Unshackle (Deliver #7) - Pam Godwin Page 0,11

was Tula Gomez, who was safe in Colombia with Martin and Ricky.

Tula and Vera shared the same mother. Different fathers. Vera couldn’t have been related to Hector’s sons. Unless she considered them stepbrothers? As far as he knew, they hadn’t grown up together. Tula didn’t even know she had brothers until a few months ago. He couldn’t ask Vera about any of this because he wasn’t supposed to know Tula existed.

“Omar!” Ted thrust out his glass, sloshing the contents over the railing. “Quit sweet-talking the bitch and throw her in there!”

Omar. Hector’s second-oldest son.

“Fight to the death!” Omar snatched a fistful of her hair and shoved her toward her opponent.

To the death.

He’d expected as much, but as reality sank in, he couldn’t calm his breathing. This girl was going to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

CHAPTER 5

Without preamble, the fighters crashed together in a burst of punches, missing and hitting with brute speed. Luke half-expected a knockout in the first minute, but the girl surprised him.

Blood spurted from a powerbomb that landed across her mouth. She dodged the next blow and caught the kid in the solar plexus with her knee. Once. Twice. He staggered backward, sneered, and attacked again.

Hit. Crunch. Smash. Grunt. The crescendo of brutality spiked Luke’s pulse. The harder she fought, the more invested he became. Every strike she delivered confessed her will to live. Every ruthless shot she received hardened her jaw, promising retaliation.

Outmatched in strength and skill, she had zero chance of winning. But she didn’t give up. Didn’t show signs of slowing. As if she’d discovered a way to block out the pain, she limped, boxed, and snarled through bleeding injuries.

Her technique wasn’t disciplined. Nothing about her performance indicated she’d been trained in combat sports. She fought with her heart. Like she had nothing to lose. Like an animal.

Even with the odds stacked against her, she possessed more bravery in one finger than the combined assembly of tycoons yelling from the veranda.

“Hit her good! Make it hurt!” Ted shouted and gulped back his drink.

“Stay on your feet!” Omar roared, shaking his fist from the sidelines. “If he gets you on your back, he’ll fuck you in half. Is that what you want, cunt? You wanna bleed out on his dick?”

Gobsmacked, Luke couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. Christ, he wanted to be in that pit, his instinct to defend her riding him hard. Every part of his being rooted for her, his muscles vehemently locked, his mind spinning, grasping for a way she could survive this.

Too late, he remembered himself and realized Vera had inched closer, studying his reactions.

“What are the rules?” Ordering his hands to unclench from the railing, he schooled his expression.

“No rules. It ends when she kills him, or he fucks her. If he manages to hold her down long enough to bury his prick, well…” She lifted a shoulder. “Then he can end her life.”

Pressure built at the base of his skull, spreading and numbing until he couldn’t feel his legs. “What if he kills her first?”

“He loses.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s how they make it fair. He might be stronger, but he has to complete those two things in the right order. She only has to kill him to claim victory.”

It wasn’t what she said, but how she said it. No compassion. Not a trace of humanity. She didn’t even flinch as the girl took a pounding of rapid-fire fists to the face.

The merciless beating sent her careening across the lawn, where she lay in a pile of twitching limbs.

Luke froze, breathless, seconds from leaping over the railing.

Get up. Come on, goddammit, get up!

Slowly, she climbed to her feet, staggering, swaying. With a wet growl, she spat a wad of blood on the ground and leaped back into the fight.

The guests exploded in cries of approval, voices growing hoarse in their fervor. Dressed in their expensive suits, smoking their fancy cigars, they laughed and applauded while a young girl fought for her life.

This wasn’t any different than the Romans and their Colosseum. Crowded against the railing, they elbowed and shoved, trying to steal a better look and smell the blood.

“What’s wrong?” Vera brushed her arm against his, drawing his gaze. “You don’t approve?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first.”

“All right.” He finished off the whiskey, his eyes on the fight. “When a man has it all—money, women, power—he grows bored, appreciates nothing, and soon, the only thing that moves him is the pleasure in controlling and