Page 44 of Rev

She’sclean.Maybe not a virgin, maybe not actually innocent, but she’s pure as the snow at the top of the world—a place I’ve been, I’ve seen the snow on a mountain peak so close to Heaven my soul ached, so close to Heaven I felt like a whore in church.

Myka Donovan is just that clean.

And I’ll always be what I am: the nobody kid from the wrong side of the tracks, the guy you slum it with to get your rocks off before you go back to your nice clean orderly life with your perfect family and your perfect fuckin’ yard and your perfect fuckin’ house.

Ikissedher.

Makes me want to rip my mouth off, for dirtying those plump scarlet lips of hers. I could almost feel the blood staining my hands seeping onto her skin, her clothes, her purity.

Chance finds me in the corridor. “Dude, where you been?”

“Nowhere.”

He knows me. He’s been at my side and had my back since before we had hair on our balls. “Fuckin’ around with Myka, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

He eyes me, chuckles. “Oooh, son. You did somethin’ bad, didn’t you?”

“Chance,” I snarl. “Read me, brother. Not in the fuckin’ mood.”

He claps a cinder block paw on my shoulder. “Good news is, Borgas ate bad meat and has the squirts.”

“That’s good news?” I ask. “Means the last match of the night is off, and it’s a fight we been promoting for a month.”

“Means Jürgen Hass is set to fight and doesn’t have an opponent, and there’s a couple a million in bets already laid.”

I know where he’s going. “Chance, mood I’m in, I might just kill him.”

“Well, don’t.” He shoves me toward the stairs. “Get your ass in the cage, Rev. We need a fight.”

I plant my hands on my hips and tilt my head back, groaning. “I murder that sorry son of a bitch, it’s on you, bro.”

“You won’t.” He follows me down the stairs. “You took an oath, wear a brand.” A laugh. “Plus, you like him. He’s decent people.”

I halt at the bottom of the stairs and turn slowly, fixing him with a death glare. “Don’t gotta remind me of any of that shit.”

“Talkin’ about murdering Jürgen in the ring, figure I maybe should.” He swings an arm around my shoulders and guides me into motion. “Rev, maybe you oughta just bone the chick and get it over with. You been even more of miserable little bitch than usual, since she’s been sniffin’ around.”

“She ain’t a one-and-done kinda woman, Chance. You can see it just as well as I can. Wouldyougo there with a chick like her?”

He frowns, brow furrowing, thick forefinger scratching his jaw. “Got a point. Well, get your poop in a group, brother. Fight Hass, and make it good. Don’t end it in the first ten seconds.”

I manage a smirk. “See what I can do.”

I swing by my room, change into shorts and nothing else. Trot up to Fisticuffs and make my way through the crowd. Some notice me, clap me on the back—a glare stops the unwanted touching.

The camera operator, up in the box, finds me, and I’m on the screens, making my way through the crowd. Up to the cage, where I jump up and down, squat and pivot to loosen my hips, roll my head on my neck and swing my arms.

Jürgen joins me in the cage, looking unhappy. “I did not contract to fight you, Rev,” he says, in his thick German accent.

He’s an inch or two shorter than me and a little leaner, but he has a longer reach, and professional boxing training. I’ve seen him fight, and he knows his footwork. His hand speed is shocking, and I know for a fact he can take a fuckuva walloping to the core and keep on swinging.

Ain’t gonna be an easy fight.

His platinum hair is shorn close all over, his pale white skin marked with tattoos and scars.

I shrug at him. “Well, Borgas is shitting himself, so you got me.”