Page 29

T he crowd is a living thing tonight in the arena, like a beast that roars and thrashes, its energy slamming into me like a tidal wave. The air is thick—stale with sweat, sharp with beer, and heavy with testosterone. It clings to my skin, fills my lungs, and vibrates through my chest, but it’s all just static.

In the middle of it all is Silas.

He’s in the center of the ring, pacing back and forth like a predator just let loose. His jaw is tight, clenched so hard I half expect to hear his teeth crack. Every muscle in his body is taut, his gray gym shorts barely hanging on his hips.

His eyes are locked on Victor across from him. And that smirk on Victor’s face—cocky, arrogant, sure—makes my blood boil.

I don’t know how Silas is keeping it together. If it were me, I’d already be swinging, already making him eat that smug grin. No one talks shit on an officer of DSN and gets away with it unbloodied. Victor being one of our own makes it worse. But that’s Silas—controlled, calculating. He doesn’t make a move until he’s ready to strike, and when he does, it’s devastating.

Like a true DSN president.

He hasn’t been able to let go of Victor’s suggestion that the two of them fight despite all of our attempts to make him drop it. Silas never backs down from a fight.

Beside me, Sable shifts in her seat, her nails biting into her thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks through the holes of her fishnets. She hasn’t said much since we got here, but the way her leg bounces, the way her breath hitches every time Victor moves, tells me everything I need to know.

She hates this.

Hates that Silas is standing there with Victor when we all know this fight isn’t about proving anything.

It’s a power play, a vendetta.

“Do you think he’s ready?”

I glance at her. Hazel eyes sharpen with worry meet mine, and for a second, I can’t find the words. She looks like she’s one breath away from snapping.

“He’s Silas,” I say finally, forcing a confidence I don’t feel. “He’s always ready.”

Kai and Levi are down by the ring, leaning against the ropes careful to not allow their bodies to hang inside and penalize Silas. Kai keeps throwing glances at Silas, his mouth moving as he mutters something to Levi. I can guess what he’s saying. Victor’s a dirty fighter, and everyone in this room knows it. But Silas? He’s too damn proud, too stubborn to back out, even if it means getting himself torn apart.

“Stupid bastard,” I mutter under my breath.

The ref steps into the center of the ring. Silas takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, preparing himself. He rolls his shoulders back, and for a moment, he looks unbreakable.

Unstoppable.

But I know better.

From here, I can see the small cracks. Being his friend for over ten years, I’ve learned a thing or two about him and his ways of masking. The way his fingers flex and curl like he’s trying to shake off the nerves right off the tips of his fingers. The way his stance is just a little too rigid, too controlled.

Silas isn’t just fighting Victor.

He’s fighting himself.

The ref starts rattling off the rules, but it’s pointless. Victor isn’t going to follow them, and Silas knows it. We all do. Still, Silas steps forward, meeting Victor in the center of the ring, his expression hard as granite.

The two of them stand nose-to-nose, and for a second, the noise in the room dims. It’s like the whole world is holding its breath. Victor says something, his lips curling into a sneer, and I see Silas’ jaw flex. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t flinch, but the tension in his body becomes more rigid.

And then the bell rings.

It’s like a match to gasoline. The crowd explodes, a deafening roar that drowns out everything else, and Victor charges forward. Silas side steps, quick and fluid, like he’s playing a deadly game of chess.

I don’t breathe.

I don’t blink.

My whole body is locked in place, caught between the chaos of the crowd and the quiet, gnawing dread twisting in my gut.

Beside me, Sable grips the edge of her seat. “Please,” she whispers, and I don’t know if she’s talking to me, Silas, or some higher power.

Victor comes out swinging like a rabid dog, his fists a blur of violence, and Silas ducks the first wild hook and sidesteps the second. His counterstrike—a gut punch that sinks into Victor’s ribs with a satisfying crack—earns a roar from the crowd. But Victor doesn’t falter. He grins like a goddamn maniac.

I’ve seen Silas fight plenty of times in places other than this ring—on the field, in bars, hell, even in the goddamn kitchen over who got the last beer. It’s never just about winning for him. It’s about proving something. Proving he’s unshakable, unstoppable. He’s the kind of guy who’d go to war with the entire world if it meant standing his ground.

