“What was the bet, Carlos?”
“This wasn’t about tapping out or being knocked out. This was a fight to the death, Drago. Belle was never supposed to leave the ring.”
Which meant that Drago had just fucked up someone else’s plans, and now he needed to find out who was in charge and why they were going after Belle.
“Good work, Carlos. Don’t do anything to get caught.”
He hung up the cell phone and sat back. This went even higher than the ring. Fights to the death were always bloody and expensive. They required cops on the payroll to look the other way. So who wanted Belle dead badly enough and why her?
Chapter Four
Belle stretched out her legs, the smooth satin caressing her skin. The pillow had the faint scent of rich musk. She bolted up into a sitting position, her heart suddenly racing.
Where am I?
Everything came rushing back—the fight, the loss, her daughter, and Drago. Bright light peeked between the slats of the blinds. She must have slept for a good twelve hours, but she’d needed the rest. More for her mind than her body. Belle’s tough outer skin was firmly back in place, and she shuddered, remembering how pathetic she’d acted last night. She’d actually cried in front of Drago, and she’d never live it down.
She had been raised never to show her weaknesses, so it was humiliating knowing she’d let her guard down. Belle slipped off the bed, all her aches and pains reminding her of the beating she’d taken. At least she was alive and on the mend.
The room was modern, all black and grey with sharp angles. A massive Picasso-style collage was framed on one of the walls. She walked around the room, finding a mirror above the dresser. Belled touched her face. The colors were coming out now—purple, blue, and green. She looked like a damn abstract painting herself. One of her eyes was still horribly swollen, but her lips were a bit better.
She examined her knuckles, clean but scabbed over. Her entire body was a canvas for punishment. Old scars littered her body, so she wasn’t worried about a few more imperfections.
Belle sat on the edge of the bed, remembering her conversation with Drago last night. He thought her baby’s father had used her, maybe even been paid to fuck her. The thought churned her stomach. Drago was right, of course—men never wanted her. The truth hurt, but it was a fact. Men were intimidated by a strong woman, and many thought her personality was abrasive. There were countless thin, beautiful ring rats at the matches, so her natural curves were a turn-off for most men, too. She hated herself for falling for the first prick to show her attention.
She blamed the loneliness. After leaving home at twenty-one, she’d been on her own in every way. No one supported her decision to leave the ring. Her parents disowned her. It seemed too perfect when Mikey showed up out of nowhere, ready to make all her dreams come true. Everything had been an act. She’d been more angry than brokenhearted when he walked away. The fact he left her knocked up, had given her a purpose, helping her to keep moving forward.
There was a knock on the bedroom door, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned around as Drago peered inside. “You’re up,” he said.
She nodded, determined not to be a bitch today.
“How you feeling?”
Belle shrugged. “Like shit, I guess.”
He smiled and entered the spacious room, walking over to the window. He opened the blinds, the bright sunlight pouring in. She shielded her eyes.
“You sleep well?”
“The bed was really comfortable. I slept like a rock. This isn’t your room?”
“Mine is at the other end of the hall. This is a spare,” he said. “You hungry?”
“A little.”
“Come on out to the kitchen. You should eat something.”
She looked down at herself. Belle was wearing one of Drago’s oversized t-shirts. She didn’t have anything but her fighting wear to put on.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You certainly don’t have to impress me, and there’s no one else here.” Drago left the room, so she followed.
The condo looked different in the light of day. Or maybe she was clear-headed enough to take everything in. He’d done very well for himself. His place was huge, and the far wall was all windows. The view over the city was spectacular.
She entered the kitchen, the tiles cool against her bare feet. A large flat screen had been set to a news channel.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Belle sat on one of the stools at the granite island. It felt odd being in Drago’s home. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. She wondered if her parents had tried to contact her. Maybe they were disappointed she wasn’t dead.
He brought over some buttered toast on a plate with some blueberries. “Sorry, it’s all I have. I don’t usually eat at home.”