying to stay out of Old Yeller’s reach, but it would only take one good hit to knock his head off.
Cooper stood beside me, transfixed by the fight. He twitched a little with each blow. He wanted to be in that cage. He wanted to be fighting. I twined my fingers with his, and he looked down at me. His eyes were a brighter shade of gold. The wolf was stirring underneath the surface.
Gloria rang the bell. Five minutes had passed.
Larry Smith was on all fours in the cage—drenched in his own blood, but alive. The first to become a werewolf, and food for the incubus mafia.
I wasn’t sure if I was glad that he’d survived or not.
Big Papa stood. I hadn’t noticed him sitting in the corner again. “Swap out Old Yeller.”
The werewolf climbed out, giving a hand to Larry. Old Yeller had already healed what few wounds Larry had delivered. The only blood on him was from his last two opponents.
“Mad Dog,” Gloria said. “You’re up.”
My heart gave a little lurch as he moved to take Old Yeller’s place. When had I started to worry about Mad Dog, too?
Yet that little lurch was nothing compared to what I felt when I saw the name written beside his.
Peyton.
“Don’t let him in the cage,” I said, running up to grip Gloria’s arm. “He’s planning to cheat. I know he is.”
Her eyes flashed. She had
n’t realized I was in the bar until that moment, and I knew I was about to get bitched out. Cooper interrupted her. “Assign me to this fight,” he said.
She shot him a sideways look, as if she couldn’t believe he would have the gall to give her orders. “I already decided to put him up against Mad Dog.”
“Give him to me,” he pressed, stepping close to invade her space. I winced. That was the worst thing to do to Gloria. She knew exactly how to handle men that got within arm’s reach—or, to be more precise, stiletto reach.
To my surprise, Gloria didn’t twist his testicles off. She arched an eyebrow. “You want to fight this pendejo, wolf? Tonight?”
“He’s the reason Ofelia’s here.”
Gloria’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”
“He sold her for sex. Gave her to the Needles. Left her to be scarred.”
That was all the information Gloria needed, apparently. She didn’t even hesitate. She wiped Mad Dog’s name away and wrote Cooper’s name where it had been on the blackboard.
“No,” I said.
Neither of them listened to me. Cooper gave Gloria a satisfied smile, and then jumped over the bar to head for the cage. Shock left me glued to the ground for a few seconds. Only the panic of seeing Cooper walk toward that door allowed me to break free.
I ran after him and planted my hands in his chest. “You don’t know Peyton, you don’t know what he can do.”
He fisted a hand in my hair. I was still sore from Peyton’s grip, but it was different with Cooper. A good kind of ache.
“I don’t care. I’m going to win this fight for you, Ofelia.” He kissed me hard, lips and teeth and tongue, using his other hand to pull me against his body. The pressure bowed me over backward. The only thing keeping me from sprawling to the ground was Cooper—sweaty, gorgeous Cooper, who was about to climb into the cage with my nightmare of an ex-boyfriend.
When he released me, I held onto him for a final, lingering moment, gazing up at his face one last time. It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in Cooper’s skill as a fighter, especially on a night where he was about to turn into a slavering beast. I just knew how awful Peyton could be.
Then Cooper stepped away, leaving me alone with my fear.
Fear, and hope.
Mad Dog slapped him on the back as he passed. “Fuck him up, man.”
“I plan on it,” Cooper growled.
He threw his leg over the bar of the cage, sauntering to the center before ripping off his shirt and tossing it outside. He had healed all of the wounds from Big Papa. He was as perfect as the first time I had seen him. The wolf on his chest looked angrier than usual, and that fury was reflected in his face.
It took guts for Peyton to get in the cage with him. I had to admit that much. Cooper was nothing but sculpted muscle. Maybe he’d been an anthropologist in another life, but in this one, he was a fighting machine.
Peyton dropped his shirt, too. He didn’t have the werewolf blood helping him out, but he did have steroids. His veins bulged. His neck and jaw were so muscular that it looked like he could have bitten the trunk of a tree in half. But he was only human.
Then he pulled something shiny out of his pocket. Peyton rolled his fingers inside the silver-plated knuckles, balling them into a fist.
This was what he had meant about no rules tonight. He wasn’t going in bare-fisted. He was going in with one of the only things that could kill a werewolf.
My heart leaped into my throat. “He’s got a weapon!”
I only took one step toward the cage before a hand gripped my shoulder. I twisted to see Big Papa holding me back. “Keep your mouth shut,” he said.
“He’ll kill Cooper!”
“If he can kill Trouble, then Trouble deserves to die.” He tightened his fingers. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. I know what you are. I can ruin your life.”
I didn’t care if he knew who I was. I didn’t even care if he wanted to hand me over to the incubi—not at this moment.
All I cared about was Cooper.
But I couldn’t move. Big Papa squeezed every time I shifted the tiniest bit, and it was clear he wouldn’t hesitate to break my shoulder if I interfered. I tried to catch Gloria’s eye instead, but she was just as fixated on the cage as everyone else in the bar.
Mad Dog rang the bell.
Peyton and Cooper circled each other, fists lifted. Sizing each other up.
