Page 32 of Unleash Hades (Ungoverned Spaces #5)

Hugo

Edinburgh, Scotland

H arrison Guile was a handsome man. It was irritating that after taking blows to the face that the imperfections just made him more roguish. He had one of “those” faces. Bastard.

It made me want to punch him just a little harder, and break something. If I couldn't make him uglier, maybe it was cosmic rebalancing to make him feel pain.

We circled each other like two roosters, even as I scanned around to look for the She-Bear and her entourage. They were nowhere in sight.

Neither was Richard, even though Rose had kept a wary eye out.

There were so many things to think about.

The She-Bear, her girl, Calissandra and then Dick Davenport.

Every op worked this way. There were a thousand moving pieces.

A dozen plates spinning in the air that we had to keep up until the final act.

The conclusion of our mission. We hoped that the conclusion was a slow fade out, but sometimes it ended on an explosive, and bloody, note.

I was very, very distracted by a certain plate with hazel eyes. The woman who seldom smiled. When she did, it felt like the greatest gift.

She was sitting next to the popinjay. The peacock journalist with the colorful scarves.

I should have been paying more attention to Guile, who circled in front of me with an amused twinkle in his eye.

Some people fought in the Underground out of desperation, like the She-Bear. But it was clear that Guile did it for genuine enjoyment. In a lot of ways, he was like Rose. Their blood belonged on the canvas.

I tried to weave as Guile lunged with a cross punch, his fist hit me square in the sternum, rocking the breath from my lungs.

He tried to follow it with a take down that I blocked with my forearms, lowering my center of gravity to keep my feet firmly planted.

He struggled, and grunted. So did I. But it was clear that I weighed more than him, and I would use that to my advantage.

We struggled.

Guile had this strange, feral energy that made trying to control him like trying to harness a tornado.

We separated, breathless, and he gave me an appreciative nod. Guile was a sportsman. I didn’t want to like him, but I kind of did.

I caught Calissandra’s eye, and she gave me a shy smile. She even blushed. It gratified me that I could still bring color to her cheeks.

Her children would be eighteen tomorrow. I could convince her to be mine. I had been patient. Now, could I be kind? Could I care for her the way she deserved?

Guile looked at me with his blue eyes, giving me a smile.

This was all just a game to him. A job. No hard feelings, even as he jabbed at my right arm, following it with a hell of a cross punch that I narrowly escaped with a pivot of my right heel.

I wasn’t convinced I’d win this fight either.

Not when I was obsessed with keeping Cali in my line of sight. When I tasted her. She was so close.

“You’re distracted,” Guile said, his voice garbled by his mouthguard. “Bro, come on.”

“I can just let you win,” I said, as we clashed together, fumbling for dominance.

“Nah, bro.” He ground his molars on the green plastic in his teeth. “You new or something? You gotta give them a show, or you’ll never get the paychecks.”

He shifted his weight to one leg, and in a stilted, choppy move, kicked his calf between my thighs, sweeping me off balance.

I managed to stay upright, and we separated, circling each other again.

The small scrape had gotten the crowd engaged, and men in seats who had never dirtied their hands were now telling us how to win a fight.

“There you go,” Guile said with a nod, as if he was coaching me.

“Sweep!” Rose yelled from the sidelines. I did as she commanded, coming down to a knee and lunging forward to grab Guile’s legs.

Guile, unlike the She-Bear, was a cooperative fighter. She had been as unyielding as a brick wall, but Guile was entirely different. He bent and bowed, sliding this way and that, giving in and then taking, like an accordion.

He was a showman, and after the complete barrage that had been the She-Bear, I found his style refreshing.

“Hey man,” he said, as he dodged my jab. “Is the Vixen looking to coach others?”

I did a cross-hook-hook combo, landing both to his ribs and he pulled away, his arms up to defend from my hits.

It wasn’t enough to take him down, but he was winded.

“No offense, and all,” he said, giving an infinitesimal shrug that would be unnoticed to the audience. “But I just fired my team, so I’m looking for a new coach. If she’s looking for more clients…”

I jabbed him in the shoulder, then tried to come in for a sweep, our bodies clashing as he fell backwards.

“She’s not…” I grunted as I tried to pin his arm to the canvas so I could attempt to get him in an arm bar. “Not right now… But I’ll ask her just in case.”

If Rose got into coaching, that might not be a bad idea.

She was deadly, smart, young, and a champion. She had gone out of the game with a bang, beating the man who had tried to steal her title. Going back in the ring might not be the best move… but coaching? Hmm…

“Thanks, man,” Guile said.

He tried to roll out of my grasp, and I grunted.

“It’s been tough with no one in my corner, ya know?” I struggled, trying to get my arm in the right position to take him down. Sweat teased down my brow. I felt the cool, salty liquid down my temple.

He was sweating too, and he blinked.

“Fuck,” he said, as a small drop teased at the end of my nose. He adjusted his face just in time for my sweat to fall down my face and through the air onto his. “Gross.”

“Desole.” Sorry.

He adjusted his feet, trying to create space between our hips, just as the bell rang. The round was over, and we split like opposing magnets.

The referee came between us, his hand out to keep us apart, as we waited for a decision. He’d hear everything in the little bud in his ear.

He grabbed my wrist, and lifted it high, declaring me the winner by decision.

The crowd screamed in glee, and more than a few people threw their betting slips down in agitation.

Guile leaned forward, took my hand in his for a shake, before leaving the cage so I could do my victory turn.

With my arms raised in the air, I looked around, doing a full 360. It was a tradition in the Underground, not really because it felt victorious, but to give the audience a view of my injuries. To see how the fight marked my body. Gore is one hell of an addiction.

I got out of the cage, and Rose shook my hand.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” she said with a smirk.

“It’s my last fight in this brutal Circuit,” I admitted, wincing as I lifted my shoulder. There was a slight sprain from one of Guile’s hits. “I’m too old for this.”

Rose sighed in resignation. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Her eyes looked around at the crowd, the ring, the chainlink. She placed her hand against the chains, looking longingly on the inside, and my frozen heart thawed.

“Harrison Guile wanted to know if you were open to coaching,” I blurted. “He seems like a good guy.”

“Oh?” Rose’s eyes went wide. “For not having a coach, he’s done quite well for himself. He’s been winning most of his last fights.”

I shrugged. “Maybe with help, he’ll become a contender.”

Rose shook her head, letting out a low laugh. “Coaching you is one thing, but Alastair would never let me coach someone else. I’d be spending time with another man. You know how jealous he can be…”

“He let you spend time with me.”

“You’re obsessed with another woman.”

“That’s true,” I chuckled. I was no threat to any man’s marriage. “But that seems like a flaw in his thinking, not yours. Alastair can’t marry the Vixen, and expect her to turn into a pet.”

I shrugged, though I could practically see the wheels in her head turning, and turning. She wanted this. As much as Brett Bradley had turned her into a spy, the Underground was where she belonged. This was her passion. And it had been ripped from her by the bratva.

But she could still have this. The crowd, the fights, the cheering crowd.

She could still fight, if she wanted to.

But it was too dangerous. As the daughter of two Mafias, there was too big a target on her back.

One hidden razor blade in a glove, a payout, a bounty…

and she would go down, and Hell would rain in after her as her husband, her father, and all their allies salted the earth, and burned their enemies to the ground in retaliation.

Finally, I said, “Madness is loving something for what it is, then demanding that it change.”