Page 25 of It Takes a Thief (Ring of Thieves #2)

H ow the fuck do I get myself into these situations? I wonder, looking out the plane’s window at the black ocean below. Like how in the actual fuck?

“There was only one way out of there. Plan B,” Dumas reminds me, and I shoot him a piercing glare.

He’s sitting across the aisle looking like the pompous prick he is.

His two hired thugs sit on either side of me and, unfortunately, they’re both armed and seem competent.

“If you hadn’t agreed to my terms, your body would currently be in a shallow grave and Merrit would be dead, too. ”

“Fight or Merritt dies.”

I remember his chilling words—they made my blood freeze on the spot—and I certainly don’t need a goddamn reminder. It’s clear the man across from me is reckless enough to do it.

A furious rage ignites within me, and I ball my fists.

I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. My hands are still cuffed, but they moved them in front of me, so I could sit down and buckle up.

It’s a damn good thing, too, because the restraints are the only thing keeping me from smashing heads together.

“You fucking threaten her again,” I hiss, “and I will end you.”

Dumas clears his throat and shifts uneasily in his seat.

Yeah, you better be uneasy, motherfucker.

“You’re not in a position to do anything except what I tell you to do,” he states, though I don’t miss the slight tremble in his voice.

I grind my back molars. The reality of the situation is there’s nothing I can do right now. We’re thirty thousand feet in the air, I’ve got two guns pointed at me, my hands are cuffed, and my compliance is the only thing keeping Dumas from calling the mercenary waiting outside Merritt’s bedroom.

My throat tightens with emotion. All it would take is one bullet to destroy my sweet, delicate princess. There’s no way I’m letting that happen. The job might be over, but I’ll go down protecting Mer until my last breath.

Somehow, she’s found a way past the barbed wire that’s been strangling my heart since my mother died.

The rules I created were supposed to keep it under lock and key, stifling emotion and killing the possibility of commitment.

But Merritt managed to infiltrate the dark, cold corners that had forgotten how to love.

Fuck me hard where the sun don’t shine. I’m falling in love with a fucking princess.

How did this happen? Maybe the better question is why am I not panicking? Why does the thought of waking up beside Mer every morning leave me feeling more content than I’ve felt in…well, ever.

Lifting my manacled wrists, I pinch the bridge of my nose.

This is not going to end well for my stupid, let’s-fucking-fall-in-love-with-a-princess heart.

As if I have a real chance. This isn’t a Disney movie.

I’m lucky she gifted me with the time she did.

And her virginity, a wicked, little voice reminds me.

Like I could forget that unbelievably fantastic night.

The ironic part is she knows I’m a thief now, but I never intended on stealing anything from her. The hurt and betrayal that flashed through her eyes when she caught me is going to haunt me for a very long time. If I get out of this mess in one piece, I’ll do my best to make it up to her.

Now isn’t the time to be a lovelorn sap.

I need to get my head into fight mode. Because tomorrow night, I’m heading back into the cage.

Not on my own terms, but I don’t have a choice.

Jeffrey Dumas hasn’t given me any choices.

Just an ultimatum: if I wanted to prevent Merritt from meeting an assassin’s bullet and keep myself from rotting away in an Arcadian jail cell, I had to agree to his Plan B.

At least Merritt caught me with the crown so Jeffrey couldn’t get his grubby hands on it. But how did the police arrive so fast? Unless…

“You made sure the cops would arrive before I escaped, didn’t you? And then you paid them off.”

He shrugs. “Having her crown would have been nice. I’d piss on it then break it up and sell it. But the real goal was getting you on this flight back to New York.”

“To fight,” I finish flatly.

“Don’t forget, I asked you when we first met. This could have all been so much easier. But you said no. So, we had to do this the hard way. Because a lot of money is on the line. It’s a sold-out show, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend, you fucking piece of shit.” My tone is lethal, and his smug grin fades.

“No, you’re the princess’s bitch, and that’s even better,” he retorts.

Deep breaths, I tell myself, and mentally count to ten. I’m tempted to launch myself across the aisle and start beating him, but the two armed thugs make me rethink the stupid, spur of the moment decision that’ll only end with me getting shot in the ass.

Focus, Decker. Instead of being angry, I regroup, and my thoughts turn to the fight. It’s critical I know exactly what I’m walking into, so I can prepare as much as possible.

