Ella

For days, all I can do is stare at her cage, punch the glass, and bite my lips. I continue until both my lips and knuckles bleed. I don’t feel the pain. None of it matches the gut-wrenching hurt I feel in my heart since Syrena’s been taken.

I don’t know what Graham did with her.

I try to ask every damn time he enters this room to bring us food, but nothing comes from my mouth no matter how hard I try to yell. So I keep tapping the cage, hoping to draw his attention, but he’s ignored me ever since he took her.

He won’t acknowledge I exist even though I’m begging for him to answer me.

I need to know … need to know if she’s okay.

I’ll never forgive myself if she’s not.

As I stare, praying for her safety, I swear to myself that I will see her again. And that I will make Graham pay for everything he’s done.

The food he brings spoils in the box as I refuse to touch it. I’d rather starve than make him happy. I know he needs me alive, so not eating is my only leverage. And right now, I’ll grasp anything I can to regain what little control I have over my life.

Because I owe it to Syrena. Her spirit gave me hope, and now I will do the same in return. I won’t give into him, not until I know she’s safe.

Cage has been looking at me for the past few hours. He’s tried to distract himself with workouts, but he keeps coming back to circling his prison, trying to get my attention. It’s not working. Whenever he opens his mouth to tell me how much he likes me, or how sorry he is about what happened to Syrena, I just shrug it off and ignore it.

I don’t care how he feels about anything right now. This is not about him. He should’ve stopped Graham. He could’ve fought. He could’ve not listened to him. Anything.

But he didn’t.

And I do partly blame him for it.

Even though Syrena being taken was partly my fault, none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t chosen a girl in the first place. He could’ve refused. He could’ve told Graham he wasn’t interested in anyone, so no one would be captured.

But instead, he was selfish. He chose his own needs over those of another person.

No one has the right to do that. No one.

How could I not be mad at him?

So I’m just going to wait it out until Graham feels compelled to tell me what I want to know. And until that happens, I’m just going to sit here and pretend I’m a ghost.

* * *

Cage

Not hearing her voice is painful.

But not being able to see into her eyes is killing me.

Every time I try to make her look at me, she turns her head without giving me the slightest chance.

I know why she’s upset. I didn’t stop him. I could have, but I didn’t because … that’s just it. I don’t know why. I just do as I’m told because that’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t know any better.

That’s no excuse; I know that.

I have none, to be honest.

She says I’m fearless. But even fearless men have their weakness.

Mine is her.

I don’t want her to get hurt.

I’ll do anything and everything in my power to prevent that. Even if it means going against her wishes. Even if it means listening to my father, who she despises so much.

She’s right if it makes me a bad man. I never claimed to be anything else. I’ll give my life if it means she’s safe.

However, I understand if she doesn’t see it that way. But by not eating and not sleeping right now, she’s endangering herself. I don’t know why she’s doing it. Maybe to defy my father, to get her way … because I know she wants Syrena back. Hell, even I want Syrena back even though she always nagged me about things I didn’t have the answers to.

I don’t want to see her hurt either. However, if it comes to choosing between Syrena and Ella … the choice is simple to me. If that makes me just as evil, then so be it.

I will protect my woman.

No matter the cost.

“It’s time,” his voice booms through the boxes.

Sighing, I grab the gauze and tape he gave me a few hours ago through the box and wrap my hands with them. Then I stand in the circle on the concrete and wait until it lowers me into the ring again.

I try to catch a glimpse of Ella, but she still won’t acknowledge me. Even when I’m about to walk straight into a fight that could kill me. Even when I know she cares.

I’ve seen the way she looks at me. She can’t deny it. She feels something for me, which is why it annoys me when she refuses to acknowledge me.

I press a kiss to my lips and point it in her direction, staring at her until I catch at least a hint of her gaze. It’s not enough, but it’ll do … for now.

The elevator goes down, and soon she disappears from my sight.

* * *

The wait seems eternal, but the ring finally comes into view. I step out. Cheers are audible from the sidelines. I don’t pay any attention to the guests clapping as they see me walk up. I couldn’t give two shits about who’s watching right now. I just want to get this over with.

I step inside and nod at my opponent then prepare for the fight. Father talks to me from the sideline, giving me more of the same advice he always gives, but I don’t even listen to him. All I can think about is Ella, and how disappointed she is in me.

