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"I'm right here," he murmurs, barely moving his lips.
I swallow hard as the edges of my vision darken. I've spent too much time in my own mind lately. Dante is turning my entire world upside down, forcing me to examine my place within it. I've spent so long trying to melt into the shadows, I wonder if I should have been chasing the darkness instead. My entire body trembles and I gasp into the crook of his neck.
"Bite me," he says under his breath.
I don't have time to second guess him. My teeth sink into his flesh and he shudders. My breathing evens out and my muscles slowly ease. I focus on the feel of his skin underneath my lips. Slowly, I release him, then press a kiss to the mark I've left. His breath hitches, and I wonder if I did something wrong.
When I try to pull away, his arm locks around my back and he rests his chin on top of my head. Sighing, I close my eyes, waiting for the feeling to come back to my hands. I don't know if I fall asleep or if my brain just shuts down, but the SUV comes to a stop inside an old warehouse several minutes later. Dante tenses, gripping me tightly, and I jerk away from the pain.
Byron hops out first, holding his hands up as if Dante will hand me over to him. Our door opens, and Dante sets me on my feet, then climbs out, gripping the leash in one hand and my waist with the other. Byron's laughter echoes around the space, rising over the muffled bass of music from deeper within the building.
"Stay close to me. MMA fights are usually packed."
"Not to mention everyone is drunk off more than just adrenaline," I mutter, then drop my head.
His chuckle rumbles through his chest, reverberating into me. I didn’t think he’d hear me over the noise. Following Byron down a dark hallway, the temperature rises along with the noise level with each step. By the time we enter the open space with an octagon set up in the middle, I'm sweating and there's a buzzing in my ears.
The crowd screams as two men, already bloody, circle each other in the ring. I've never been to one of these events. It brings in a good amount of cash for the Guild, but like the dogfights, it's too much to launder safely. Usually they just infuse the funds into the gambling factions, letting the patrons clean the money for them.
We walk right past a man collecting money who nods at Byron. When I glance back, he's wide-eyed, gaze focused on Dante's back. Hopefully, the man didn’t recognize him. Or maybe Dante has already made a name for himself within the lower levels of the Guild.
The crowd parts for Byron, and I wonder how often he comes here. The two bouncers blocking the stairs step aside when we approach, and Dante drops his arm from my waist, urging me in front of him. It would be a nice gesture if we were anywhere else. In this instance though, he merely looks like he’s protecting his property.
I swallow hard, trying to keep some distance between Byron and me. He keeps slowing down, trying to brush against me. Dante growls and Byron acts like he’s been shocked. I don’t know what his goal is, since Dante said he wouldn’t share. Seems like he’s asking for a bullet in the head.
When we reach the top, I lean into Dante, standing on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear.
“I think he’s fucking with you.”
Dante smirks, tucking his head into my neck. “He’s about to lose a limb if he keeps it up. Remember the plan.”
He tugs on the leash, forcing me to follow him into a room overlooking the ring. The crowd is muted up here, but a dull roar vibrates the windows when one of the men below straddles the other, pounding his fist into his opponent’s face. It’s a bloody mess already, but he doesn’t stop. After another minute, two bouncers climb over the ropes and pull him off the limp body. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.
The winner raises his fist in the air, panting as sweat and blood drip down his face. He stumbles against the barrier, sliding to the floor. I grimace when he swipes his finger through the mess on the mat, gathering up the crimson and dragging it across his lips.
Dante settles in a chair behind me, and I sink to my knees at his feet. Byron sits next to him, chuckling again. It’s getting annoying.
He reaches over, patting me on the head.“Good dog” he says, laughter in his voice.
Dante stiffens, ready to make good on his earlier promise. I glare at Byron, baring my teeth at him, and growl. A startled look floats across his face before he flushes.
"Careful, Michaels. She bites." Dante's hand circles my throat above the collar, pulling me back between his legs.
He tips my chin up and runs his thumb over my bottom lip and I nip him. Heat flashes through my body, settling in my stomach, then sinking lower.
"Be good," he murmurs, gripping my chin.
Dante told me this would be hard. I'd have to pretend to be docile, which isn't that difficult since it's not much different than striving to be invisible. I'd have to play the role of his bit, though. That's the hard part. I’m used to fending off men on the floor, not welcoming someone’s advances.
When Dante told me to be sexy, I blanched. When he told me to act enamored with him, I winced. I don't know how to do either of those things. Freezing when shit goes down? I've got that down pat. Actually pretending like I'm happy and grateful he owns me? Not a chance. I’ve opted for submission and invisibility. Those two things I can do.
The hour before we left, he dressed me and gave me pointers. It was humiliating. As a twenty-six-year-old, I should know enough to act like I'm infatuated with him. Honestly, I don't even know if that's how I'm supposed to be. I'm just emulating what I saw in a movie Ember forced me to go to.
His fingers trail along my jaw and into my hair. He grips the strands hard, forcing my head down before letting go. A bouncer throws a bucket of water across the octagon and another squeegees it away. The people closest to the ring get splashed, but they don't seem to notice. I lock my eyes on them, waiting for the next round to start.
Dante called this an MMA event, but I'm pretty sure it's a fight to the death, at least if the last round was any indication. They weren't holding back and there was no referee. Scanning the crowd, I search for a familiar face. None of the guards from headquarters are here that I can see. One woman catches my eye, and I realize she's from the Pit. A collar encircles her throat too, the leash held by a large, middle-aged man. He has a sadistic side, if the rumors floating around are true. Which they usually are.
"Why don't you send your bit to get us some drinks?" Byron yells, though it's not loud enough in here for that.
