Page 13 of Unleash Hades (Ungoverned Spaces #5)

Calissandra

H ugo was far more subdued in the second round. I hated it. I wanted to scream for him to hit her harder, to beat her, and break her! I wanted him to win, yes, but more than anything, I wanted him to not get hurt!

“He’s holding back,” Bellamy gave words to my thoughts, and I wanted to beat him for it. Not because he was wrong, but because I didn’t want him to be right. “The Legionnaire has a bit of a conscience.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of my Hugo. His beautiful, thick, muscular body that brought back memories so crystal clear, I could almost touch them: his skin in the summer heat, the coarseness of his chest hair, and the roughness of his hands.

“What do you mean?” I was getting frustrated with Bellamy’s speech. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant for once?

“He and his coach are looking over at the girl. I think they know, as we do, that there’s a hostage crisis there. I don’t think your man is going to try to win.”

I opened my mouth, and let the words spill out, even though I didn’t believe it. “He’s not my man. I’m just… a fan. Of the… sport.”

“An MMA fan that didn’t know who the first female champion of the Underground was?” Bellamy said, inspecting his fingernails with faux casualness. “Tsk, tsk, you really need to work on your cover story.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well, at least that wasn’t a lie,” he chuckled as he stared down at his painted, orange nails.

It’s not unusual for a man to paint his nails… at least not in New York City. But bright orange?

The She-Bear lunged, and Hugo dipped to the side. The blow glanced off his shoulder.

He landed an uppercut to her sternum. She grunted, and he heaved another blow that looked heavy, like his fist was full of lead. He was growing tired. They both were. And still, I could see their mouths move around their mouthguards, as if they were having a conversation.

The two parted again, and the She-Bear dipped her head in a nod.

“They’re probably discussing where to get drinks after,” Bellamy said, still inspecting his pristine nails. Did he get regular manicures? His cuticles were smooth, and paper thin. Not like mine, which were cracked. “It’s customary for many of them. Especially if they’re not acquainted.”

“After they beat the hell out of each other?” I turned and immediately regretted looking at Bellamy’s face.

He wasn’t watching the fight. He was watching me. But there was something about him that made me feel like I was a voyeur. His mannerisms, his clothes. I instinctively told myself that it was rude to stare, because he invited staring, while also making me feel ashamed of the impulse.

Like he was a car wreck on the side of the road, and I was a spectator to carnage.

“There are no hard feelings in combat,” Bellamy said. “It’s just a job.”

What would he know about it?

That had not been my experience with soldiers in war, or among militants and rebels. There absolutely were hard feelings in war. Grudges, and vendettas were prevalent.

Our workplace was fueled by animosity and bitterness.

“Just a job, hmm?” I said, chewing my words before spitting them out. “Like when you stole the Somalian Pirate story from under me? Or the arms smuggling out of Transnistria? What about the Kaliningrad story…”

“Cali, I have good reasons for each one of those--”

“Oh, then I’d love to hear it!” I scoffed.

“-- that I will not be able to disclose to you at this moment.” He sighed theatrically. “Have a drink with me.”

“In your fucking dreams.”

He shrugged, and I turned back to Hugo.

“You’ll regret turning me down.” Bellamy’s words made my skin crawl.

I had heard many men say something similar. Richard was one of them. Vindictive, spoiled, arrogant and…

Hugo lunged at the She-Bear and they went down, the crowd applauding the commotion.

I almost screamed, coming to my feet with the crowd, as a tussle of elbows, and the sound of flesh meeting skin and bone rang out over the crowd.

There was blood. So much of it. Swollen eyes, and angry yells. There was so much going on that I didn’t know what to do, or what to think. First, Hugo was on top, reigning hellfire on the She-Bear.

Then they flipped and flipped again. Then Hugo was the one with his back to the canvas, his head almost pillowed on the chain-link as if she was squeezing him into the corner of chain and mat. Then they were stilled. Grunting, and heaving. Little movements gave away who was on top, and who wasn’t.

