Impossibly (Dante’s Nine MC #1)(56)
Author: Colleen Masters

We’ve stepped into a large arena, opening up like an underground cavern before my unbelieving eyes. Hundreds and hundreds of people are on their feet, screaming and stamping. The patrons look to be wealthy—fine suits and jewels are visible through the cigar smoke that clouds the air. Blazing lights swing all around, concentrating on the far-off fight. I peer through the jostling bodies, trying to see into the cage-like ring.

And there, at the center of all this chaos and commotion, I spot Declan. His ripped body tears around the space, wrapped up in a flurry of flying fists and hurling bodies. The opponent he faces is just as big, just as staggeringly built as he is. They’re like two ancient warriors, armed with nothing but sheer strength. And the crowd is eating it up.

“My money’s on Tiberi!” roars a plump, red-faced man in the crowd beside us.

“I bet the other guy goes down any minute,” shouts his equally plump companion.

My eyes are riveted to the man I love, locked as he is in hand-to-hand combat. I want to weep, to rage, to fall on my knees in despair at the sight of him. And yet, at the same time, his brutal strength and unimaginable power are awe-inspiring. I truly believe that he could kill the man he faces with his own two hands—but I know that that’s not his intention.

“Kassie!” Sam roars, as I tear away from the bikers and sprint down the cluttered aisle toward the ring. “Kassie, wait!”

But I can’t stop, can’t hold on. I need to get to Declan before he does something insane. I can only pray that I’ll be able to reach him in time. I careen toward the ring, shoving drunken patrons out of my way, coming ever-closer to reaching my man.

“Dec!” I scream, jumping up to see over the heads of the people clustered around the ring, “Dec, please!”

His broad shoulders are squared against his opponent, sweat and blood coursing over his strong, clenched jaw. Every cut muscle strains with tension and fatigue. But as beat up as Declan is, the man he faces is even worse off. The man teeters on his feet, barely maintaining his balance. He looks close to death, like one last blow could finish him off. But that’s not what Lorenzo had in mind for this match. Not what Declan promised to deliver.

I’m not going to let that stop me. I shove my way through the dense crowd, slipping between burly bodies as only a slight-figured girl could. I can hear the Dante’s Nine boys calling out for me, screaming Declan’s name, trying to stop the momentum of this situation from delivering its deadly end. But as much as I love them, I know that Dec’s brothers can’t save him now. He’s about to give his life for them, for his club. Only someone outside of it can reach him. And that someone is me.

“Get out of my way,” I snarl, pushing through the thick throng of men crowded right up against the ring. I lash out with elbows and knees, climbing up until I find myself ringside, my eyes level with the fighters’ light feet. Just as I grab onto the floor of the ring itself, pull myself up to get a better line of vision, my gaze is distracted by something glittering across the way.

I look up sharply to see Lorenzo himself, poised ringside to oversee this final fight. He sneers up at the men he’s left to die, looking like a self-made god in his own smoky, despicable Olympus. As I take in the sight of this lowly gangster, all but drooling over the prospect of watching my man die, a rage unlike any I’ve known fills me up. I’m going to stop this if it’s the last thing I do.

“Declan,” I scream, clutching onto the ropes with my bare hands.

“Kassie, don’t!” I hear Sam scream from behind me.

“Let us handle this,” John calls out.

“Baby, it’s me!” I yell over the clamor, trying to get Declan’s attention.

His eyes are fixed on his opponent. He’s learned to drown out the screaming, bloodthirsty crowd to concentrate on his fights. His weary gaze is resigned, resolved. As the two fighters face off, I watch Declan come to his final decision once again. He’s going to throw it, to die there in the ring, for the sake of us all.

“Declan Tiberi!” I scream, ripping at the ropes, “Look at me, damn it!”

And somehow, miraculously, my desperate cry manages to snag Declan’s attention. His eyes swing my way ever-so-briefly. Disbelief blossoms in his look, tinged with outrage and something that looks like gratitude.

“Don’t do this,” I plead, as his brothers find their way through the crowd to join me ringside, “Don’t you dare throw this, Tiberi. I need you. I love you.”

“Shit,” Ollie mutters, “Lorenzo has eyes on us.”

I can feel the slick man’s glare hot on my face, but I’m not going to back down until I know that Declan will be safe.

“Finish this,” I urge Declan, whose eyes dart between my face and his opponent’s, taking stock, “End this and come back to me. Please, baby.”

And slowly, miraculously, I watch a smile pick up the corners of Declan’s battered face. A surge of energy straightens his spine, sharpens his gaze. He cocks back a mighty fist and flies at the other man. Poor guy never stood a chance.

“No!” I hear Lorenzo roar across the ring, “You’re a dead man, Tiberi!”

“We’ll see about that,” I hear John growl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Frank and Teddy disperse, rounding the ring toward Lorenzo. But I can’t focus too much on what they’re up to. My eyes are glued to Declan and he makes his decision at last. His balled fist slams into his opponent’s face, a sickening crack ringing out through the air. The other man holds up his flimsy fists, trying to fend Declan off, but it’s no use. My man is a concentrated onslaught of fists and feet, knees and elbows. It occurs to me, all at once, that I’m going to watch him kill a man before my eyes. Will I really be able to deal with that…to look at him the same ever again?

Declan slams his elbows down between his opponents shoulder blades, bringing the man to his knees. The crowd is positively blazing with blood lust, I feel myself getting jostled and pressed from all directions. Declan stares down at the man he’s supposed to kill, his face unreadable. The battered fighter before him clasps his hands in a desperate final prayer, and I feel my very soul ache for him.

But instead of going in for the kill, Declan raises his eyes to mine. As I watch, amazed, he does the most unthinkable thing: he winks at me. Dropping his fists to his sides, he straightens up, taking in the roaring arena sprawling all around him. To some, it may look like he’s stalling, backing down. I, however, can read his intentions in an instant. This is Declan saying goodbye to his own barbarous deeds. And these monsters who showed up to see this fight can shove it.