“Remington, she’s my sister,” she pleads.
“And the Scorpion will never let go of her. He keeps his women drugged and dependent, their minds in pieces so tiny they can’t even think. He’ll never give her up unless he wants something even more than her. Is it you? Does he want you, Brooke? He could have drugged you. Stripped you. Fucked you—goddamn my life, he could have fucked you!”
“No!”
“Did he touch you?”
“He didn’t! They’re doing this to provoke you, don’t let them! Save it for the ring tomorrow. Please. I want to be with you tonight.”
“I was with her the whole time, buddy, nothing happened,” Riley suddenly intercedes, calmly patting my arm.
When I realize what he’s telling me, I swing around to grab his shirt in my fist, the fury skyrocketing inside me. “You let my girl get in that scumbag’s face, you little shit?” I lift him off the ground.
“Remy, no!” Brooke comes to my side and futilely tugs on my arm.
I shake Riley. “You let her kiss that filthy scum’s ink?”
Pete taps my shoulder. “All right, buddy, let’s put Destroyer to bed now, huh?”
There’s a prick on my neck, and my adrenaline kicks in with a vengeance. Motherfucking shit, I can’t fucking black out now. I drop Riley and yank out the syringe and toss it aside. I go grab Brooke and stare at her. I want to tell her never to doubt me again, never to go behind my back again, and never—ever—believe I won’t protect her and what is hers, but I open my mouth and she looks so scared and so beautiful, panting and worried, that instead I make a low, gruff sound and crush her mouth, punishing myself with her taste, the sweet, wet taste of her, so pure and good, and how I hate that she put her beautiful mouth on that motherfucker because of her love for her sister. I tear free and release her before charging off.
My heart kicks wildly in my chest, fighting the sedative. All I can think of is introducing my knuckles into Scorpion’s face. I’m going to make him eat my fist, and then I’m going to make him go pick up his teeth from where they fall.
I know where he’s staying. We all know where each other is staying, if only to avoid each other. There are usually several hotels close to the designated Underground location, and Pete always finds out where Scorpion is so the only place we meet is in the ring.
He’s four blocks away, in a cheap five-story building littered with groupies at the lobby. When they see me, I hear a collective gasp, and all I have to do is growl, “Scorpion,” and two of them begin moaning excitedly and rubbing up against my sides, sandwiching me as we take the elevator. When we reach Scorpion’s floor, I get them to lead me to his door before I halt their roaming hands and squeeze their wrists so they stand still.
“Get them to open up,” I growl.
One of them rubs my chest while the other knocks. “Willie! Hey, Willie, it’s Trish,” she calls out.
The door opens and I immediately swing out my arm, my fist connecting with Willie’s face. He falls splat on the floor. Two other assholes sit on a flowery sofa watching TV, and they leap to their feet.
I go straight for the nearest one and grab him by the shirt. “Hello, motherfucker,” I tell him as I swing my fist. Bones crack. Blood sputters as I toss him down and grab the next, smashing my knuckles so his nose cracks just as hard. When I let him drop to his knees, I see him—Scorpion—at the door to a bedroom, his eyes slightly wide and as yellow as dog piss.
Clamping my jaw, I angrily stalk over as he lifts his palms up to ward me off. “Now, now, Riptide, you don’t want to do this here.”
“Yes, I do.” I grab his shirt and pound my fist three consecutive times into his face.
He tries to hit me back but I’m pounding him too fast. I shove him down to the ground and spot a girl there, crying, watching us from a chair by the bed. She looks nothing like Brooke. Her stare is empty, her hair is atrocious, and then I see a pencil at the nightstand as Scorpion tries standing. I grab it, and before he can stand, I ram it into the black tattoo he made Brooke kiss, tearing it downward. Blood spurts, and he releases a low, bloodcurdling scream as he tries to pull the pencil out.
As he winces and yanks it off, bloodied and broken, I pull him up by the T-shirt and force him to look at me.
“STAY. AWAY. FROM MY GIRL,” I spit into his face. “You MOTHERFUCKER. Stay away from my property. I’ll KILL you next time.”
I swing out, and the girl cries, “No!” and when I turn, his fist slams into my face.
I stumble back, then scowl, roar, and lunge at him. As we swing hard and fast, the only sounds in the room are the weeping of that girl and our hard, fast punches.
The thing about Scorpion is he’s not me. He’s not as fast, he’s not as strong—he will never win, unless he provokes the shit out of me and I fuck up like I did with my boxing career.
Like I’m doing now.
And I don’t care. Right now nothing will feel as good as breaking every one of his bones. Roaring, I deliver a killer right hook that drops him to his knees, and he raises his arms to stop me.
“Halt! I say, halt, Riptide!” My swing halfway there, I halt and glower down at him as he signals at her. “Do you want her?”
Blood dripping down my eyebrow, I wipe it off and look at her, as Scorpion grits out, “I’ll give her to you. I’ll let you take her if you let me win tomorrow.”
“I kill you now,” I growl, hauling him up by the shirt and forcing him to his feet with an angry shake of my fist. “And I take her.”
He shakes his head and pulls his shirt free. “Kill me and my three boys will tear her apart while you do.”
The soft weeping continues from the corner, and she’s whispering, “Please stop, stop.”