Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
The bastard had introduced her brother to drugs, got him “hooked,” dragged Miles down so low that her brother didn’t see a way to pull himself back up … and now Ignacio wanted to drag Casey down too. Why? Because that was what twisted people did.
God, she couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t.
Honor and integrity were important to her. If she threw this fight, if she let Ignacio take those things from her, she’d hate herself afterward. And it might even encourage him to demand other things of her in the future, like to throw her pack’s soccer game or to do certain “favors” for him. She’d spiral deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole until there was no way out—a little like Miles had.
She needed to make a stand here and now. Needed to communicate that she wouldn’t be his lapdog; that he would never rule or own her.
His eyes narrowed in warning, as if he suspected she didn’t plan to “cooperate,” as he’d put it. Well, he’d be right to suspect that. She’d pay off Miles’ debt, but she wouldn’t lose pieces of herself in the process.
Determination welled up from Casey’s toes to the top of her head as she strode to the center of the ring. The breeze coming from the ceiling fan fluttered over her skin, ruffling her T-shirt and lifting her bangs. Her mink stood tall, bracing herself to shift and lunge if needed. The animal hadn’t liked or understood why Casey was holding back during the fight, and she was sure as hell happy that Casey no longer intended to do so.
Her opponent licked her split lip. “You’re not gonna win this one, Frost.”
Casey stared at the fox shifter. Sasha Flint was a good fighter—there was no doubt about it. But she’d never have gotten this far in the fight if Casey had truly let loose on her. Apparently, she’d made the same mistake as Ignacio and had forgotten one thing: Casey was no one’s bitch.
She swiped out her claws, slashing Flint’s face. Casey didn’t give her a moment to react. She rammed her foot into the female’s ribs and then slammed her fist into Flint’s solar plexus, knocking the breath right out of her.
Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Casey attacked from all angles—punching, kicking, slashing. And the spectators lost their damn minds.
The fox recovered fast from her shock and retaliated hard. She came at Casey with claws, fists, and elbows. She was strong. Sneaky. Went for every weak spot and injury. But Casey was lightning fast, and that had always given her an edge in a fight.
Casey ducked, weaved, and dodged. Flint still landed plenty of blows, and they all hurt like a motherfucker—the female had a mean right hook. But Casey had long ago learned to push past pain. She’d also learned how to deliver maximum pain, even if it meant fighting extra dirty, and she did exactly that.
Flesh tore. Blood dripped. The scent of pain permeated the air.
Both females growled, hissed, grunted, and cursed.
Soon, their breaths came fast and shallow, but they didn’t slow down. Didn’t lower their guard or give any openings. Just continued to fight fast and dirty. Casey’s mink stayed close to her skin the whole time, anxious to join the battle and defend her.
Flint, the sneaky bitch, shackled Casey’s wrist and yanked hard, trying to dislocate her shoulder. Oh, the fuck no.
Casey peeled back her upper lip and swept out her leg, knocking Flint clean off her feet. The female hit the ground hard, and then Casey was on her. One hard blow to the fox’s temple was all it took—she was out cold.
Knuckles stinging, muscles quivering, Casey stood upright. She felt the burn of many superficial wounds and knew she had to look a mess. Flint looked no better—especially with blood matting her hair and what appeared to be a fractured cheekbone.
Panting, Casey lifted her head and glared at Ignacio, who stood among the cheering spectators, his eyes flinty and cold and gleaming with a promise of retaliation. She let a smile curve her mouth, daring him to do his worst. And she had absolutely no doubt that he would.
As a juvenile, Eli had been forced to brawl in an illegal fighting ring. It had been nothing like The Den, where shifters went to simply blow off steam and sharpen their combat skills; where there were rules, healers, and a no-kill order. No, the fighting ring had been inhumane.
He’d been repeatedly pitted against humans, feral animals, and fellow shifters. Each duel had been a fight to the death, and no one had given a single shit whether you were there willingly or not. In a place like that, you learned to be quick. Vicious. Cunning. Learned to switch off from your moral compass for just a while. It was the only way you could kill night after night. The only way to survive.