“You’re going to use the fight money to pay off your debts,” I surmise.

He nods. “People are willing to pay good money to see Lights Out fight again. Especially in an underground fight. You’re my key to freedom. Once I collect that money, I’m gone.”

Sitting back, dropping my hands on top of my thighs, I sigh. “What’re the rules?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Rules?” he echoes. “You’re joking, right?”

“Even underground fights have rules,” I say. “The main one being no hitting below the belt.”

“No rules.”

I shake my head and frown. Fine, whatever. I’m experienced enough to handle it.

“But there is one thing you should probably know,” Jeffrey says.

I arch a brow, waiting for him to tell me and stop being so damn cryptic. But he draws it out, seemingly enjoying the suspense.

“And that would be what exactly?” I finally have to ask.

“It’s a fight to the death,” he states.

Oh, hell no. I leap up from my seat, ready to pound Jeffrey into the ground, when a hard strike smashes me upside the head.

A pistol handle, I belatedly realize. I stumble, seeing stars, and another solid hit brings me to my knees.

A third strike to my skull has me face-planting against the floor, and I lose consciousness.

∞∞∞

At some point, my eyelids flutter open. I have a splitting headache, and my tongue feels like it’s wearing a fuzzy sweater. It takes a second for me to remember what’s happening.

A fight to the death.

Jerking up, I realize I’m in a bed with one wrist cuffed to a brass headboard. “Fucking hell,” I growl, immediately regretting the fast movement because it’s like a jackhammer is splitting my skull apart. Christ, they hit me hard. Probably have a concussion.

That’s the least of my problems, though.

Straightening up, I squint in the darkness, trying to get my bearings.

A small line of light trickles through the bottom of a closed door, but there isn’t much to see.

Other than the bed I’m restrained to, I can make out a straight back wooden chair and hideous shag carpeting covers the floor. Not even a window.

I could try to pick the cuff, but with what? Reaching down, I search my pockets with my free hand and discover they’ve been emptied. Hell, I don’t even know what time it is or how long I’ve been out.

Rattling the cuff, testing its strength, I figure out pretty fast it’s not going to be easy to escape. At least, not without my lockpicking set. Leaning back against a pillow, I release a long, frustrated sigh. I’ve messed everything up in every possible way. Especially when it comes to Merritt.

I have no idea who my opponent will be, but I’m willing to bet it’ll be someone good.

If Jeffrey sold out, it’s because he’s planning to give his audience a grand show.

A fight to the death. I’ve heard those kinds of illegal fights exist, but I’ve never been to one.

Why would I want to see two people try to kill each other?

Some people think MMA fighting is barbaric, but it’s a sport of extreme skill and respect for rules.

Pounding someone with my bare fists until they’re a corpse? That’s inhumane.

What choice do I have, though?

I’m not sure how much time passes before the door opens and the overhead light turns on. The bright light brings my headache raging back to life. With a curse, I pull myself up into a sitting position and see Dumas and his thugs.

“Time to go,” Dumas announces. “And I suggest you come nicely. Otherwise, Merritt is the one who will suffer.”

My only option is to go with them peacefully. I refuse to put Merritt in danger. Mercenaries are cold-blooded killers. If Dumas gives the order to take her out, it’s over. The only way I can protect her right now is to go and fight.

So, that’s what I do. Go willingly with these fools.

Once we’re outside and I’m getting into the back of an SUV, I see we’re in the woods in the middle of nowhere and the sun is setting.

I glance over at the ramshackle cabin we just left, trying to remember details.

My head feels a little bit better, but there’s still a dull, constant throbbing happening.

Like my brain is trying to tunnel its way out of my skull.

Good times. I suppose it’s better than the jackhammering from earlier.

We don’t drive far. In less than five minutes, we’re pulling up beside a barn that looks like it’s about to hit the dust.

“Out,” Dumas orders, and I open my door and slip out. He walks around the vehicle and hands me a gym bag. “Go change. Someone will be back to get you shortly.”

Dumas turns to wander off and his thugs escort me through the large barn door and then leave, locking me in.

A hole in the roof provides a small shaft of light, and the scent of old hay and rotting wood fills the air.

I could easily escape, but that would be signing Merritt’s death warrant. Not gonna happen.