Adam

“Get up! Get up!” Chants echoed through the musty room. People were packed up against each other, huddling as close to the fight as they could get.

“Don’t do it, you bloody idiot. Stay the hell down,” I muttered under my breath. I gripped the cage, pressing my face up close, ignoring the swarm of people who jostled and bumped behind me.

“Shit. Is that you?” A throaty voice cracked loud in my ear.

I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder as the bloke screamed, “Adam!” The last thing I wanted was to be recognized. I shouldn’t even have come here.

My fingers curled tighter around the metal, and I shook the cage. Feck. Come on, stay down, man.

The other fighter raised his arms up, showing his inked biceps as he paced around the cage, circling his opponent—Les—my idiot friend. The man’s dark eyes were sharp on Les, who remained face down on hands and knees, blood dripping to the ground beneath him.

The bastard wanted him to get back up, didn’t he? That was why he wasn’t crushing my friend to the floor right now. He didn’t want to end it right then and there—no, he wanted more.

Frankie “The Beast” Donahue wanted to kill him.

Jesus, Les. Don’t do it.

But Les was stubborn, dammit. He pressed a palm to the ground and pushed up, his one good eye open, finding me. His cheek was swollen and busted beneath his eye, blood oozing from the wound and into the crater of his split lip.

“No!” I shouted as Les tipped his head, almost as if in apology to me, and then pushed upright and to his feet.

I released my grip, my hands snapping into fists, my knuckles twitching. “Stop it! Stop the fight!” I looked over at the ref, but he didn’t even blink. Instead, he remained in the corner, observing as Frankie closed in on Les, his lips spreading into a disgusting grin.

I lunged up, attempting to climb the cage as Frankie moved in fast with a hook to Les’s jaw, followed by a quick kick to the shin. Les’s face jerked left and his mouth guard popped free, shooting across the Octagon, then his cheek connected hard against the ground.

“Les!” I finished climbing the frame of the cage and swung my leg over the top, not giving a damn if anyone wanted to stop me. Hell, let them. I was tense and wired, ready to kill someone.

“Les?” I dropped down into the cage, my eyes on Frankie’s as he lifted his chin and smiled.

I shifted my attention back on Les and checked his pulse. There was a faint tick. “Get a fucking doctor,” I shouted over the drunken cheers as the crowd celebrated this arsehole’s win. “Stay with me, man.”

I wasn’t sure if Les could hear me.

“Don’t feckin’ die.” I lowered my head, memories from my past ripping me apart. Being here was too Goddamn much.

I wanted to claw at my flesh and scream. Les should never have stepped inside the ring.

“We can’t let the medics come here—you know that. You should take him to the hospital.” The ref squatted next to me and stared at Les.

“You should have stopped the fight.” I shook my head in revulsion, unable to even look at him.

“And you know the rules,” the ref responded dryly. I had to fight the urge to slug him.

But he was right.

This wasn’t an official arena. It wasn’t the UFC. It was an illegal, underground, street fighting ring. And people had bets riding on each damn fight.

“Help me get Les to my car.”

The ref nodded and positioned himself at Les’s legs, while I grabbed his shoulders. Together, we lifted him up.

“He’s a wanker—shouldn’t have been in the Octagon with me. A pussy like him belongs fighting the women.” Frankie’s voice cried loud over my shoulder as we started for the exit, the weight of Les’s eighty-five kilos making it damn hard to walk.

My gaze snapped up to meet Frankie’s eyes, my body stiff and ready to explode. Hell, just being here had me hanging on the edge—a sharp, dangerous fecking edge. The kind that could kill you.

“Wait! Adam? Is that you?” Frankie’s brown eyes narrowed at me in recognition. He raised his hands in the air and flicked his fingers toward his face. “Come on, man. You wanna fight me?” He cocked his head and cracked his neck on each side.

I did my best to ignore the hot wave of anger that tore through me as the ref and I lugged Les down the first of three steps leading to the main floor. I hoped the crowd would get the hell out of our way, but suddenly they began to surge forward.

“Fight,” someone urged. Then, everyone took up the cry. “Fight. Fight. Fight!”

Frankie opened his arms to the crowd. “He’s too much of a coward.” He shook his head, and I bit my lip, practically drawing blood.

I walked backward down the last step, moving with my back to the crowd as people shoved and bumped from all around.

My shirt had Les’s blood on it, and my hands were slippery. I repositioned my elbows under his armpits and shot one last look at Frankie, imprinting in my mind the smug look on his face.