Scorpion

My head whips to the side from the force of his blow. Blood drips from my lip and nose, but really, the other guy is worse for wear. I’m surprised he can see any of the attacks I throw his way when his eyes are practically swollen shut.

I kick my leg out, winding him at the same time I throw a punch at his good eye. The crowd cheers, screaming Deathstalker as if the name belongs to a god. I almost grin at Justin because of how poetic the situation is.

His fanbase turned on him. Even people I saw betting on him are yelling with delight every time I land a hit.

When the underdog comes out on top, one of two things happens: people either get really happy or come searching for blood.

I launch at him while he’s disoriented, laying hit after hit on him. He struggles to block a single one, bunching his shoulders and hiding behind his curled fists.

My initial observations were true. He’s fast, has an endless well of stamina, and can pack a punch. But his skills start and end there. His attacks are undisciplined like he’s learned how to fight by getting into one, rather than actual practice. But the asshole just won’t drop.

I growl in annoyance when he buries his knee in my gut.

Catching his next punch, I yank the cockroach forward and use gravity to take him down onto the floor. I hold his torso and head down with my legs and hug his arm, pulling it back until I hear a satisfying snap. He cries out and clamps his teeth down on my leg like a fucking animal.

Oh, so he wants to play dirty? Fine. I’ll play fucking dirty.

I yank the arm back again, forcing him to loosen his jaw enough for me to pivot and bring my elbow down on his crotch.

Panting, I clamor on top of him, only to grapple for dominance. We take turns having the upper hand, but he can only do so much harm with a dislocated elbow and crushed cock. Once I end up back on top, I waste no time laying into his face.

Like the goddamn pest he is, he manages to throw me off balance enough to stop an attack. Before he can do further damage, I’m on my back with his head between my legs, holding his good arm.

He tries bucking. Biting. Hitting. Anything humanly possible to make me loosen my hold on him. With each harsh breath that I take, the fight drains from him until he can’t do more than twitch. I hold on for another twenty seconds to make sure he’s out, then I push onto my feet to drop my heel into his throat with every ounce of strength. Tendons and ligaments bend and snap beneath the force.

I’m not about to choke him out for ten minutes to make sure he’s dead. Breaking his windpipe is the next best option. He’s as good as dead now.

I’m deaf to the roar of the crowd, but it doesn’t stop me from absorbing the energy from my triumph.

Look at me, Mom. It’s your favorite son.

I spit on his corpse, then stalk off the stage with a backward glance at Mathijs. I can picture him grinning like a lunatic beneath his mask, and the thought of it makes the victory of the fight sweeter.

The locker room appears exactly the same as how I left it. I help myself to the adjoining shower to wash the blood and sweat sticking to my skin, wincing when the hot water hits the open wounds on my face. It’s still bleeding by the time I shut the water off and wrap the towel around myself. I curl my fingers into a tight fist and swing the door open quickly in case anyone is behind the door.

There is.

But he’s no threat to me.

The stag mask is no longer on his head but on the bench against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I move to the bag to change into the outfit I arrived in. If it weren’t for my years in the military, getting dressed in front of Mathijs might have sent me into cardiac arrest. Instead, I’m hedging the line of a fever with how weighted his gaze is.

The air between us is so thick, I doubt a bullet would be able to fly through it. I try to tell myself that it’s all in my head, but the fire burning inside me knows that I’m not fooling anyone.

“You forgot to grab your prize.” He smiles. Except there’s no mischief or hidden meaning behind it. Even his voice is soft with an eager edge, and his eyes are bright with elation.

I grin, ignoring the pain in my cheek as I slip on my underwear and shorts beneath the towel. “I don’t need your money. You can keep it, or I’ll donate it to Gaya and TJ, and some other charities.”

“I never said it was a cash prize.”

I pause just as I’m about to put on the beaded top. “Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you get dressed first?”

Narrowing my eyes, I nod. My back is to him up until the point I’m wearing everything I arrived in, there’s a Band-Aid on my forehead, and my hair is braided down my back. “What is it then?” I ask, eyeing the black box in his hand.

