he holds himself, the domineering way he moves—it’s absolutely Max. A lump forms in my throat as I take him in, and something inside my heart cracks as I study a man I do not know. This isn’t the Max I remember. This man is huge, scary and emotionless. Even while he’s talking, his face is blank. Nothing. There’s nothing.
Just like when I left.
Max was always big in build, but this man is huge. His arms are bulging from his tight black tee and his forearms are ripped. Gone is the messy black hair; instead, it’s cropped a lot shorter, meaner even. I can’t see his eyes from here, but I can see the crooked way his nose sits on his face, and the scarring on his cheeks. He looks taller, I swear, and so much bigger. His jeans are ripped and black, and his boots look like they belong on a biker.
That man is not my husband.
He’s not.
Oh God.
The lump in my throat expands and grows until I feel like air is no longer getting into my lungs. I start panting, but I can’t take my eyes from him. When the woman beside him moves again, I finally tear my eyes away from his face and look to her. She’s blond, pretty, and kind of reminds me of his old girlfriend Demi. She reaches over and tucks herself into his side, running her fingers down his chest.
Something strange explodes in my chest. It’s rage and jealousy and possessive desire. He’s my husband. How dare she put her hands on him? I instantly shake the thought from my head, shocked that I had it at all. I left him. I have no right to feel this way. Of course he’s seeing other women. What? Did I expect he’d hang around waiting for me? He doesn’t even love me. He fell out of love with me five years ago. He told me so himself.
He moves away from the bar and a group of people seem to stick to him like flies, following him towards a massive entrance into what I’m guessing is a back room. I put my glass down on a nearby table and follow the crowd, trying to join in so I don’t look suspicious. The group is about fifty people, maybe more, and they’re all moving to a room where a set of stairs slides down to what I’m assuming is the basement.
Everyone shuffles down, and when I reach the stairs, I go too. People shove and push, but as we near closer to the bottom, I forget it. I forget because the roar of voices and thumping feet down here is out of this world. I’ve never heard a sound like it in my life. As the space comes into view, I gasp. Pippa was right; it’s a massive fighting ring.
In the middle of the room there’s a huge ring, roped off. There are currently two fighters in there, red gloves on, throwing punches at each other as they dance around the ring. The crowd surrounding them is huge, stomping their feet, screaming, booing and waving money in the air as if it means absolutely nothing to them. Someone pushes me from behind, and I force my feet to move again, blending into the crowd.
I glance around for Max, but I don’t see him. I turn back to the fight, watching in fascination as the men move, throwing precise punches, and fighting like true champions. I don’t even want to know where Max gets people like this.
I’m busy watching them, so transfixed, that I don’t see the fight break out beside me. It starts between two men, who yell and scream at each other over a woman. The woman in question is standing with a sheepish look on her face, and my guess is that she’s probably seeing both of them, considering the words they’re throwing between each other consist of “She’s mine” and “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Before I know it, they’re throwing punches and people are diving in. I try to step back, but end up tripping over. I go down with a scream and my eyes widen in shock when the men keep moving towards me. They don’t know I’m here, and I’m about to get trampled. I try to scurry backwards, but there are people behind me, shuffling and yelling, spurring them on.
I have no option but to sit here and wait for them to finish their fight. I drop my face