Page 87
"You stay right by my side the entire night," he growls, his voice dropping into that dark, possessive register that makes a shiver run down my spine. "You don't talk to anyone, you don't wander off, and when I’m in the ring, you stay with my brothers. Clear?"
"Crystal," I say, stepping away from the door and gesturing for him to lead the way. "Now let's go. We wouldn't want the executioner to be late for his own fight."
The underground club is pure, chaotic adrenaline wrapped in shadows, smoke, and loud, pulsing bass. Money changes hands in thick, rubber-banded stacks, and every corner is patrolled by men with visible holsters under their jackets.
Watching Cain walk through the space is something else entirely. He is completely in his element here—every single head turns as he passes, conversations dying instantly. The fear and absolute respect directed at him from these high-profile criminals is palpable.
His brothers are already stationed near the raised VIP lounge overlooking the cage. Ezekiel and Malachi both look up as we approach, their eyes widening in genuine shock when they see me walking right beside Cain.
"Alexis?" Ezekiel raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of us. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Cain growls softly under his breath, his arm tightening like steel around my waist. "She’s too damn stubborn and doesn't listen to a word I say. I don't know what the fuck to do with her."
Levi breaks into a wide, amused grin, leaning against the leather sofa. "Stick with me, alright, Alexis? I'll make sure you actually enjoy the show."
Cain snaps his head around, baring his teeth at his brother in a lethal snarl. "She’s fine right where she is." He pulls me even closer against his side, his body radiating pure heat and warning.
Before Levi can fire off another jab, a sudden commotion breaks out down by the cage. A towering, heavily tattooed fighter shouts across the arena, hurling a loud, graphic insult directly at the Kavanagh name and demanding a real challenge.
Ezekiel steps forward, his voice calm and authoritative. "Ignore him, Cain. You don't need to entertain a nameless mercenary. Let one of our guys handle it."
"No," Cain rumbles, his dark eyes snapping to the man in the ring, glowing with a terrifying, predatory hunger. "I'll handle it myself."
Before stepping down toward the cage, Cain turns to me, cupping the back of my neck with his warm hand. He bends down, his mouth crashing over mine in a brief, possessive, bruising kiss that leaves me breathless in front of the entire room.
"I'll be right back," he murmurs against my lips, his dark gaze locking onto mine. "Stay right here."
He pulls away, flashing a cold, razor-sharp look at Ezekiel and Malachi. "Keep your eyes on her. If anyone even breathes in her direction, kill them."
My heart pounds against my ribs as I watch Cain disappear down the dim hallway toward the fighter's preparation room. Down below in the illuminated octagon, the towering, tattooed fighter prowls back and forth like a caged beast, beating his chest and roaring at the audience to build up the crowd's bloodlust.
I don’t even realize how rigidly tense my shoulders are until Levi presses a crystal glass into my hand.
"Relax," he says smoothly, leaning against the railing beside me. "Cain will be fine, Alexis. He’s never lost a match in his life."
I glance around and realize all the brothers—Malachi, Ezekiel, and Elijah—are watching me closely, reading every trace of panic on my face. I force a tight, reassuring smile onto my lips, turning my gaze right back down toward the arena entrance just as the black curtain pushes aside.
The crowd erupts into a deafening, unified cheer that reverberates right through the floorboards.
Cain emerges onto the concrete stretch leading to the cage.
He’s completely bare-chested, his massive, sculpted torso gleaming under the overhead spotlights. He wears nothing but black athletic fighter shorts and black hand wraps tightly wound around his knuckles and wrists, his feet bare as he stalks toward the cage with unhurried ease.
The air in the arena shifts instantly. The wild, chaotic noise settles into an intense, dark anticipation as the crowd clears a path for the executioner.
My breath hitches in my throat as I watch him step through the metal door of the cage. The referee steps up between Cain and the towering mercenary, holding his hands up to call both men to the center of the ring.
The referee briefly recites the ground rules before signaling for them to touch gloves. The mercenary sneers, thrusting his hands forward with arrogant force, while Cain merely raises his wrapped knuckles, his dark eyes void of any emotion.
The bell rings, and the fight begins.
At first, Cain moves casually, assessing his opponent’s range with calculated, light footwork. The mercenary lunges forward with a heavy right hook, but Cain slips the strike effortlessly, countering with a sharp, lightning-fast jab to the man's jaw that makes the crowd gasp.
Then, the dynamic violently shifts.
Cain closes the distance, dropping his shoulder and driving the towering fighter back against the chain-link fence. The air leaves the arena as Cain unloads a brutal barrage of heavy elbows and body shots.
Every strike lands with a sickening, wet impact that echoes up to the VIP balcony. The mercenary tries to throw a desperation swing, but Cain dodges under it, sweeps his leg, and slams him flat onto his back.
