Page 11 of Unleash Hades (Ungoverned Spaces #5)

Calissandra

“ D on’t say I didn’t warn you.” Bellamy’s words sounded so ominous, it frightened me.

Like it was some kind of warning from a higher power.

You should always be afraid. Toujours! Always!

I wish my inner voice had a mute button.

“Defending her title is Olena ‘The She-Bear’ Savchenko!” The announcer yelled, holding on to the last syllable of her name until the crowd roared.

A massive woman walked out, her mouthguard already in her teeth, puckering her lips outward. Jesus, even her hands were gigantic.

She wore minimal clothing, which was typical of the fighters.

Hers were designed to emphasize her wide shoulders, and every striation of her thick muscles.

The tight-fitting, brown and silver bikini outfit emphasized her large size, the stripes of it patterned to be a caricature of Grecian armor.

They were marketing her as a warrior woman, and it was effective.

“Holy fuck, she’s an Amazon!” I leaned forward with a gasp, watching the specimen of incredible athleticism walking down the aisle with a grimace on her frightening features.

“Indeed,” Bellamy said in that bland, flat voice. “The She-Bear is an incredible fighter. I’ve been observing her for quite some time.”

Savchenko was surrounded by an entourage of men – a few of them shorter than her.

Maybe they were guards, but they looked like the mini-villains in a video game that one has to defeat before making it to the main boss.

In the back was a girl. She wore a plain khaki dress, her head was covered in a tan scarf, tucked over her mouth and nose. Her face was further obscured by her long, black hair that fell over her eyes and features. Her bowed head was poised for complete subservience.

“Who’s the girl?” I asked.

“No clue,” Bellamy said coolly. “If I had to guess, she’s the whipping boy.”

“What does that mean?”

I knew, vaguely, what a whipping boy was, but I didn’t understand it within this context.

“If the She-Bear loses, then those four guards will beat the girl,” he said flatly.

“It’s a practice from old monarchies. One could not beat a young prince, you see?

His royal status would always exceed that of his tutor.

Therefore, another, lesser, boy and friend would be educated beside him, and beaten for the prince’s transgressions. ”

I blinked at his recitation of those facts.

Bruises. A battered lip. A broken arm. The hidden welts beneath a black maid’s uniform…

“It was proven quite effective,” Bellamy shrugged, his eyes were flat.

Uncaring. Like so many of the people in the crowd, he acted like he was a world apart from the souls being forced to entertain us.

Or maybe he didn’t think they had souls at all.

“I’m guessing the She-Bear is too valuable as a fighter to injure, therefore, they brought the girl in to mitigate the damage and still make their point. ”

“That’s horrific.” I gritted out.

“It is.” I thought I saw a small flicker of expression in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, like smoke on a breeze.

Probably just a figment of my imagination.

“And the Challenger… Martin “The Legionnaire” Hugo!”

My heart stopped. The name was wrong. It was a coincidence…

Both were common names. Surely…

I let out a long sigh of relief, shaking my head.

When you think about something, or someone, you’ll see signs of your desire everywhere.

I certainly did. I held on to the memory of my singular indiscretion for so long that I saw him in crowds at riots, in the blinking of streetlights, and sometimes, I thought I heard his voice like a distant song from car speakers, fading away as they drove down the road.

I didn’t know what I’d do if I saw him… I’d probably combust.

I’d lose my cool, the way I had at the wedding in Venice. The way I had let my guard down, and run to him in relief… the way I had kissed him.

That was a mistake. I had kept my secret to keep everyone safe for so long that I should have known better. I could have destroyed everything…

“I’m sorry. My mistake.” The announcer corrected, coughing into his microphone. “I mean Hugo “the Legionnaire” Martin!”

“Holy Hades,” I gasped.

My Hades was here. He was…

My heart sank somewhere down to my core.

My thighs clenched as every memory I had repressed came to the front of my mind.

He was here. His dark, bronze skin, the stubble on his cheek that was there even after he shaved.

The way his body moved with power, and energy, displacing the air around him with the sheer magnetism of his impassive glare.

He was a specimen of beauty. With blue gloves, and tight shorts that did nothing to hide his gorgeous posterior, he was the model of every Grecian statue, but with the warmth of sun-kissed skin.

