Page 13 of Betrothed in Fury
Maybe it’s something to do with being given such a wild-ass name, or that he and Masters inherited the side of Dad that loved all this—the politics, the power, the frenzy. Malaki, Rory, and I aren’t anything like them. This wasn’t the life we chose for ourselves, and I would rather swallow the more unpleasant parts of this than put it on them. Of course, that’s not something Wrath would understand, so I bite my tongue.
He hands me a drink, and I down it. “Ooh, you needed that, didn’t you?”
“You have no idea.” I enjoy the tingling that gives me some reprieve from the bullshit.
He glares at me. “You’ve been doing that thing you do.”
“Huh?”
“Sulking around the house.”
“You and Malaki need to leave me to it,” I say through my teeth.
“Well, I’m here to announce you’re finished moping. You’re coming out with us to the Trove tonight.”
I cringe.
Wrath and Masters love attending the fights, which I find barbaric. Brutal.
“You’renot fighting, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
Jesus, I thought I couldn’t get more stressed than when Malaki brought up Mom.
“Wrath…last time your opponent broke your arm and busted open your lip.”
“And I broke his nose, but look at this guy.” He indicates his perfect nose, which he’s so proud of never having broken in a fight.
“I’m not going to a goddamn fight, especially if you’re in the ring.”
He slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. “Come on, big bro. You’re gonna love it.”
I hate the fights. It’s one of the many things I could do without. Although, the Trove is one of our business associates’ favorite places to meet.
“You know what would make my brother feel better?” he asks. “A good lay. A girl to remind him he doesn’t belong to some psycho. And you know all the hot girls show up to the fights.”
He’s not wrong. Plus, one of the reasons the Trove is so desirable for guys like me is that the security is on point, so there’s no chance Killian would attempt to have me kidnapped from there. But that brings me to another issue…
“Killian might be there,” I say. “I don’t want to see that fucker.”
“He hasn’t come to the past few. His brother might, but Killian doesn’t like the fights. I’ve heard he sees his real life as having enough bloodshed that he doesn’t need any as entertainment, you know?”
The thought that we might have found a place where Killian won’t be is enticing.
It’s early for my drink to have kicked in, but I feel a rush, or maybe it’s because Wrath’s idea is not half bad.
*
The Trove ispacked tonight, and I already regret coming here. But something about what Wrath said really stuck with me. If I’m running around, fucking women, then I don’t belong to Killian. I’m my own man, regardless of any bullshit our dads came up with, regardless of some document I signed—the decision of a heartbroken kid, at the request of his desperate, dying father.
Despite what Killian thinks are my obligations to him now, part of me’s clinging to the hope that at the end of all this, he’ll laugh his ass off, maybe reveal that my brothers put him up to it as an elaborate prank. It’s not unlike something Wrath would do. Yet despite my attempts to rationalize this away, something deep within me knows it’s futile. That Killian absolutely expects me to marry him.
The place is loud, the shouting, screaming crowd surrounding the ring—a dome-shaped cage in the center of the warehouse, on full display for an audience that believes the highest form of entertainment is blood. Scantily clad servers weave through the patrons, carrying trays of fresh and discarded drinks, ensuring their wild horde is satisfied.
Wrath nudges me with his shoulder. “Over there.”
A few prospects with drinks, laughing together. They’re hot, and that’s about all that matters to me right now.
