Free Savage Things (Chaos & Ruin Book 2) by Callie Hart

tiny wave, and then she vanishes, swallowed by the surging flood of people now trying to leave French’s since the fights are over with.  
    Someone slaps me on the back. Another guy in a pale grey suit with a dark wet stain down the lapel hands me a fifty-dollar bill and laughs like a hyena as he tells me I won him three grand tonight. More people thank me, congratulate me, and shake my hand, but I don’t really hear the words coming from their mouths. All I’m thinking about is Kaya Rayne’s mouth wrapped around that red vine. Kaya Rayne’s mouth wrapped around my dick.  
    God damn, that woman is dangerous.

    ******

    I am electric, alive, filled from head-to-toe with an exhausted energy as I jog across the parking lot toward the truck. By rights I should be exhausted after a long, stressful day like today, but fighting always does this to me. If I were in bed with a woman right now, I could fuck for hours. I could come over and over again and it wouldn’t matter. This kind of buzz doesn’t dissipate at the drop of a hat. It lingers, keeps your mind sharp, honing your senses so you’re aware of everything. I’m considering driving straight back to St. Peter’s, foregoing sleep altogether, but then my mind flashes white, all thought vanishing instantly as I notice the black Camaro parked up beside my truck. I’d know that Camaro anywhere; I see it every day, pulling up outside the Blood & Roses Fighting Gym.  
    What the fuck is Zeth doing here? He knows about the underground cage fights that take place at French’s, he must, everyone does, but I never expected to see him here. No way.  
    I slow my jog down to a walk, my heart suddenly thumping out of rhythm, spiking, shock waves of adrenalin rushing my head and my arms, skin tingling. There’s no such thing as luck in this world, either good or bad. It’s no happy coincidence that the crazy bastard from across the street has somehow managed to come across my truck and has accidentally parked beside it, when the rest of the parking lot is fucking empty. No, he’s been waiting for me here for god knows how long, and I really don’t want to find out why.  
    No good trying to slink off into the shadows now, though. He must have seen me, the same way I’ve seen him. I’m condemning myself if I bolt. I try to loosen the stiffness that’s settled in my shoulders as I walk directly to the driver’s side window of the Camaro, already planning out what I’m going to say to him.  
    ‘Oh, hey, man.’ (Insert enigmatic smile here . ) ‘You came to the fights? D’you see Jameson Rayne destroy Ben Farminger in the first round? Crazy, right?’
    Or…
    ‘Hey, Zeth. What brings you out to the Markets on this fine evening? Couldn’t sleep?’
    When I reach his window and the glass slides down, though, I don’t say a word. Inside the front seat, Zeth sits as still as a statue, staring straight ahead out of his windscreen, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other resting on the Camaro’s gear stick. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t breathe a word.  
    He knows.  
    I exhale, letting my head hang, my chin nearly hitting my chest. Zeth starts the Camaro’s engine, and I know what’s expected of me. Fuck Lowell. Fuck this whole day. Fuck my fucking life. I go around and climb into the front passenger seat beside him; Zeth throws the car into gear as soon as my ass is in the seat and the door is closed behind me. The inside of the car smells like lemon and leather soap, like it’s just been detailed.  
    “She threatened to take her away,” I say quietly. “I couldn’t let her do that, man. Millie’s been through enough. She’s just a kid.”
    Zeth grunts, eyes still fixed on an unknown point in the road. I don’t expect kindness or understanding from a man like him. His reputation precedes him. He’s a cold-blooded killer. Lowell wouldn’t be chasing him down so hard if she weren’t one hundred percent sure he is responsible for the death