Black hair lightly covered his chest, except for two perfect dark, flat nipples.

Then the hair began again, lightly, below his belly button.

He walked down the aisle, as the She-Bear waited for him in the octagon. A short Asian woman with long black hair followed close behind him. She was saying something as they walked together, and I wanted, desperately, to hear their conversation.

Who was she? Who was she to him? Was he… would he have a girlfriend? Wife? Lover?

It would make sense, after all. Why would he wait ten years when we had barely seen each other…

But we kissed in Venice. He didn’t push me away.

But maybe he was too stunned by my assault…

He stood by my sister and had promised that he’d protect her. Would he do that if he had forgotten me? No. So… so he must still think of me. Right?

Not the way you think of him.

A hundred thoughts sputtered and stopped. I swallowed them all down, remembering Bellamy’s sharp eyes.

Hugo gave his woman a side hug, then let her open the door to the octagon. She closed the gate between them, before stepping back from the fence. She didn’t take a seat. She just stood, her arms crossed, her defined biceps protruding like she was a sentry, standing guard.

The two contestants turned in a circle, showing off their bodies to the spectators, which marked the final betting for the event.

“Care to place a wager?” Bellamy said, looking down at his phone. “Oh wait, you didn’t get an invitation, did you? So, you wouldn’t be able to, since it’s all done digitally, on an app linked to your phone number.”

He smirked, as if he’d figured out something amazing about me.

“Of course, I got an invitation. I just don’t gamble.” I am a seasoned liar.

“Really? You didn’t just… I don’t know… get the address?” he asked, though it wasn't a question, was it? He was telling me that he knew. But how could he? He was fishing.

He tapped something on his phone, and a few minutes later, a woman walked by with a slip in hand.

“Your bet, sir,” she said, leaning down, chest first, so that Bellamy got a good look at her cleavage. So did I. They were extraordinary.

“For you,” he said, handing me the slip. “A thousand on the She-bear.”

“What?” I balked. That was a ridiculously high number for a bet.

“I know, I know,” he said, sadly. “You’re probably cheering for the Frenchman, but I have it on good authority that he’s not going to be the victor here.”

“What authority?” Was it rigged?

I didn’t sit back in my seat. Not while Bellamy’s arm was still on the backrest. I’d hate to accidentally touch him... I might feel his scales.

Instead, I concentrated on looking at Hugo. The Legionnaire. My Legionnaire.

My tongue grew thick in my mouth, as I remembered all the ways I had tasted his skin, his tongue, his…

He stopped his circle, his eyes landing on me. His mouth opened, just a little, before it shut again. His hard eyes softened, and the barest hint of a smile crossed his lips, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

He inclined his head less than a centimeter, but it was enough to send a jolt into my dormant heart. It was a small gesture that meant so much to me.

“So, you do know him,” Bellamy said. “Interesting.”

I hated Lucien Bellamy. I hated him for spoiling this moment.

“I don’t know what you mean.” The lie was acid on my tongue.

I felt like Peter denying Jesus. I had denied Hugo so many times, even though the man in the ring was the greatest thing of my existence.

“You should really take me up on that drink, Cali,” Bellamy said, as he lifted a finger and a waitress came by with a drink - two whiskeys. Not one of the standards that were on the trays passed around.

I looked at his hand, his signet ring on his middle finger.

Of course, the Duke of Mouron would be known here, with a regular drink and everything. Bastard.

“We have more in common than you think,” He handed me the second whiskey, and I took it because as much as I disliked him, I disliked wasting a good drink.

“Doubtful,” I said, as I put my lips to the glass.

The smooth finish of a Macallan slipped down my throat and warmed my chest. I almost groaned in satisfaction, because it was 25 years old, or more. I could tell by the color, the taste, the smoothness.

“We have the same good taste in alcohol,” Bellamy said in a cavalier tone. “Friendships have been based on much less.”

The bell rang, the sound filling the large warehouse, and the voices of the crowd momentarily hushed as the two fighters touched gloves.

In the ring, Hugo and the She-Bear were well matched.

My heart stammered every time she landed a blow on his body, the sound of slapping flesh tearing into my head like a drum.

She slammed her fist into his cheek. Blood spurted from his mouth. I faintly heard the sound of something crack. Did she break his nose?

