Page 101 of Cruel Betrayal

I can barely breathe.My nose is broken again. Pain is searing beneath my ribs.

I think I might have a punctured lung, but it’s hard to tell when fists keep raining down and knocking the air out of my lungs all over again.

Red stains my vision, but I think it’s from blood.

I don’t remember the last time I took a beating like this.

Noah can’t have me killed if the deal is riding on my winning the fight. He’ll have to wait until later, and knowing him, he’ll want to make sure I’m fully healed so he can take his time killing me. A quick death would be a mercy, and I’ve never known him to hand out one of those.

“Fight back,” the man grunts before punching me again.

I curl up, protecting the back of my neck with my hands.

A foot slams into my back.

More pain.

Kick to the shins.

Pain.

Punch to my torso.

Pain.

Then, the fight is called to an end.

The man above me throws in a couple more punches for good measure.

The crowd is on their feet and screaming. People press close to the ring, the scent of sweat, blood, and beer in the air.

Though it feels impossible, I stagger to my feet.

I have to get out of here while there are people blocking me from sight. Putting one foot in front of the other hurts. Drawing in a breath hurts more.

I keep pushing, weaving through the bodies, elbows up, shoving my way to the emergency exit.

My car is there, hidden behind old stacks of crates and beneath a tattered tarp.

I knew this would be my one shot at escape well before I got here, and now I’m taking it.

People shove into me. Hands grab for me. At one point, I think I hear my name being called.

I keep moving, though. Head down. One foot in front of the other.

The moment I’m in the car, I lock the doors and drive.

My head is spinning and blood seeps through all the cuts on my body. It’s getting harder to breathe, and as I suck in another sharp breath, I know I need to see a doctor.

That can wait, though. First, I need to get to Jade. I need to be with her and see that she’s fine. I need to tell her she was right about everything. That I don’t know how the hell I’m going to fit into her life, but I’m going to try.

I pull my phone out of the glovebox while I’m driving, pulling up the camera feeds. She still thinks she’s found them all, and I don’t think I’m ever going to tell her any different. I like being able to watch her when I want to. To know that she’s safe, and I’m the only one who can get to her.

And right now, it’s coming in handy.

There she is, in the kitchen of her new restaurant. It’s gutted.

She’s walking on plywood floors, pacing back and forth, muttering to herself and eyeing a pile of crumbling brick like it’s done something to offend her.