Silas is quicker than I’ve seen him, but Victor isn’t just a brawler—he’s a butcher. Every hit is aimed at maiming, and Silas is eating too many of them.

A jab to his shoulder snaps his body sideways.

Victor lands another hit, and Silas’ head snaps to the side, blood spraying across the mat. His cheek is now covered like war paint, but he doesn’t slow down.

“Come on, Silas.”

Beside me, Sable trembles. Every time Silas takes a hit, she flinches. “Why is he doing this?”

“Because he doesn’t know when to stop,” I answer. But it’s more than that. It’s in his blood, in his goddamn DNA. Silas doesn’t just fight to win. He fights because it’s who he is. He’d rather break every bone in his body than give up.

Pride will kill Silas one day.

Victor lands an uppercut that snaps Silas’ head back, his jaw dislocating with a sickening pop. Sable gasps beside me, her hand flying to her mouth. Silas staggers, blood trailing from his split lip, but he doesn’t hit the ground. He never hits the ground.

Victor feints left, his movement so convincing it even fools me, and Silas shifts to block.

It’s a trap.

Victor drives his foot into Silas’ ribs with a force that seems designed to break more than bone. The dull, wet crack cuts through the chaos of the crowd.

Silas crumples, clutching his side, his face twisted in agony.

“Shit!” I hiss, standing up so fast the bleachers rattle underneath me.

Sable pulls on my arm as she lifts herself up, her face pale as chalk. “Silas?—”

“He’s fine,” I lie, though my heart is pounding so loud I can barely think. Silas isn’t fine. He’s hunched over, his movements sluggish. Victor sees the weakness and closes in, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee.

“Do something!” Sable screams.

Kai and Levi are shouting too, but I can barely make out what they are saying. The ref stands frozen, either too scared or too paid off to stop this massacre.

Victor throws another punch, this one smashing into Silas’ ribs again, and I swear I can feel the impact in my own chest. Silas’ face contorts, his body folding under the relentless assault. Blood pools at the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the mat, and he spits out a broken tooth.

“He’s going to kill him.”

I don’t know if she means Victor or Silas himself.

The air shifts, a shrill, arrogant laugh floats right toward Sable and me.

Gracie, Victor’s on-again-off-again girlfriend is perched on the edge of the bleachers like she’s holding court, her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around a neon-pink drink that’s comically out of place in this grimy pit. She’s laughing, whispering to the girl next to her like this is just another Netflix binge.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sable spits.

I don’t even have time to stop her. She’s already moving, storming down the steps with reckless determination. Her shoulders are squared, her fists clenched at her sides, and every step screams violence.

“Sable!” I call after her, but she doesn’t even glance back.

Gracie’s smirk widening when she sees Sable barreling toward her. She doesn’t flinch or move—doesn’t even uncross her legs.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?”

“Your boyfriend’s a fucking psycho,” Sable snaps.

Gracie raises an eyebrow, tilting her head like she’s amused by a child throwing a tantrum. “And your boyfriend’s losing. What’s your point?”

The words land like a slap, Sable’s fists curl tighter, her knuckles going white, and her weight shifts forward like she’s about to throw a punch that’ll shatter Gracie’s perfect, smug face.

I move fast, grabbing her wrist just as she pulls back.

“Not here,” I growl, stepping between them.

Sable’s glare burns into me, her eyes wild and furious. For a second, I think she’s going to shove me aside, but she doesn’t. Her chest heaves as she fights to rein in the storm brewing inside her, her lips pressed into a tight, trembling line.

“Smart move,” she says, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “You should keep her on a leash, though. Lakeview University scum. ”

Sable lunges again, and this time, I have to catch her other wrist to stop her. Her muscles strain against my grip, she huffs with fury, and I know it’s taking everything she has not to tear Gracie apart.

“Let me go, Dayton.”

“Not a chance,” I hiss, tightening my hold. “She’s not worth it.”