He throws it my way, and I catch it midair. Velvet covers encase the little box that’s smaller than the palm of my hand. It’s a… a jewelry box?

Slowly, I click open the lid and suck in a sharp breath at the big, emerald-cut diamond staring back at me. More diamonds wrap around the golden band; it’s so subtle I could have missed it. It’s stunning.

I’m pretty sure Justin wouldn’t have appreciated winning an engagement ring—

My eyes snap to Mathijs, and I almost gasp when I find him on one knee. “Marry me, Zalak. Make me complete.”

Every fiber of my being freezes at that moment. I want to say yes. I want to scream it because it was always meant to end this way.

The other part of me is questioning how ready I am for it. I took the plunge tonight by agreeing to come here, even with all the consequences of my attendance in mind. The romantic, more intimate double meaning of my acceptance wasn’t lost on me either.

Everyone here has seen my face and knows that I came here in the arms of one of their leaders. I knowingly risked my life to do it. There’s no mistaking the pledge I made to him and his organization when I killed a man in cold blood.

I’m ready to risk my life for him. I walked into this blind because I wanted to prove to Mathijs just how dedicated I am to him.

So why am I stopping at a label that comes with a ring? The lack of physical intimacy we’ve had in six months shouldn’t be a factor since it’s clearly not a concern to him.

“I’m not the type of person someone falls irrevocably in love with,” I say, more to give him a chance to change his mind.

“I could be six feet under, and I’d still walk the afterlife every day by your side. There’s nothing about you that I would change. You’re it for me, Lieverd.”

I blink back the tears gathering along my waterline. “There should be. No one’s perfect.”

Yet he is.

“You’re the closest thing to it. And still, I love the parts of you that aren’t.”

I let him take my hand and the little box. I’ll never find anyone like him for as long as I live. I’ve never met anyone so patient. He’s seen every broken piece, and still looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Marry me. There will never be anyone else for me but you.”

My first nod comes out uncertain. The second comes a little more confidently. There’s no mistaking the enthusiasm of the third. “Yes.” I choke on a sob and drop onto my knees in front of him. “Yes, yes, yes. I’ll marry you.”

The smile that explodes across his face makes my heart triple in size. My entire body trembles with uncontainable emotion as he slides the ring onto my finger. In the next blink, my lips are on his, and our hands are all over each other. All that’s here is him. The feel of his hands, the smell of him, the way he kisses me back like I’m the cure he’s been searching for.

My fingers claw at his shoulders like I need him to breathe. He bites my bottom lip and I moan, digging my nails into him. The arm he has around my waist is the only reason I haven’t toppled over. I reach for his pants at the same time he goes for my lehenga.

He’s ripped away from me before I manage to undo his belt. My arms fly out in front of me to catch my fall. Pain erupts across my face before I can steady myself, and I land on my side with an oomph.

Groaning, I pry my eyes open and cringe from the ringing in my ears. I sway as I try to raise myself up onto my elbows to make sense of what’s happening. As I blink, three blurry figures come into view—I can just make out the masks covering their faces.

“Goldchild sends his regards.”

A fist collides with my cheek and knocks me back onto the floor. Air tears from my lungs at the same time they kick my stomach. I buckle over and gasp for oxygen while the world around me spins. The high-pitched sound is earsplitting. I can’t even hear the sound of my own cry.

It gets worse every time I try to get up. I manage to hold down the bile lurching up my throat, but still, I struggle to reorient myself.

“Mathijs,” I croak.

All I can see is a flurry of white and black dots. My head swims as the ringing slowly abates. Every inch of my body screams at me to lie back down and close my eyes.

“Mathijs,” I repeat.

Nothing.

I wince as I rub my eyes to get rid of the haze over my vision. I keep blinking until the orbs disappear and the room clears.

It’s empty.

No.

“Mathijs,” I say louder this time, scrambling up to my feet.

I stumble out into the hallway, then look left and right.

They took him.