menacingly. I was struck silent by the rage boiling in his
blue eyes. I realized then why he was so angry—Anderson had failed
to guard against that move because he had taken an instant to look
up at me. I’d cost him that particular attack, and I could tell by
Robert’s demeanor that it had been a cardinal sin.
“I guess I should probably not be so front
and center next time,” I said feebly.
“Next time?” Robert said coldly, looking me
up and down, “Right. We’ll just have to see.”
I sat paralyzed before him, suddenly
terrified. All the warmth that Robert had shown me before the fight
had frozen over into a mask of contempt. I was about to apologize
when a huge cheer went up behind me. I turned to see Anderson
making his way to our box through the adoring crowd. I sprung up
from my seat, Robert’s anger forgotten in the face of Anderson’s
triumphant elation. We locked eyes across the milling crowd, and a
throbbing pulse of desire shot through me. Anderson kept his gaze
on me as he pushed through the excited crowd and swung into our
box. His chest was glistening with sweat, his eyes bright with the
rapture of victory. I felt my knees begin to tremble in his
presence; my entire body was riveted to his every move.
“You’re here,” he said simply, the roaring
crowd closing in around our little pen.
“Sure am,” I grinned, conscious of the
inquiring whispers that were rising up all around us. I felt a
thousand inquisitive eyes moving back and forth between us—the
champion fighter and the new girl. If underground fight clubs had
tabloids of their own, I imagined that we’d be on every cover the
next day.
“Thanks for taking care of Kaela, Rob,”
Anderson said, clapping a hand on Robert’s back. The older man
cocked an eyebrow at the fighter, his disapproval was palpable.
“Anything for you, Anderson,” Robert said,
his voice was ice cold. Anderson’s smile seemed to waver for just a
moment, but the harshness of Robert’s demeanor still wasn’t enough
to shake his joy completely.
“Want to get out of here?” Anderson asked me.
His voice had sunk lower in his register, and his muscles seemed to
be tensing in anticipation of a whole other kind of match.
“Absolutely,” I breathed, taking a step
toward him. Anderson offered me his strong hand. I took it,
stepping around Robert as fast as I could. “It was nice to meet
you,” I said to the older man as I hurried past.”
“Quite,” he answered shortly, glaring at us
as we went. I was completely perplexed by his hostility, but with
Anderson’s hand closed tightly around mine, it was hard to focus on
anything besides the deep, pulsing need that beat inside me like a
drum.
Anderson whisked me through the crowd, past
hundreds of adoring fans. A concealed door opened to us, and we
hurried through. The sounds of the roaring arena died instantly as
the door closed behind us, and the sudden quiet was startling. We
were walking down another hallway lined with doors, one of which
opened to us as we approached. A man stepped out, holding a clean
pile of clothes for Anderson to change into. I waited beside the
door as my fighter made a quick change into civilian attire and
rejoined me, leading the way further down the hallway. We turned a
quick corner and made our way through another door of the
underground labyrinth. When the door snapped behind us this time,
we were cast into the utter blackness that had greeted me upon my
arrival. The ground sloped up before us, and as we reached the end
of the hall, a door to the outside world awaited.
We stepped back out into the city, and the
red door with the silver eight closed lightly behind us. The real
world was just as it had been when I’d left, remarkably. Crowds of
nighttime revelers lounged in bars and clubs, oblivious to the
world of brutal competition and dangerous luxury that existed right
beneath them. Anderson grinned down at me and slung a heavy arm
over my shoulders.
“So?” he asked
blue eyes. I realized then why he was so angry—Anderson had failed
to guard against that move because he had taken an instant to look
up at me. I’d cost him that particular attack, and I could tell by
Robert’s demeanor that it had been a cardinal sin.
“I guess I should probably not be so front
and center next time,” I said feebly.
“Next time?” Robert said coldly, looking me
up and down, “Right. We’ll just have to see.”
I sat paralyzed before him, suddenly
terrified. All the warmth that Robert had shown me before the fight
had frozen over into a mask of contempt. I was about to apologize
when a huge cheer went up behind me. I turned to see Anderson
making his way to our box through the adoring crowd. I sprung up
from my seat, Robert’s anger forgotten in the face of Anderson’s
triumphant elation. We locked eyes across the milling crowd, and a
throbbing pulse of desire shot through me. Anderson kept his gaze
on me as he pushed through the excited crowd and swung into our
box. His chest was glistening with sweat, his eyes bright with the
rapture of victory. I felt my knees begin to tremble in his
presence; my entire body was riveted to his every move.
“You’re here,” he said simply, the roaring
crowd closing in around our little pen.
“Sure am,” I grinned, conscious of the
inquiring whispers that were rising up all around us. I felt a
thousand inquisitive eyes moving back and forth between us—the
champion fighter and the new girl. If underground fight clubs had
tabloids of their own, I imagined that we’d be on every cover the
next day.
“Thanks for taking care of Kaela, Rob,”
Anderson said, clapping a hand on Robert’s back. The older man
cocked an eyebrow at the fighter, his disapproval was palpable.
“Anything for you, Anderson,” Robert said,
his voice was ice cold. Anderson’s smile seemed to waver for just a
moment, but the harshness of Robert’s demeanor still wasn’t enough
to shake his joy completely.
“Want to get out of here?” Anderson asked me.
His voice had sunk lower in his register, and his muscles seemed to
be tensing in anticipation of a whole other kind of match.
“Absolutely,” I breathed, taking a step
toward him. Anderson offered me his strong hand. I took it,
stepping around Robert as fast as I could. “It was nice to meet
you,” I said to the older man as I hurried past.”
“Quite,” he answered shortly, glaring at us
as we went. I was completely perplexed by his hostility, but with
Anderson’s hand closed tightly around mine, it was hard to focus on
anything besides the deep, pulsing need that beat inside me like a
drum.
Anderson whisked me through the crowd, past
hundreds of adoring fans. A concealed door opened to us, and we
hurried through. The sounds of the roaring arena died instantly as
the door closed behind us, and the sudden quiet was startling. We
were walking down another hallway lined with doors, one of which
opened to us as we approached. A man stepped out, holding a clean
pile of clothes for Anderson to change into. I waited beside the
door as my fighter made a quick change into civilian attire and
rejoined me, leading the way further down the hallway. We turned a
quick corner and made our way through another door of the
underground labyrinth. When the door snapped behind us this time,
we were cast into the utter blackness that had greeted me upon my
arrival. The ground sloped up before us, and as we reached the end
of the hall, a door to the outside world awaited.
We stepped back out into the city, and the
red door with the silver eight closed lightly behind us. The real
world was just as it had been when I’d left, remarkably. Crowds of
nighttime revelers lounged in bars and clubs, oblivious to the
world of brutal competition and dangerous luxury that existed right
beneath them. Anderson grinned down at me and slung a heavy arm
over my shoulders.
“So?” he asked
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