Gracie chuckles, shaking her head like this whole thing is beneath her. “You’re right,” she says, directing the words at me. “You’re not worth my time .” She takes another sip of her drink, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Gracie shrugs like this is all some game to her. “Whatever,” she says, then stands gracefully, tossing her drink into the trash. She flicks her hair over her shoulder, shooting one last smug glance at Sable before turning on her heel and walking away, her posse following her down the bleacher steps and closer to the ring.

Sable’s body softens only slightly, her eyes narrowing as she watches Gracie walk away from us. “I hate her.”

“I noticed,” I say dryly, finally letting go of her wrists.

In the ring, Silas staggers, his movements sluggish, each step unsteady. Blood drips from his nose, smearing his mouth and chin. His ribs are bruised, maybe cracked, the swelling visible even from here. He wraps his arms around his middle instinctively, trying to protect himself, but it leaves him open—too open.

Victor prowls around him like a predator, his fists clenched, his grin feral. Sweat gleams off his skin under the harsh fluorescent lights, but he’s barely breathing hard like this is just a warm-up for him.

Silas shifts his weight and throws a punch, his knuckles connecting with Victor’s jaw, but it’s weak—barely enough to snap Victor’s head to the side.

The bastard doesn’t even flinch.

Victor’s fist drives into Silas’ stomach like a battering ram, and Silas folds. The sound that escapes him is guttural and broken, a choked gasp that cuts through the deafening roar of the crowd.

Silas stumbles back, his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. He looks up, his eyes bloodshot, and I can see it—the desperation, the pain, the sheer willpower keeping him on his feet.

But it’s not enough.

Victor’s fists rain down like hammers, each blow sending Silas stumbling closer to the ropes. Silas tries to block, his arms coming up, but he’s too slow, too worn down.

A hook to his ribs, a jab to his temple—it’s relentless.

Silas stumbles, his legs buckling, and the only thing keeping him upright is the rope he’s clutching like a lifeline. Victor backs up, pacing in a slow circle, his eyes glinting with malice as he waits for Silas to straighten.

He’s toying with him now.

“CALL IT!” I roar, “FUCKING CALL IT!”

The ref hesitates, glancing between Victor and Silas like he’s weighing whether to step in.

What the hell is there to think about?

Silas can barely stand, let alone fight, and Victor isn’t going to stop until he’s broken.

“SILAS!”

Silas doesn’t look at Sable. He doesn’t look at anyone. His eyes are locked on Victor, his expression tight, unreadable.

Victor moves again, closing the distance between them in two quick steps. He swings high, aiming for Silas’ temple, but Silas ducks—just barely—and throws a wild punch to Victor’s side. It lands, but it’s weak, and Victor barely registers it before grabbing Silas by the back of the head and driving his knee into Silas’ face.

The sound that follows isn’t human.

It’s a deep, gut-wrenching groan, torn from Silas’ chest as he collapses to his knees, his arms cradling his torso.

Sable chokes on a sob, one hand flying to her mouth. “Stop it. Please, just stop it.”

But Victor isn’t stopping. He grabs Silas by the hair, dragging him to his feet, and lands a brutal uppercut to his jaw. Silas’ head snaps back, and for a terrifying second, I think he’s going to go limp, that he’s out cold. But somehow, impossibly, he stays upright, swaying on unsteady legs.

My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat.

This isn’t a fight anymore.

This is a fucking slaughter.

Kai is screaming at the ref, while Levi pounds his fist against the mat. But the ref still isn’t stepping in, and I don’t know what’s keeping me from storming the ring myself.

Silas staggers back, slumping against the ropes, his chest heaving as he tries to pull in air. Blood drips from his mouth, trailing down his neck, and he looks like he’s about to collapse.

And Victor? That smug bastard just stands there, rolling his shoulders like he’s warming up for the final blow.

“SILAS, GET OUT!” I shout, desperation clawing at my throat. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO PROVE ANYTHING!”

But he doesn’t move.

Victor takes his time as he steps forward, his fists still raised.

And I realize something.

Silas isn’t going to get out. He’s not going to quit, not going to back down, because that’s not who he is. He’ll stay in that ring until Victor kills him.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“SILAS!” Sable screams again. It’s the kind of sound that demands attention, that freezes the air for half a second before the world crashes back in.

