Dermot cursed as the man tightened his grip on his neck. I realized then his hands were being restrained by the man at an angle that almost made them look broken. Instead of looking like he was in pain, though, he looked furious. It was actually terrifying, his gaze meeting mine as he looked at the hand around my throat, his jaw tightening to the point I worried it would break.
This day… This was one for the books.
“You’re doing all of this for fucking money from a fight?” Dermot demanded softly, his voice laced with something truly lethal.
The older man let out a low growl. “No, you Irish fuck, I’m doing this so the boy learns some goddamn respect. You don’t refuse an invitation from the Denim Moths, trust fund piece of shit.”
“We were going to go after his grandma before the next fight, but you showed up at just the right time,” he growled in my ear. “Now tell me, Dahlia, does Stratton let just anyone fuck you? Because from what I saw on the news, you seem to be into that.”
Christ.
“I would sincerely suggest you stop fucking talking to her.” Dermot’s voice was icy as the man tensed slightly but ignored him.
Both of us looked up as round three started, and I watched as Stratton pretended to fight. When the larger opponent landed three fists to his head and two in the ribs, authentic pain blossomed on his face. He dropped heavily as the man hit him one more time. I had a feeling that he hadn’t needed it, but it ended the round quickly.
Stratton struggled to stand before he grabbed his shirt and jacket and strode across the ring, hopping over the rope and down into the mud, his blue eyes lit up with an amount of anger that I hoped to never see again as he stormed over to us.
“You won your fucking match, get your goddamn hands off her,” he snarled. The blood that covered his face caused him to look authentically terrifying, his body vibrating with an energy that rivaled the turbulent night sky.
The older man released me, and Stratton tugged me forward against him. Dermot grunted as the large man released him, and he immediately went for his jacket before the older man laughed.
“I wouldn’t do that, boy,” he warned.
Dermot seemed to pause, his temper nearly getting the better of him before he reined it in, a seemingly wise choice considering almost everyone around us had weapons of some kind.
The man looked to Stratton. “You go up against any of our guys, you lose. You want to win more, then I will be waiting for you to accept our invitation.” He flashed a smile. “Either that or I will be paying a personal visit to Dahlia and maybe that sweet grandma of yours.”
Stratton was shaking with fury but he kept quiet, leading me out as Dermot walked ahead of us, both of them seeming to want to get out of here as soon as possible. Oddly, I found myself rather calm, more worried about them than myself. When we finally made it to the parking lot, Stratton crushed me against him.
“Never fucking again,” he growled. “You can’t come to these anymore, understand?”
“Yes.” I nodded, not wanting to set him off more because I could see how freaked out he was. The man wrapped his arms around me further as Dermot talked quietly on the phone. How much did we want to bet it was King?
I ran my nose against Stratton’s neck as he lifted me up, his arms underneath my butt.
“Fuck, that was terrifying,” he said through a strained voice.
“Did he hurt you?” I pulled back and examined his face, a dark bruise forming on his nose and cheek.
“Doesn’t matter,” he growled before kissing me softly, making me want to pour everything into it. Every ounce of concern and worry about him. The taste of his blood exploded between us from the injury on his lip, and I let out a small moan of surprise, mostly because of the pulse of heat that hit my center.
Stratton let out a low growl and pulled back, still looking extremely upset. “Get in Dermot’s car and let’s get back home. I’m over this shit. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but this is clearly not working.”
I watched as Stratton got on his motorcycle and strapped on his helmet, making me breathe a sigh of relief. When I looked back at Dermot, he was hanging up his phone and ushering me around the car, the lightning illuminating the mud pit that served as the parking lot.
I was distracted enough by the storm that until we started driving, I didn’t realize the tension that was running through Dermot’s frame. My gaze ran over the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel and how his gaze was focused ahead, the tick in his jaw making me almost nervous. I hadn’t known the man long, but I had never seen him this worked up.
I swallowed nervously and slid back into my seat, turning slightly to keep my gaze on him.
“Dermot?” I asked softly, his eyes snapping over to me.
“Yeah?” His voice was rough and raspy.
“Are you okay?” I whispered softly, repeating the question he’d asked me earlier.
“No.”