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“Lady,” I said, my voice low and hard, “that’s not something my wife and I would ever think of doing.”

Her laugh slid down my spine like ice water.

“Oh, I was merely presenting options,” she said. “I might even be able to assist.”

“Look,” I snapped. “I just want to fight and go home. That’s it.”

She glanced over her shoulder and snapped her fingers.

One man stepped forward, opened a leather portfolio, and withdrew a stack of photographs.

“Please understand,” she said, “that while I do need to give you a slight push tonight, the payout remains unchanged.”

She thumbed through the photos slowly.

She pulled one free and held it up.

“This one is particularly nice,” she said. “Your wife is very attractive. She doesn’t dress well—but attractive nonetheless.”

My vision tunneled.

The photo was of Chloe—no, Zoe—getting out of the Miata.

“What the fuck are you doing with a picture of my wife?” I demanded.

“Oh, I have many pictures,” she replied calmly.

She flipped through them.

“I have different angles. Different days. Then there are the photos taken inside Chloe’s apartment.”

Even knowing it was Zoe in those shots, bile rose in my throat.

“I’ll ask you again,” I said through clenched teeth. “What are you doing with pictures of my wife?”

“I’m providing incentive,” she said. “For you to win.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” I snarled. “I always fight to win.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“Ah,” she said. “But the rules are different tonight.”

My pulse thundered.

“Tonight,” she practically cooed, “only one man leaves the cage alive.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

She rose smoothly from the chair and walked toward me.

“Why, Zarek,” she said softly. “It’s a fight to the death.”

The world narrowed to a pinpoint. So, it was true.

“To ensure your pretty little wife stays pretty… and alive,” she continued, “you will need to kill your opponent.”

She smiled.