She’s already shoving her way down the bleachers, her movements frantic, wild like nothing exists except Silas.

“Sable, wait!” I shout, vaulting down the steps after her, my shoes pounding against the bleachers. But she’s gone, consumed by her fury, her desperation, her need to reach him.

Victor raises his arms in triumph, basking in the crowd’s thunderous roar like a gladiator who just spilled his rival’s blood. His knuckles are slick with it—Silas’s blood—and his grin twists into something grotesque, smeared with violence and victory. My hands curl into fists, and for a second, I can’t think of anything except tearing him out of that ring and breaking his face.

But Sable’s already climbing the ropes.

Kai intercepts her, his arm shooting out to grab hers just as she starts to hoist herself up. “Stay back,” he snaps, but Sable wrenches free, her eyes blazing.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Kai!”

“Mahal!”

“No, Kai?—”

The bell finally clangs, the ref waving his hands to signal the end of the fight, but it’s just a formality. The damage is done. Victor raises his fists again, and the crowd surges with approval, but all I can see is Silas.

He’s still on the ground, barely moving.

Silas doesn’t lose. He doesn’t go down. He’s a force of nature, relentless, untouchable. The kind of fighter people fear before they even step into the ring. But now?

Now, he’s crumpled like a discarded thing, blood dripping from his temple, his knuckles raw, his body refusing to rise. One of his eyes is swollen shut, his lip split, bruises already blooming like warpaint smeared across his skin. His chest rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths, but his hands—his hands still twitch, like some part of him is trying to keep fighting.

But he can’t. Not this time.

And that’s what makes my stomach drop.

Because Silas isn’t supposed to fall.

Levi is under the ropes in an instant, his expression cold as he drops to his knees beside Silas. His hands hover for a moment, unsure where to touch, before he carefully hooks one arm under Silas’ shoulders, his other pressing lightly against his ribs to steady him.

Kai lets go of Sable and follows, his jaw tight as he vaults into the ring without hesitation.

I grab Sable’s arm as she moves to climb in after them, my grip firm but careful. “Let them handle it,” I say, forcing my voice steady even though my chest feels like it’s caving in.

She jerks away, her eyes wild, her body vibrating with barely contained fury and terror. “He’s hurt, Dayton!”

“I know, babygirl. Kai and Levi have him. You rushing in there isn’t going to help him.”

Her chest heaves as she glares at me, her lips trembling like she’s about to argue, but then her gaze shifts to the ring. To Silas. To the way Levi has his arm slung over his shoulder, supporting his weight as Kai crouches beside them, his hand hovering near Silas’ ribs like he’s afraid touching him will break him more.

The fight in her falters.

She stumbles back a step, her shoulders sagging as she drags a hand through her hair. Her space buns are coming loose, strands of honey-colored hair sticking to her sweat-dampened face. Her hands fall to her sides, fists clenching and unclenching, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Shit,” she whispers, her voice cracking as tears brim in her eyes.

I step closer, grabbing her shoulder to steady her. “He’s going to be okay,” I say, though the words feel thin and fragile.

He leans heavily on Levi, his face pale and streaked with blood. His ribs are an angry mess of bruises, and his chest heaves with every shallow breath he takes.

The crowd starts to shift, the cheers fading into murmurs as people begin to realize just how bad Silas looks. Victor stands in the corner, leaning casually against the ropes, his grin still firmly in place.

He doesn’t look tired.

He looks pleased.

“I’m going to kill him,” I mutter under my breath, my fists tightening.

Sable hears me, and for a second, I think she’s going to stop me. But then she looks at Victor, her eyes narrowing into slits, and I see the same murderous intent burning in her.

“You’ll have to get in line.”

Kai and Levi finally manage to get Silas through the ropes, and I move to meet them at the base of the ring. Sable is right behind me, her steps unsteady but determined.

“Is he—” she starts, but the words catch in her throat when she sees him up close.

“Don’t,” Silas grits out. He sways dangerously, his weight dragging down on Levi, but he still manages to glare at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,”

“I’m standing, aren’t I?”

“Barely!”

“Guys. Not now.”

She bites her lip, but she doesn’t argue.

