Chapter 53

Chapter 53


Brant

I arrived at the fighting arena with Jericho. The place was a wide, dimly lit pit, a cage at its center surrounded by raised stands where the Dons sat like kings watching gladiators. The air already hung thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation, every corner alive with wagers and whispers. Not all the Dons had arrived yet, but several were already there with their fighters—hulking brutes, muscle stacked on muscle. Broad-shouldered men with thick necks and heavy fists, each one looked more beast than man. Than me.

I guessed each Don believed sheer bulk would win the fight. Maybe the drugs had fried their brains, or maybe they were just too arrogant to see past muscle. They thought size was everything. But fights weren’t won by slabs of meat. They were won by grit, by cunning, by knowing when to strike and when to wait. That was something their giants would never understand.

That’s when I spotted Leslie. I walked over to her, and the moment she saw me, her face lit up. A huge smile broke across her face, relief plain in her eyes.

"I thought you weren’t coming," she said.

I’d last seen her when she and Sable played cards. Against all odds, Sable won. Yeah, Sable. That little minx never stopped surprising me, though she wasn’t mine. Not yet.

"I told you I wouldn’t miss it. Don’t you trust me?" I said with a smirk. "Where’s Franco’s fighter?"

She pointed to a mountain of a man across the arena. He was taller than Jericho, broader and even bulkier, built like a wall of muscle.

"He came with the intention of winning, I see," Jericho muttered, voicing exactly what was already in my mind.

"But he won’t win. I promise you that," I said, remembering what Franco’s son did to me. I was glad the bastard was dead.



Sable

I was in the kitchen helping Dani, Loren, and Marirose arrange the food and desserts. Apparently, we were getting ready to watch Brant fight. Rhett had access to the stream—of course he did. He was one of the Ghosts, those high-up people who could get into anything while no one even knew they existed.

I told myself I was only watching because I was worried about Brant. But deep down, I knew better. He could win this round. No, correction—he could win all the rounds.

I knew my man.

Leslie came to mind. I’d beaten her at cards, and I was glad she could finally leave me alone after that.

How did I win? All thanks—and no thanks—to Asher. He was an addict, playing even when no one else would, always playing by himself, sometimes roping me in and teaching me tricks. The one lesson that stuck with me, the one that shaped me as a con artist, was this: never show your emotions when you’re playing.

Cards are like people. A flicker of a smile, a twitch of hesitation—people notice more than you think. Never show it.

That’s what I remembered when I sat across from Leslie. She kept smiling at me across the table, convinced she had me in her grip, like she already had me beat. I stayed cool, let her think that. And at the end, I laid down my card—the winning card. The look on her face when she lost? Her smile vanished, and anger took its place. She was pissed.

A hand touched my shoulder. When I turned and saw Dani, I forced a smile. She tilted her chin toward Marirose, who was fussing with the snacks, her worry written all over her face.

I walked over. "Hey, Rosie. You know Brant’s going to be alright, right? Come on, let’s cheer for him—even if he can’t hear or see us from here."

She laughed, a little too quickly, but it eased the tension. Together, we headed into the living room. Kit and Joss were already there. I sat beside Joss, and he greeted me with a quick kiss on the lips. I slid my hand into his, grateful for the anchor.

Rhett came downstairs, iPad in hand. Without a word, he sank into his usual seat, his eyes already locked on the screen. A moment later, the fighting arena filled the TV.

The camera showed the cage where two men were already locked in combat. Both were massive, bigger and bulkier than Brant, built like monsters. As I watched, something crawled through my veins—worry, fear. These men were twice Brant’s size. How was he supposed to win against that? Damn Leslie. That selfish, reckless bitch only thought about herself when she pulled him into this.

"You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to," Joss whispered against my ear.

My palms were damp in his, slick with nerves, but I turned to him and shook my head. "No. I will watch. I can’t afford not to."

One by one, different fighters entered the cage and fell, eliminated. It was two at a time, leaving one winner to advance to the next round. My heart pounded harder with each bout, the rumble in my chest almost deafening. And then it was Brant’s turn.

The moment he stepped into the cage, my breath caught. My heart hammered so hard it felt like the walls of my chest might split. Every nerve in me stretched thin, my entire body locked on him. But he moved with that quiet, confident stride, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the fight ahead. He looked like a storm bottled up, ready to break loose. Please… please be alright.

His opponent followed, another hulking brute, broad and heavy like all the rest, another beast of a man, towering and thick with muscle, a bulldog in human skin. They looked like Tom and Jerry come to life—Brant the clever Jerry, the other man the lumbering dog. I always loved that show. But my love for Brant Paxton… it was something else entirely.

The bell rang. The fight began. The giant lunged, fists swinging like hammers, each blow driving Brant back, rattling him, shaking me with every strike. My stomach twisted, and I could hardly breathe as the cage became their world… and mine. He was being beaten, punished, overwhelmed by sheer size and power. Every hit that landed on him felt like it landed on me.

And then—just when it looked like the brute had him cornered—Brant turned the tables. Quick. Smart. A trick, a move only he could pull off. And in a flash, the giant was down. He won.

Brant had won.

My chest cracked open with a long, trembling sigh of relief. I sank deeper into the couch as though I’d been fighting in there with him, feeling every punch, every fall. I laughed breathlessly, my heart still racing.

Joss and Kit shot to their feet, cheering wildly. I laughed louder, unable to stop myself, joy bubbling up, and Dani pressed her eyes shut like she couldn’t believe it. Marirose looked at me, her face finally easing, and when she smiled, I smiled back. Even Loren beamed with relief, grinning ear to ear.

Only Rhett remained unmoved, his face cold, expressionless. But then, did he ever show emotion? Did he ever show anything? I almost pitied the woman who might end up with him someday, if there ever even was one. I’d never seen him with anyone, any sign he’d ever been with anyone. I’d never even seen him look at a woman.

We shared the food among us, eating in the living room as the conversation circled back to the fight. But all I could think about—all I wanted—was for Brant to come home. To come back to me. To us.