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Mounting the man, Cain rains down relentless punches. The fighter goes completely limp within seconds, but Cain doesn't stop. His knuckles crack against bone again and again until six huge security guards scramble into the cage, desperately pulling a snarling, blood-splattered Cain off the unconscious opponent.

The crowd roars in wild, feral bloodlust, but my eyes remain glued to Cain as he shakes off the security detail, his chest heaving like a wounded beast.

He doesn't stop to celebrate. He doesn't glance at the cheering crowd.

Instead, he walks straight out of the cage, up the concrete steps, and directly toward the VIP lounge. He stops right in front of me, covered in sweat, dirt, and fresh crimson blood that isn't his. His eyes lock onto mine, raw, dangerous, and completely exposed.

"Does seeing what I really am change anything, Alexis?" he rumbles, his voice low and laced with a terrifying edge as he waits for my reaction.

My heart aches for him in this moment. I step forward without a single second of hesitation, reaching out to gently lift my hand to his face. My thumb wipes away a streak of warm blood running down his bottom lip.

"I already knew what you were, Cain," I say softly, keeping my gaze steady on his.

In that split second, the truth hits me like a lightning bolt. He didn't take this fight because the mercenary insulted his name. He took it to show me the absolute worst, most violent side of himself. He deliberately put on a brutal horror show right in front of my eyes, desperately trying to terrify me, trying to push me away.

It doesn't scare me. Not even a little. I knew the danger, the darkness, and the executioner behind those eyes from the very first day I met him.

Ezekiel steps up behind us, looking at the bloody gash over Cain's eyebrow. "Go clean those wounds up," he says, before turning his eyes to me with a faint, knowing look. "Will you take care of him, Alexis?"

"Yes," I answer immediately, not taking my eyes off Cain.

Without a word, Cain wraps his blood-stained hand around mine, pulling me along down the quiet corridor away from the noise of the arena.

He pulls me into a private, wood-paneled room situated directly above the main arena, shutting out the deafening roar of the crowd below. He fetches the first aid kit and sits on the edge of a leather sofa. I step between his legs with a bowl of warm water, disinfectant, and clean gauze.

I carefully unwrap the blood-stained wraps from his hands before dabbing a wet cloth against the shallow cut over his eyebrow. Cain winces slightly, his dark eyes fixed entirely on my face as I work in quiet concentration.

"You know," he rumbles, a low smirk touching his lips, "you are going to spend about half your life patching me up."

I roll my eyes, pressing a piece of gauze a little firmer against his jaw. "Maybe if you stopped throwing yourself into violent cage fights, I wouldn't have to." I pull away slightly, searching his dark gaze. "Why did you accept that fight, Cain? You had nothing to prove to anyone out there."

Cain holds my gaze for a long beat, his thumb tracing the curve of my hip. "Because I enjoyed knowing you were watching me," he admits, his voice dropping into a rough, honest register. "Knowing your eyes were on me the whole time."

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite my best efforts. "You are absurdly arrogant."

A low, deep laugh rumbles through his chest. "I'm arrogant because the most beautiful woman in this entire club came here on my arm," he says, his gaze sweeping slowly down the front of my outfit. "You look stunning in that dress, Alexis."

"Well," I say smoothly, leaning back just an inch and tilting my chin up, "men haven't stopped staring since we walked through the front doors, so you must be right."

The air in the room shifts instantly. The amusement in Cain's eyes vanishes, replaced by a sudden, dark possessiveness that flares up like wild oxygen. His hand tightens hard on my hip, pulling me flush against his chest as his jaw clenches tight enough to snap bone.

"Who?" he growls, his tone turning dangerously low.

"Cain, stop," I sigh, placing a hand against his shoulder. "You cannot kill every single man who looks at me."

Cain leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath hot and lethal against my skin.

"I can certainly consider it," he rumbles.

I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Stepping away from him, I wipe my hands clean and toss the leftover gauze into the small bin. Cain turns toward the wall mirror, examining my work. He lets out a nonchalant shrug and turns back to face me, dark eyes gleaming with that dangerous intensity.

"Let's get out of here before someone else comes looking for a fight."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CAIN