for the fight. I have half a mind to ask Ivan if I can just stay home, but I know he’d say no. He never goes anywhere without me. I slip on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Are you okay?” Ivan asks, cupping me by the cheek, forcing me to look at him.
I don’t want to lie to him, but I also don’t want to give him any more reason to worry about me, since that’s all he seems to do.
“I’m fine. Just nervous about the fight is all.”
“Are you still scared of Roman? You hardly talk when he’s in the room.” His gray eyes peer into mine, and it’s so hard to keep in the words that I want to say.
“Stop worrying about me and worry about yourself. You’ve still got some healing to do.”
His thumb swipes across my bottom lip and then he’s leaning into me, taking my mouth, kissing me feverishly. I grip onto his shirt, feeling all his hardness, wanting to strip him bare and touch every inch of his beautiful body.
“Are you lovebirds ready to fucking go?” Roman’s voice carries down the hall, interrupting our conversation, which I’m thankful for. If he asked me one more time if I was okay, or if something was wrong, I was going to break down.
“Yeah, we’re ready.” Ivan pulls away, leaving me whimpering and breathless. Taking my hand into his, he pulls me downstairs and then outside to Roman’s car. Everyone piles in… and I’m squished in the back seat between Ivan and Devin.
Ivan’s muscled arm wrapped protectively around me, pulling me into his side. The drive isn’t long, and Roman drives us in complete silence. He white knuckles the steering wheel as if he’s pent up with aggression. We drive for a little while longer and end up at some old abandoned warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. Roman parks in the back, driving past the full parking lot in front of the building. He exits the car and we hear the back hatch open and notice him pulling out a black duffel bag. I wonder what’s inside of it for a moment but assume it’s just his fighting stuff. It has to be... unless he’s bringing weapons? I guess I never cared to ask Ivan what kind of fights they do here.
Ivan helps me from the car, and we walk up to the building together. Roman guides us around a corner to some side entrance, where four large guys are manning the door. They’re huge, their arms as thick as tree branches, permanent scowls on their face. Their bodies tower above mine, and I shrink into Ivan’s side more.
“Don’t be scared, Kitten,” Ivan whispers, leaning down to press a kiss against my head.
“Roman.” One of the guys nods at us as we get closer. “They’re all with you?”
“Yeah, they’re good,” Roman replies nonchalantly. Then, without question, the doors are being opened for us. Ivan maintains a tight grip on me as we walk into the building together with Roman leading the way. I hear the roar of a crowd somewhere off in the distance, but the noise is more a whisper then an actual roar until Roman opens a door leading us into a dark stairwell.
Two things hit me when as we’re walking down the stairs into the basement. One, a strong smell permeates the air down here. It’s a mixture of beer, the sourness of sweat, and the coppery tang of blood. The second thing is the sound. There must be hundreds of people down here. Some are cheering while others are booing. One way or another, everybody is just being loud, and the noise makes my head pound. I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear if Ivan is talking to me.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I see that there is already a fight taking place. I hold back a gasp when I catch a glimpse of the guys in the center of the ring, if you could even call it a ring. It’s just a slab of concrete with tape borders. They’re covered in blood, with bruises already forming against their skin. I’m half shocked to see that they’re still fighting; shouldn’t someone be stopping them? How do they know if someone is a winner?
“Don’t worry, I won’t look like this at the end of my fight,” Roman chuckles, and it takes me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. “Stay together; we