Page 24 of Billionaire's Promise

He stands there panting, his chest rising and falling in tandem with mine. Sweat drips down his torso and mine. My chin thrums, my shoulder protests. Blood drips from my cut, onto my chest.

He straightens, his glare intensifies, then without a word, he pivots and walks off.

Saint glares at me, before he turns and follows.

Damian jerks his chin at me.

Arpad walks up to me, holds up his fist. "Good fight."

I frown.

"Go on, man," he urges, and I fist bump him. "Like old times, huh?" he mutters. "Good to have you back, Baron."

A hot sensation stabs at my chest. He turns, stalks off as Weston approaches me. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

Ten minutes later, I wince as Weston stitches me up in one of the spare bedrooms that he’s taken over as his temporary surgery.

"Shit, I need a drink."

"You do know it’s all a myth…right?"

"What?" I scowl, then grimace when a pulse of pain radiates out from the cut. "If you’re talking about me, then I am legend, of course, when it comes to fights."

"I don’t know, man. The last time I saw you fighting the Bratva, you lost."

In more ways than he’ll ever know. I fold my fingers into fists. "I definitely need a drink."

"Having alcohol doesn’t really help numb the pain," Weston mutters. "It’s a myth propagated by Hollywood that the whole world has bought into."

"What-bloody-ever," I mutter, "I could do with some whiskey right now."

"Here." Arpad ambles in with a bottle and three glasses. He tops up the glasses, hands one over to me, then sets one aside for Doc, before turning a chair to straddle it.

"So, you came back, eh?" He raises his glass at me.

I glower at him, then throw back my liquor. The alcohol burns its way down. It hits my stomach and heat radiates out from the impact.

"And you got married." I hold out my glass; he tops me up again. This time I hold up my glass, "Congratulations, man."

"Yeah." He grins and his entire face lights up.

"Whoa." I stare at him. "I take it, you’re happy?"

"Delirious." He laughs. Asshole fucking laughs.

"Shit," I mutter. "You really do love her."

"I do." He chuckles. "It shows, eh?"

"Like a neon light," Weston says from next to me.

"Is that a subtle barb, Doc?" Arpad smirks. "Because I recall a time, not too long ago, when you walked around wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear, right after you wedded a certain pastry chef."

"No, I didn’t," he mutters.

"You did." Arpad laughs.

"I was merely on top of the world after snatching up the feistiest, sassiest, sexiest woman alive."