Page 222 of Blackwood

“Plan?” I spit. My jaw is a hinge about to snap.

Rez nods, like he’s explaining a masterpiece. “I told her we needed something that would kill it. Raw. Real. She knew Laing would get under your skin more than anyone and force a good fight out of you.”

He laughs, “She was right. This is the best fight of your life.”

His words are supposed to settle me, but the sight of Laing pulling her onto his lap—her not moving, not pushing him off—slides like ice into my veins. For a second the world narrows to her curve over that fucking dragon and the stupid, smug look on Laing’s face.

I’m out of my chair before I even know I’m moving. “Fuck this.” My voice cuts the noise. “Start round two, Rez.”

DING.

Laing charges and this time, he’s faster. Meaner. Ready. His fist connects with my rib cage. Another to the jaw. He spins, elbows me across the face and I stumble back, vision ringing with heat.

My knee hits the mat hard. Palms down. Blood dripping onto the floor. He laughs.

“Is that all you’ve got, Barinov?” Bella says standing ringside, arms folded across her chest, eyes locked on mine.

Then she smiles. Not at me. At him. “Laing… what are you waiting for?” Like she wantshimto win.

I fucking lose it. I launch off the mat like a missile. Tackle Mortal Kombat into the side of the ring. He tries to throw me off. Too late, I grab his shoulders and drive my knee into his stomach. My elbow slams into his temple.

“She’s not yours,” I growl. “She’ll never fucking be yours.”

“You sure about that?”

He headbutts me. I taste blood again. The rest is a blur. We trade savage blows. My knuckles are torn open. His cheek is split and his left eye is starting to swell. My ribs burn like fire. His shoulders are dragging. By the time the bell rings, we’re both soaked in sweat and blood, breathing like bulls, but neither one of us down.

DING.

Bella’s still in his corner. Laughing. Smiling. Like this is a fucking game. She presses the towel to Laing’s chest, whisperssomething that makes him grin, and my jaw locks so tight it aches.

Rez leans on the ropes beside me, all calm steel. “He’s quick,” he says, voice low. “Don’t give him the rhythm. Make him chase you.”

I spit blood, drag in a breath that burns. Across the ring, Laing rolls his shoulders, loose and cocky, that smirk just begging me to lose it.

Rez slaps my arm once, sharp. “You’ve got the reach. Use it. Watch that left knee. It twitches before he swings. You catch that, he’s yours.”

I nod once, eyes fixed on the bastard across from me.

DING.

Laing doesn’t charge this time. No, the fuck-face is calm and loose. His stance drops, low and fluid, and then—bam—some freaky jiu-jitsu shit.

He wraps low, flips me. I hit the mat hard, breath punched out of my lung. It’s the same damn move that Bella used on me in bed.

This fucker taught her that.

“You bastard.” I grit out as the fury takes over. I snap. I fight with every ounce of rage in my bloodstream. Wild. Barbaric. Blow after blow. Elbow, hook, uppercut, anything that makes Laing bleed.

But the asshole just smiles, bleeding through his teeth.

“She’s always liked it rough,” he hisses, blood slick on his tongue. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Barinov. I’m surprised a Russian nobody like you could even satisfy her.”

Something inside me detonates. I explode into him. Fist to face.

CRACK.

His nose breaks beneath my knuckles with a wet, brutal snap. Blood pours instantly, running down his lips like war paint.