The other bikers didn’t seem to be cheering as hard now. The quiet was almost reverent.
And then Peyton attacked.
He swung his fist, and I was shocked by how quickly he moved. He was almost as fast as Old Yeller had been. Cooper jerked back and the silver knuckles whizzed past a centimeter in front of his face.
Cooper landed the first blow. He sank his fist into Peyton’s stomach. The breath gushed out of Peyton’s lungs, and he sagged.
But only for an instant. Then he slammed his knuckles into Cooper’s face.
Blood sprayed over the floor anew. He had opened a gash across the werewolf’s cheekbone as long as my hand, and it wasn’t healing.
I didn’t want to watch the fight. I couldn’t stand it.
Yet Big Papa held me in place as every blow landed, forcing me to hear every grunt, watch every cut open on Cooper’s face and shoulders.
Peyton slammed Cooper up against the side of the cage, driving his knee into his gut so hard that I could hear ribs creak. Cooper slammed him to the floor. Threw his head back, baring sharpened teeth. Then he sank his teeth into Peyton’s shoulder.
He ripped the flesh away. It shredded.
Peyton rolled them, ended up on top. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they grappled on the floor, legs tangled together, fists slamming into each other. I kept looking at the clock. It didn’t seem to be moving.
These two halves of my life struggled against each other—my horrible past, and the man I’d come to see as the path to my future. A future without Peyton, without Lobo Norte, without chains. I couldn’t tell who was winning. There was so much pain. So many rippling muscles, so many cuts and bruises.
Blood flowed. I heard the crack of bones breaking, and I couldn’t tell whose they were anymore.
Somehow, five minutes passed.
The bell rang. Mad Dog slammed the mallet into it hard enough to knock it off the wall.
Neither men stopped.
Blood flowed freely down Cooper’s face. I could almost feel his pain. “Stop them,” I begged Big Papa. “Peyton survived. He fucking made it. Just pull Cooper out!”
I could tell by his hungry smile that the head of the Fangs heard me—he just didn’t care.
Peyton snapped Cooper’s nose with the silver knuckles.
“Please!” I cried, nearly shrieking.
My voice pierced the grumbles of the bikers. Cooper’s eyes focused on me through the blood coursing down his jaw and neck, slicking his skin. He pointed at me through the bars as if to say, This is for you.
Peyton pulled back his fist to hit Cooper again, but the werewolf caught his wrist, twisting hard, then jerking back.
He ripped off Peyton’s hand, silver knuckles and all, and tossed it aside.
My ex-boyfriend was too stunned to react in time. Cooper shoved Peyton onto his back in a blur of incredible speed. Cooper pounded his fists into Peyton’s face again and again, no holding back. Wet pops and crunches split the air.
Peyton cried out once.
Only once.
Cooper kept hitting him long after he stopped moving. He hit him until the entire bar had gone silent and all I could hear was the sound of knuckles meeting pulverized flesh.
Big Papa finally released me. I scrambled up the stairs to the cage, the only person in the room moving or making any noise. The scrape of my boots against concrete seemed horrifically loud. I ripped the door open, climbed over the bars, slipped to my knees on all the blood.
Peyton looked like Jell-O from the neck up. There was no question—Cooper had killed him. He’s dead, I realized w
ith a giddy thrill deep in my gut. Peyton is dead.
The man who had used me as his whore, pumped me full of drugs, and sold me to the incubus mafia was never going to hurt me again. It felt like the chains that had been tying me to Lobo Norte had finally fallen away.
I suddenly realized that this was what The Devil meant. Not bondage…but freedom.
A growl made me look up, and I realized that Cooper wasn’t celebrating his victory. He had doubled over. The skin over his shoulders was rippling.
Cooper was starting to change.
Mad Dog climbed into the cage and grabbed him by the back of the neck, using his hands like the jaws of a wolf. The grip seemed to calm Cooper fractionally. “Good job, man,” he said gruffly. “Now let’s get out of here before you fuck everyone else up, too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I think the fights continued after we left. I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. Whatever happened with the Silver Needles and their werewolf food just didn’t seem that important anymore.
Peyton was gone. The darkest nightmare from my past…dead.
All thanks to Cooper.
If you had asked me a few days earlier, I would have told you that there was no way I could ever delight in a man’s murder. It wasn’t that I considered myself a moral person. I fucked whoever I wanted to fuck, I enjoyed stripping, I’d done enough drugs in my life to choke a wolf. But murder—that was something else. A line that you just weren’t meant to cross.
He had earned it, though. If anyone had earned it, it had to be Peyton.
As I helped carry Cooper to a shed behind The Lodge, all I could feel was a strange, stunned kind of gratitude. I was floating, not walking.
Mad Dog was much more grim.
“Hurry up,” he said, kicking the door to the shed open and dragging Cooper inside. I tried to hurry, but apparently I was still going too slow. He wrenched Cooper away from me and pushed him against the wall.
Cooper couldn’t stand. He slumped to the floor.
There were heavy chains waiting for us in the shed, hanging from reinforced o-rings. Mad Dog didn’t waste any time wrapping them around Cooper’s wrists and hooking them high enough that it pulled his arms over his head, stretching his muscles into long lines.