Scarred Regrets (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 5)

58

IRINA

Sadie practically bounced in her seat at my side, the excitement pulsing through her something that I could never relate to.

Watching Scar disappear into the changing rooms before his big fight had been absolute agony, witnessing the way the women he passed eyed him like he was a piece of meat on a platter for them to devour.

That was my fucking piece of meat, and I would be damned if I’d ever tolerate another woman touching him.

The violence that surged in my veins at the thought shocked me. I’d never been possessive, never cared enough about a man to be bothered when he eventually went his own way with something more flashy and interesting.

Maybe it was the music thrumming through the Underground fighting ring, or maybe it was the tension and anticipation that pulsed through Sadie and the guys.

Maybe it was the two men beating one another to a pulp in the ring and the knowledge that soon enough the man I loved would take that place and force me to watch him act as a human punching bag.

Whatever it was, I knew I’d fucking throttle any woman who touched what was mine tonight.

One of the men in the ring dropped to the floor finally, his body still while Sadie cheered. She wasn’t normal, but something animalistic throbbed inside me, too, as the crowd went crazy.

Men cleared the unconscious man from the ring, lifting him from under his arms and feet to carry him toward the back hallway that curved and disappeared under the stands. The Bellandi booth wasn’t close enough to the ring to really get a good feel for what was going on, meant more for safety and observation than participation, so Sadie had insisted we sit in her favorite spot. A few rows up from the ring, I had a bullseye view of the announcer as he bounced on his heels excitedly.

“Are you ready?” he asked finally, staring at the crowd. The excitement in the basement increased tenfold, the cheers of women throughout the room joining the shouts of the men. “He’s the man who needs no stage name! The man who was born in the darkness and wears it marked on his skin.”

“SCAR!” a woman screamed nearby, jumping up from her seat to push on the cage that surrounded the ring itself.

“I said, are you ready?!” the announcer asked, his voice raising to a shout that echoed through the speaker system.

“Let me be your prize!” another woman shouted, earning an uncomfortable chuckle from Sadie as I leveled a glare at her.

What the fuck had I been thinking, coming here?

But Sadie had maintained I wouldn’t want to miss the fight, and there was something about the aftermath that no woman should ever miss out on when she had a man who made money throttling other men.

“Ladies,” the announcer said, seeming to recognize that most of the excitement surrounding him came from the females in the crowd. “I give you, SCAR!”

He stepped around the corner from the hallway, the hood drawn up to cover his face and his body covered by a simple black robe. The others had robes with their stages name on them. They danced like peacocks as they stepped into the ring, soaking in all the attention for their minute of fame.

Scar walked the same as he always did, with a cocky swagger, but barely paid his captive audience any mind. I watched him, lost to the restrained movements of his body.

“This was why Franco took him in,” Enzo said, leaning into my side. Calix listened intently on the other side of me, glancing around me to look at the other man as he spoke. “Even when he was a boy, he knew how to fight. Franco exploited that for the Underground. Trained him. Made him a machine.”

“Why would Scar agree to this? It doesn’t seem like something he particularly enjoys,” I said, watching from the corner of my eye as the announcer spoke. He announced another man, one who paraded like he loved the attention.

“He likes the violence, but Franco had something he wanted. This was how he worked to get it,” Enzo said vaguely, turning his attention back to the arena to signal the end of our conversation.

Scar reached up with tattooed and scarred hands, drawing back his hood to the sound of women’s screams. Whatever he’d wanted from Franco had to have been important for him to tolerate the objectification he dealt with in the ring.

The moment the fabric was clear from his head, his eyes landed on mine. They sparkled darkly, his focus on me intent even from our distance and the people who sat between us.

My pussy clenched, the violence coating the air heightening the sensation as he reached down and untied his robe. Never taking his eyes off mine, he slid the silk off his shoulders and tossed it to drape over the chair in his corner.

Nothing existed but his eyes on mine and his sculpted body gleaming in the spotlight. His hands were wrapped in tape, his waist tucked into a pair of loose basketball shorts that hung to his knees.

They did nothing to hide the hardening of his cock as he stared at me. He raised a fist, touching his palm to his chest directly over his heart as he held my gaze.

Then he spun, our moment severed as every woman in the place turned to stare at me.

“He doesn’t acknowledge women,” Enzo said, nudging my shoulder with his arm until I tilted to the side toward Calix. “They’ve never been…”

“More than a quick release in a condom-covered cock with no other physical contact and no names? I’m aware,” I said, hating to think of all the faceless women who might have had even that part of him.

How many of them in that arena wanted a second spin?

A growl vibrated in my chest, making Calix chuckle at my side. “She’s a fucking Regas all right,” he said.

The other fighter was equally large, his fists the size of my damn head as he turned to Scar. Something nervous pulsed within the man as they faced each other and bumped their fists together in a move designed to dismiss any hard feelings.

All was fair in the Underground.

“Throttle him, Scar!” a woman screamed as the announcer signaled the start of the fight.

“Make him your bitch, and then I’ll be yours!”

That one made me snort despite the jealousy consuming me.

“Sorry ladies,” the announcer chuckled. “Scar would like everyone to know he is officially off the market.” His knowing eyes turned to me, a smirk curving his lips.

I smiled, finding joy in the fact that Scar knew me better than I knew myself. He’d somehow known what I would have to deal with, what I’d listen to and witness. He’d done his part to stake my claim on him without ever having to say a word.

He’d settled the monster inside me, but it still lurked at the bottom as Scar’s opponent threw the first punch. Scar evaded, the strike barely skimming across his stomach as he returned it.

The two men moved in a flurry of punches, while my heart was in my throat and my body too distracted by the heat pooling between my thighs every time Scar successfully landed a brutal punch, for me to follow.

It quickly became obvious that every hit his opponent landed was because he allowed it, the pain grounding Scar in the way cutting myself did for me.

He moved so quickly there was no chance of him being caught unawares, no real fight. The crowd knew it as well as I did, watching and waiting for him to stop toying with the other man and end it.

A fist slammed into Scar’s face, his head snapping to the side as everyone froze. His eyes raised to mine, the darkness in them glimmering as he slowly turned back to face his opponent. He licked his lip, the trickle of blood coating his tongue as everyone in the arena went silent in anticipation.

I didn’t even see him move, the blur of his arm moving through the space between the two men so quickly it was over before I could follow. His opponent dropped to the mat like a ton of bricks, hitting hard as the crowd cheered their support.

Scar spun, his gaze pinning me to my seat as the announcer grabbed his hand and raised it. His words were lost to the screams of the crowd surrounding me, the people who all seemed to be between me and the man I wanted to climb like a fucking tree.