I don’t want her to give up on me, but that look in her eyes … filled with tears … just cut me like a knife. No wound to my body compares to the pain I feel inside my heart when I see her like that.

When the fight begins, I try hard. I punch and kick, but my muscles don’t seem to apply the same strength they usually do. I can feel my energy waning quickly. Everything around me feels fuzzy. I don’t know why, but I can’t focus.

My face feels hot and bursts with pain after a fist lands right on my cheek. Blood flies everywhere. I bite my lip, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

None of it matters.

A bell rings.

My opponent pulls back after applying a final kick and pushes me to the ground. Panting, I get up, sweat dripping down my forehead. I barely feel as if I put up a fight. I didn’t. I’m losing because I lost the will to care.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Graham yells.

He made his way up to the ring, and he’s right up in my face right now.

“Are you trying to lose?” he spits.

He’s right. I feel like I am. Maybe I don’t want to win if it means I’ll lose her.

“What’s your problem?” he asks.

“You,” I answer.

He grimaces and growls, “What?”

“You,” I repeat. “You … Ella … Everything.”

“You’re worrying about that now? Win this motherfucking fight.” He slaps me hard on the back. “If you lose, you die, and I am not fucking letting you die, so get to work.”

When he turns his back on me, I growl back, “No.”

He glances over his shoulder, tentatively stopping his tracks and turning around. “What did you say?”

“No.” I stay headstrong, like her.

His nostrils flare, and he stomps toward me, pointing at me with a sneer. “How dare you defy me!”

“She’s unhappy,” I say, remaining steadfast.

“So? What does that girl have anything to do with you fighting to win?” He shoves me with one hand. “I don’t train losers. You win this goddamn fight, hear me?”

“I don’t care.” It’s the truth. I don’t care if I win or lose if I don’t have her smile.

“You want to die?” he asks, grinding his teeth.

“I want her …”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “I can’t believe this.” He sighs. “You won’t fight because she’s mad at you?”

I nod. He knows damn well what he’s done. What he made me do. I refuse to be her enemy.

“What do you want me to do about it, huh?” he snarls.

“Fix … it …” I growl back, not backing down.

His nostrils flare again as he glares at me, contemplating it for a second. “If you’ll win this fight … Fine.”

Grinding my teeth, I reply, “Done.”

I don’t care what it takes. As long as she’s happy again, I’ll bash any motherfucker down that I can find.

Before he walks away, he holds his hand up high in the air, and the bell rings again. My opponent starts closing in, and Father gets out of the ring just before the first punch lands.

I don’t take it to the face this time, though. No, I capture it with my fist then punch him right back in his guts.

He heaves, and I kick him in the jaw, throwing him to the ground.

The men in the seats go wild for me, but some are screaming because their champion is about to go down, and it isn’t me. I’m not willing to stake my life as long as I have her.

She’s my beacon of hope. My sole reason to survive.

I briefly gaze up to the hole in the ceiling through which I know she’s watching. I can see her eyes blink as she stares, frozen, wondering how I know she’s there watching me.

I’ve always known.

I thrive on knowing she’s watching me.

Like a guardian angel from high above.

Smirking at her, I brush the blood off my knuckles and jump on my opponent, ready to strike my final blow. I kick and punch as hard as I can, shoving my fist up his face and stomach until he’s coughing up blood. And even then, I don’t stop. The animal in me has come out in full force, ravaging my enemy until nothing’s left.

When I’m done, his soul has left his body, and all that remains is a floppy, bloody mess, his eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. I spit on the ground and get up, roaring out loud at the people on the stand.

They stare in silence, and it takes minutes before the sound of victory echoes in the hall. Bells chime, and Father runs up to pat me on the forearm.

“You did well. I’m proud of you,” he says.

Proud.

Does it even mean anything anymore?

I used to live for this moment, for his approval. But now? All I can do is gaze upward into the cell above, wanting her to see every ounce of desire I’m firing back at her with just my eyes.

God, I want her so much, it’s making me crazy.

I push Father aside and march toward the elevator, not giving a shit whether the men in the seats want to celebrate my victory or exchange the money they bet. Not even Father shouting at me, asking me where I’m going, fazes me.

I just want to get to her and her alone.

And not even Father can get between that.