I shook my head. “I have, but I can only tell him so much, especially considering the circumstances.”
Dermot nodded in understanding and pulled up my hood as he put his large, muscular arm over my shoulders, passing a couple pressed against a motorcycle doing… Well, I’m not positive what they were doing. From what I could hear, though, they both seemed to be enjoying it, so that was good, right?
“Fucking bastards,” Dermot muttered after we had passed another group of guys smoking something. It wasn’t pot or cigarettes, and it had Dermot looking tense as all get-out, so I curled further into him. This wasn’t my scene at all. I was here for Stratton, so it was worth it, but I had never felt as much of a contrast as I did currently.
As we neared the ring, people cleared out of the way for Dermot, and I didn’t blame them. Looking up at the man, I realized just how intimidating he was. His dark hair was damp from the rain, making him look even more dangerous as he kept an eye on everyone around us, his expression calm and calculating. Practiced.
Yeah, I was a bit out of my league here. At least when it came to whatever the Ross family was serving up. I suppose it had been a bit easier to ignore those elements with King because I’d known him for so long, but Dermot was different. I could see the tension rolling under his skin, and the way he held himself had me wondering just how quickly he could pull that gun out.
I was going to take a bet and say extremely fast.
“You can’t keep looking at me like that, Dahlia.” His voice was low and vibrated through his chest, against me, as his eyes flashed down.
“Like what?” I asked softly, knowing how he probably saw me looking at him. Because as I was learning, it seemed the things that should have scared me with my boys didn’t. They turned me on. They also made me feel safe, which after everything that had been going on, was really nice.
“You know, baby girl.” He pinned me with a look as I offered him a small smile.
I looked up as we reached the main ring, my eyes immediately spotting Stratton, who was standing outside of the ring, his arms folded as he ignored the man next to him, offering small answers or non-responsive nods. I examined the man in question, his worn leather jacket featuring a massive amount of patches. His tanned face and long black and gray hair put him at a slightly older age, and his clear attempt to goad Stratton, based on his mannerisms, had me feeling angry.
Stratton’s eyes met mine before moving over to Dermot, seeming to convey something, before snapping back to the man trying to talk to him. I looked up at Dermot, who kept us exactly where we were. I offered him a questioning look on why we weren’t going over there.
“I have a feeling that is the exact person that Stratton doesn’t want you to meet,” he admitted quietly. “Let’s stay right here for now. Are you good with that?”
I nodded, not wanting to mess anything up as I wrapped my arms around his waist, keeping my head hidden from the rain as the current fight wrapped up. I desperately wanted to be over there in his corner supporting him, but Dermot was right. I didn’t want to trivialize Stratton’s concerns, so I stayed wrapped up in Dermot’s arms.
When Stratton’s fight began, I straightened up further, watching as my tattooed,way to hot for his own good, motorcycle god stripped off his shirt after dropping his jacket in the corner. I noticed the cool level of calculation in his gaze, and it made me feel confident in this fight despite the size of the man he was going against.
I frowned, realizing the older man that had been bothering Stratton was in his opponent’s corner, the fighter featuring a massive tattoo that was the exact same sigil that the older man had on his jacket. A moth? Hadn’t Dermot said something about Denim Moths? Made sense now. Although—and I knew they probably didn’t care—if they were the Denim Moths… wouldn’t it make more sense to wear denim, not leather?
No? Just me? Honestly, that was completely possible.
When the announcer started the first round, my eyes widened as the opponent bulldozed forward, making Stratton dart out of the way. I watched as Stratton easily moved around the man, and Dermot chuckled as he landed a blow so hard to the side of the man’s head that he stumbled. It seemed like the guy he was facing relied completely on brute strength. I tensed as he moved forward again, and this time Stratton was more prepared, hitting him not only in the side but then in the face, sending the man stumbling back and onto the ground. Apparently that was enough for them to call round one.
I was thrilled and also concerned. My eyes darted over to the Denim Moths, who looked furious, the older man yelling in the ear of the massive guy, who looked like he had a broken nose. Stratton didn’t seem nearly as pleased with his first round win, his eyes narrowed on the interaction in the corner as if he could read their lips. Maybe he could. The crowd was growing increasingly rowdy as people were jostled around us, Dermot moving me in front of him as he pulled me firmly and tightly against him.
His chin rested on the top of my head, and I would say it was cute because it felt that way, but I had a feeling the man was trying to keep me away from everyone else as much as possible without tucking me into his jacket and zipping it up. I leaned back into him as round two began.
“Come on, Stratton,” I murmured, wishing I could cheer for him. Dermot squeezed me slightly and I looked up, his eyes narrowed ahead and to the right. When I looked, my chest tightened, realizing that it was the guys from the grocery store. They were talking to the older man, looking over at me.
Crap.
“We are leaving,” Dermot ordered softly, his hand on my back as he began to edge me towards the back of the crowd, people parting immediately. I could feel his hand hesitating near his jacket, and I honestly wouldn’t blame him for pulling out his gun right now considering the amount of weapons I could see on people.
The crowd cheered behind us as suddenly we were tugged back… Well, Dermot was yanked back, and I snapped around, finding a massive man holding Dermot around the neck with his large forearm. I panicked, moving forward to move his arm, or at least try to. Dermot released a dangerous noise in response to the man’s threat as I froze, realizing that there was a gun pressed to his head.
Oh my god.
“Go to the car,” Dermot said evenly, his voice rough from the pressure the massive guy was putting on him.
No. I wasn’t going to do that.
Another cheer went up as I realized Stratton had been knocked on his ass. My stomach sank. How much did we want to bet it was because he was distracted?
“We need to borrow Dahlia for just a minute,” someone spoke from behind me, causing me to jump as the older man’s bony but strong hand clasped around my forearm. Dermot let out a low growl as the man led me forward, something that I suspected was a gun pressing against my back as the crowd moved for us, everyone seeming to ignore what was going on as Dermot went unusually quiet. I had no idea what he was thinking, and honestly the threat of a weapon pressed to my body was having me blank out slightly, though my panic rose as we drew closer to the corner. Stratton, who was wiping blood from his nose, immediately met my gaze from across the ring.
I had thought I’d seen every emotion on Stratton’s face before, but the authentic fear and fury there had me feeling almost like I’d had the wind knocked from me. The older man wrapped a hand around my neck as the hard, cold object moved to the back of my neck. Realization dawned on Stratton’s face as the announcer began talking the crowd up for the final round, which would determine who would win. I honestly thought I would be crying or something in response to the threat to me right now, but instead I was completely focused on Stratton. I had a feeling that he was the one really in danger and we were just pawns.
“You better hope he throws this round,” the older man mused.