“We need to get him out of here before Victor tries something else.”

We exit out the side door, Silas hanging between them like a broken marionette. His head lolls forward, blood still trickling down his chin, his body limp except for the occasional shuddering breath.

“Get him to the car,” I say, taking Silas’ other side, his blood seeping into my shirt. “We’re not sticking around for this shitshow.”

“He needs a hospital,” Sable says.

“No,” Silas grits out, the word strained, raw, and barely audible through his clenched teeth. Blood glistens at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not fine,” Levi snaps. His hand clenches into a fist at his side, his knuckles nearly splitting from the pressure. “You’re fucking falling apart.”

Silas doesn’t respond immediately. A string of crimson spit trails from his split lip.

Kai swallows hard. “Back to the house. He can’t stay here. Not like this.”

Sable opens her mouth to protest, but I squeeze her hand hard enough to make her flinch. “Later. We need to move now.”

The ride is suffocating. Silas’ breathing grows more labored, the sound wet and sickly, like each breath is scraping his lungs raw. The metallic tang of blood and sweat fills the car, mingling with the icy night air that filters through the cracked window.

Sable keeps one hand on his arm but leans herself forward and looks at Dayton.

“Hospital. Dayton, he needs?—”

“No hospital,” Silas croaks, a faint gurgle undercutting his words. The effort sends him into a coughing fit that brings fresh blood to his lips.

“Fuck!” Sable hisses, tears pooling in her eyes as she presses harder against his side. “You stubborn asshole.”

“We’re almost there,” Kai growls from the front, his knuckles bone-white as he grips the wheel. The car skids slightly as he takes a corner too fast, tires screeching against the asphalt.

The moment we reach the house, Levi’s out of the car, yanking open the back door. His movements are almost frantic as he ducks under Silas’ arm. “Goddamn it, Silas, lean on me. I’ve got you.”

Silas groans, the sound guttural and pained, as Levi and Sable haul him out.

“Levi was tortured for weeks and wasn’t nearly beat up as you,” I joke.

“Fuck you, Day.” Silas coughs

“Shut the fuck up and move!” Kai shoves the door open and holds it as they maneuver Silas inside.

“Couch,” I say tersely, already running for the first aid kit.

By the time I return, Sable is kneeling in front of Silas, her hands frozen in mid-air as she stares at his battered body. His ribs are swollen and misshapen, and there’s a jagged gash just below his collarbone, still oozing blood.

“Jesus Christ,” Sable breathes. She presses a trembling hand to her mouth, but it does nothing to hide the tremor in her voice.

“Stop gawking and patch him up,” Levi snaps.

Emotions are high, and everything we are trying to do is to help him.

Sable pulls herself together, her hands moving with purpose as she grabs gauze and antiseptic. “This is going to hurt,” she warns.

“Just do it,” Silas mutters, his head leaning back against the couch.

The moment the antiseptic touches his skin, he jerks violently.

“Hold him still!”

Kai stands off to the side, pacing like a caged animal. “This wasn’t just a fight. This was a goddamn execution attempt.”

“No shit,” Levi snarls, his eyes glued to Silas. “Victor wasn’t trying to win—he was trying to make a statement. And he fucking succeeded.”

“Someone fucking paid him.”

“Or paid the ref.”

“Should have listened to the goddamn note.” Silas coughs.

Kai stops pacing, his hands curling into fists. “Silas, the note? What note?” he says sharply. “What did it say?”

Silas doesn’t respond. His gaze is distant and unfocused.

“Silas,” Kai barks, stepping closer. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“If I fought, it would cost me my life,” he says flatly, the words slurring slightly as if he’s losing strength.

Sable stops mid-motion, her hands hovering over his battered skin. “You knew. You fucking knew, and you still went out there?”

Silas doesn’t answer, his jaw tightening.

Her composure snaps. “You selfish bastard!” she screams, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “You could’ve died!”

“Enough!” he snaps back, letting out a cough of weakness. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“For now,” Levi mutters. “But someone wanted you dead, and they’re not going to stop.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as we all look at Silas—bruised, bleeding, and barely holding it together.

And for the first time, I feel it.

We’re running out of time.