Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Shut the fuck up,” a man grunts from behind us.
“Well?” Duke roars, pacing up and down the cage with his hands tied behind his back. “What now, you fucking cowards?”
He’s not letting his fear show because that’s the sort of man he is. It’s who he was in the cage during his fighting days and who he is now. His muscles surge even more than I’ve ever seen them, like he’s getting ready to explode out of his body. I wonder if he could break those cuffs.
“Now,” the leader says, echoing across the darkness. “We make a deal. It’s a very generous one, in my view. If you’d like your son and your little lady to leave here in one piece, you’ll have to defeat ten of my men in groups of two, and I’ll warn you, some of them are very dirty fighters. If you’re okay with my guests losing a few fingers as part of a reasonable punishment, you only have to face five men.”
“Dad, pick five!” Ryan yells. “Five—ah, ah.”
Ryan grunts, falling to the floor. I’m assuming one of the men hit him. I want to yell something, too, words of support, but there’s nothing I can say. I’ve never felt so freaking useless. I can feel the man close behind me, hear him wheezing, smell his sweat. It’s like he’s getting ready to hit me.
“Well?” the leader snaps.
“Ten,” Duke says without hesitation, his voice cold now. Even his muscles have stopped bulging. He makes a conscious effort to breathe slowly as if conserving his energy.
My mind spins over and over as I try to figure out how to help. There must be something I can do. Which hand is the man holding his gun in? It’s impossible for me to tell. They haven’t tied us up. Maybe they think we’re not a threat. I’m not even sure how many men are out here. I remember what Duke said to Ethan, Tim, and Jeff. He’d find a gun and fire it. That’s all it would take, but what if they kill us all as the backup makes its way toward us?
“Very brave,” the leader says, laughing. “Okay, challengers, you’re up.”
A masked man opens the door at the side of the cage. Duke backs all the way to the other side, standing in a fighting stance even with his hands behind his back. Two men enter, tall, lean, shirtless, and covered in tattoos. When they raise their fists, I’m sure I can see blood and scabs all over them. They’re clearly used to fighting.
“Ding, ding,” the leader yells, laughing.
The two men walk across the cage, spreading out so they corner Duke against the wall. They’re going to hurt the future father of my children and my future husband. So soon after learning that he feels the same, they will end it all.
I swallow, wondering if I have what it takes. Turn, leap at the man, and use surprise and the darkness to my advantage. I don’t know if I have that in me, but the alternative is to let ten men beat the hell out of my man and let them kill him. The world is a grotesquely unfair place sometimes. We’ve just learned how much we mean to each other, and now it will all be taken away.
I try to will myself to act. They didn’t cuff us. They obviously don’t think we’re anything to worry about, but I’ll have to be fast. I push against the fear in my body, screaming silently at myself to do it. Act now! Go, go, go, but I feel frozen, paralyzed as I stare into the cage at my man backed against the wall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Duke
I was hoping the men would approach me arrogantly. With my hands behind my back, I hoped they’d get overconfident and rush in, but they walk forward slowly with their hands raised. Their stances are awkward. They’re holding their hands more like street fighters than trained strikers, but this is still dangerous.
I use the cage, sidestepping as they close in around me. Suddenly, one of them lunges. I dodge out of the way, plant my feet, and then kick him so hard in the stomach he coughs and stumbles backward. It’s awkward without my arms for balance. I can’t kick him as ruthlessly as I’d like, but it’s enough to wake the bastard up.
Soon, the other one is running at me clumsily. I circle out and kick the inside of his knee. He buckles sideways. I rush in, steeling myself—this will hurt—and contort my torso into a vicious arc, aiming my forehead at his nose. He roars when I make contact, his nose erupting, blood spewing down his face. When he raises his hands, probably scared to get hit again, I knee him in the stomach, feeling the connection.