She let out a scream that was of incredible anguish and fear. Hugo’s hand lifted, and with small taps to her shoulder, slumped onto the ground.

I covered my lips with my fingers, trying to hold in a scream as I felt sympathy pain course through my body. He had tapped out. He had lost.

The She-Bear stood up. The crowd went wild, and a stone-faced Hugo gave a small nod, which was returned by his opponent.

The referee raised her hand as the victor and Hugo quietly walked out of the arena.

I got to my feet, ready to run to him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Bellamy quietly said, his finger lightly pushing down on my shoulder to put me back in my seat.

Just enough to remind me that he was still there and watching.

“What the hell would you know about it?” I flinched away from him.

“I know that Rose is coming, and she’s looking straight at you, my dear.”

I had been so preoccupied with Hugo that I hadn’t even noticed that his coach turned away early. She made her way up the aisle, her eyes trained on me.

When she stood at the end of our row, she sneered. Her golden eyes assessing me. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like.

“Vixen!” Bellamy said with a knowing smirk. “How is your dear husband, Alastair? And your twins! They must be missing you dreadfully.”

The Vixen’s hazel eyes turned to him.

“I bet you like your title now. The Vixen isn’t half as dreadful as the She-Bear!” Bellamy rambled, theatrically shuddering at the names. “Who even thinks of these? Wildly sexist, I would say!”

Rose lifted a brow and frowned, glaring at Bellamy’s arm on my backrest.

“Are you with him?” Her accent was unusual. Bellamy had listed her name’s ethnic makeup. Her voice wasn’t Irish, or Russian therefore… Filipino?

I did not want this woman to think I was with Bellamy. I didn’t want Hugo to think that either.

I was used to assumptions and lies. But this one time, for one man, I wanted the truth to win. It was an indulgence that would kill me, one day. Trust was a weakness, not a virtue.

It was bad enough that I was married, but the thought that I was a cheater with Bellamy?

Maybe I was naive to still think that I could consider myself Hugo’s.

Or maybe I never was and I had simply built it all in my mind, brick by brick.

A defense against the cruelty of my existence.

But if an illusion kept you alive, and breathing… then it was a life raft.

You breathe life into it.

“Fuck no.” The conviction in my voice was more than what I wanted, but still less than what I felt.

“Okay,” she said, with a curt nod.

Then Rose left. Up the aisle, without a backwards glance. I chewed my lip, knotting my fingers.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Journalists are the biggest cretins in the world,” Bellamy said, his head falling backwards as he looked to the sky in an eye roll that should have dislocated his neck. “Follow her.”

I flinched, “What?”

“Follow her. She’ll lead you to your Legionnaire,” he repeated. I opened my mouth ready to deny it, but he flicked his fingers in a dismissal and said, “Go!”

By then, I had lost sight of Hugo. And I was desperate to see him. I needed him. I wanted him.

It was like forgetting the indulgence of sweets until a cake was placed beneath your nose. Then all of a sudden, you realize what you had been missing, and you want that more than anything else in the world.

I stumbled up the aisle, trying not to run, as I fast-walked behind Rose.

She walked out a set of doors, down a hall, then turned down another hall. I almost ran into her when she suddenly stopped, and turned, pushing a door open.

She didn’t go through it, but just let it swing into the darkness behind it.

“It’s not the Ritz, but it’s the best I could do,” she said, nodding for me to go in.

Was Hugo there? If he was… was she helping me? Or was it a trap? Was she one of Richard’s pawns? One of their spies?

“If you hurt him,” Rose said, her face impassive, as she didn’t look at me but instead stared into the darkness that lay beyond the open door, “I will kill you.”

Then with a tough, strong hand, she grabbed my shoulder and shoved me into the room.

The door closed shut, plunging me into darkness, into silence, where I could hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing.

I waited.

For a chance to see Hugo? I’d wait in the darkness of the Underworld for an eternity.