I gasped, my hand coming to my stomach to stop the twisting of my gut. The Asian woman outside the ring was screaming, her voice loud, and accented. Her fingers clutched the chain link, shaking it with every command.

“Her name is Rose Legaspi Vasilieva-Green. A Filipino-Russian-Irish mouthful.” Bellamy said, as if he was announcing the entire fight for invisible cameras.

“She was an Underground Champion, before she upset the old pakhan and had to disappear. The pakhan was executed, his brother took the throne and he adopted her, making her a Mafia Princess. It’s all very…

dramatic.” He didn’t think that was a bad thing.

Not judging by his smile. He was delighted. “They’re all so riveting, you know?”

I looked at the woman – the coach, and possible lover of my Legionnaire.

I shook my head, remembering myself, and coolly sat up. I crossed my feet at the ankles and forced expressions to melt away from my face. It was an exercise I had perfected with darling Richard.

“You’re making that up.” I coolly sipped the whiskey.

There was no way a story that outlandish could be true. It was too much detail.

“Sure, sounds like it, doesn’t it?” Bellamy chuckled.

“And what? She’s the Legionnaire’s girlfriend?”

Please don’t be Hugo’s girlfriend.

“No, she’s married to one of the Irish cousins - the Greens - who works for Caledonia Security.” Bellamy’s smarmy smirk was all over his tone, like honey. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them, yes? They rescued your dear sister.”

Pinpricks traveled up my spine as I remembered the sheer helplessness of seeing my sister kidnapped.

They had demanded a ransom and plastered her beaten face all over the news.

And I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t rescue her.

I did the next best thing. I called Caledonia Security, and offered them everything…

I would have let them harvest my organs if that’s what it took as long as they kept her off of Richard’s radar and brought her home safe.

But Callum MacLachlan, Baron of Strathlachlan, was a fair man. He didn’t ask for my kidneys.

He only asked for me to fund the operation and pay the salary.

I would have paid much more for my little sister.

“Wait, she’s a bratva daughter, and married to the Irish? And he’s in a security company?” The questions all crept into my mind. One right after the other.

I kept tabs on that company because I knew that one of my sister’s boarding school friends began it.

What started as innocent snooping – a need to know about a sister I publicly disavowed, turned into genuine interest when I watched the company take off…

then they hired Hugo. He became a partner, and part owner, and now he was here…

Our lives intertwined so intricately… It felt like fate.

Or maybe something more sinister was at work here.

“She's the reason for the Mafia truce. Didn’t you know?” Bellamy taunted.

“The Legionnaire works for Caledonia Security, as I am sure you know,” the last phrase was filled with so much innuendo that if I hadn’t been sure I had kept my secret, I would suspect that he knew something. “She’s his coach, obviously.”

I let out a breath of relief.

She was a coach. Not a girlfriend. She was married.

I swallowed, trying to keep the creep of a blush from moving up my neck and into my cheeks.

“How is that obvious?” I asked, wanting confirmation that he wasn’t with her.

“Other than the fact they walked out together?” Bellamy said, lifting a brow. I looked away from him again, to watch Hugo in the ring. But Bellamy continued to speak, “Because she’s shouting at him, of course. She’s giving him orders from the sidelines.”

She was certainly yelling something. Her face was red with her frustration as her fingers curled tighter on the chain-link. And what she commanded, he obeyed.

“You truly know nothing of this sport, do you?” Bellamy said, taking a sip of his drink, the ice and glass tinkling along with his high-pitched laugh.

“He doesn’t mind taking commands from a woman,” I smiled.

Why did that give me a sense of pride?

Oh, because you are married to a closet misogynist.

“I wouldn't mind taking commands from her when it comes to fighting. She is a champion after all,” Bellamy said. “And it’s more than what the She-Bear has.”

I looked to the other side of the ring. The girl in khaki and the four men were looking at the fight, their mouths shut, their hands clasped in front of them. They were more statues than people.

“They’re not helping her,” Bellamy said, and I thought I saw anger cross his features, before disappearing. “Which is why I don’t think they’re there for support. I don’t think the She-Bear is here voluntarily.”

“You suspect she’s being trafficked?”

“I suspect that the girl is,” he said as he took a long sip of his whiskey. “And the She-Bear is the only protection she has.”