"Ladies first," Viggo said, his eyes warming with his expression.
"I was just going to say that I, um, wouldn't mind tagging along with you tomorrow, if you don't mind."
He glanced down at his hands. "Yeah, I, uh… Seeing that you like fights so much, I was gonna say you could come to see my fight in the evening. If you wanted to. I could pick you up at about seven.”
My smile broadened. It's a date.
21
Viggo sped me back to Lee's home and stayed on his bike watching as I approached the house and made sure that I got inside okay.
Lee was still awake. He opened the door, emerging in his pajamas and carrying a mug of tea. I turned back toward Viggo to wave that he could go, but he was already riding off.
"How did the day go?" Lee asked. We headed to the kitchen. "You hungry?"
"No, thanks. And it went fine. Not much happened. Viggo had work to do in his office, then we headed to the Rosen-Cruz fight. We stayed until the end of the event and then he brought me straight back." I poured myself a glass of water before sinking into a chair opposite Lee. "Oh, and he's off work tomorrow," I added. "But he's invited me to attend his fight in the evening. Said he'd come to pick me up around seven. He's going to get there a bit early."
"Brunswick?" Lee asked.
"Yeah."
"Hm." He sipped from his mug.
"What?" I'd been expecting him to say something encouraging, like it was a good idea that I had accepted the invitation. I was supposed to be getting close to Viggo.
"Nothing," he said. He gave me a furtive glance. "I just, um… I don't want you to get carried away with this task."
"Carried away? What are you talking about?"
He sighed. "I just mean, keep sight of the goal… why you're seeing him in the first place."
My throat tightened. The "goal" in regards to Viggo was something I had to forget. Lee didn't understand. For my, my brother's, Lee's and Matrus' sake, I had to bury our plan for Viggo deep. Otherwise I couldn't do what was required of me.
"As long as you keep that goal in mind," Lee went on, "you'll automatically do and say the right things, and everything will run smoothly."
I nodded, though I knew I couldn't do what he was asking of me. I would pull this off in my own way. I knew myself and how I worked better than him.
I needed to change the subject.
"So what have you been up to?" I asked him.
"Preparing the site," Lee replied, rubbing his forehead. He looked exhausted. "It's not a simple process. A bunch of hoops to jump through, and each step has to be carried out gradually, slowly, and steadily, so that I don't cause suspicion in anyone. The attendees have been almost confirmed, also… even King Maxen might make an appearance this year… There will be a lot of moving pieces when the night finally arrives. A lot of moving pieces indeed."
I nodded briefly again before getting to my feet. "Yeah. Well, I'm going to bed."
"Good night, Violet," Lee said, looking up and offering me a small smile as I moved past him. A smile I couldn't quite bring myself to return right now.
I just wanted to shut myself in my room, throw myself into bed, and lose myself in sleep…
* * *
I slept in late. By the time I came downstairs, Lee had left already for the city. I had another empty day ahead of me before this evening.
I didn't want to risk taking Samuel out again. I had already pushed the law enough since arriving here. So, I found myself heading up to Lee's room. I sat in front of his computer, which had been left unlocked, then navigated to the map of Patrus and stared at the five red moving dots. I could guess which one Viggo was—he was already at his gym. I wondered what he was practicing now. Whether he even had a trainer, or if he always prepared for fights on his own. Then I found myself watching the other four dots and wondering who those people were. One of them was roaming the outskirts of the city, while the other three were near the city center, the latter, like Viggo, pretty stationary.
I lost track of how much time I spent sitting in Lee's bedroom. But as afternoon bled into early evening, I returned to the garden, a pile of psychology books tucked beneath one arm. My attempts to focus on reading were shattered, however, when… I heard it again—a woman's cry, coming from the other side of Lee's back yard fence. Number thirty-two.
Dropping my book, I hurried to the fence and listened, trying to catch the words that the upset woman was speaking. I was too far away to hear them. Her speech was muffled.
I ran back inside the house to the kitchen and looked up at the clock. Ten minutes to seven. Viggo should be arriving anytime now and then we could dash around the corner and he could witness the noise for himself. But, fearing it would stop again before Viggo got here, I began looking for some kind of recording device or a camera. I rummaged through all of Lee's cupboards but failed to find anything I could use. Dammit. I should have asked Lee if he had a camera. But then I heard a roaring engine entering the front drive of the house.
Viggo had arrived.
I thundered down the stairs and, grabbing a set of spare keys, raced out to him. He smiled faintly on seeing me, but his expression soon turned to surprise as I dashed toward him like I was being chased.
"Number thirty-two!" I hissed. "It's started again…" I went quiet, straining to hear. Yes, I could make it out from the front yard, although it was very faint.
"Let's get closer," Viggo said. "Get on the bike."
I climbed onto the seat behind him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, he tore up the road and stopped on the sidewalk opposite the house.
We got off the motorbike and moved by foot to the other side of the road, where we ducked down beneath a line of bushes. We held our breath, listening as the noise continued. More smashing had started. More pleas. Our faces inches apart, our eyes locked as we concentrated.
"Okay," Viggo said after a minute. "I've heard enough. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll lodge a complaint and have a colleague take the man in for questioning."
"Good," I said, breathing out in relief. Hopefully whatever was going on in there would be stopped sooner rather than later.
"You know, Violet," Viggo said as we began rolling back down the mountain, "you should have become a warden.”
Arriving at the Brunswick Arena, we descended to the basement and headed through one of the doors at the back of the auditorium. We passed down a narrow corridor and turned through another door into a small rectangular changing room equipped with a punching bag, a bench, a locker, towels, and other items of clothing. I also spotted a second door which led into an adjoined bathroom.
Viggo dumped his bag on the bench before sliding off his coat. Turning his back on me, he removed his black t-shirt. My eyes roamed his chiseled back, watching his muscles ripple as he rummaged in his bag for a pair of black shorts—the same pair he'd worn to his previous fight. He scooped up a towel and moved to the bathroom. "Taking a shower," he grunted. "Helps clear my head before a fight."
Viggo spent twenty minutes in the bathroom before emerging. His hair went straight and almost black when it was wet. The darkness of it somehow accentuated the sharpness of his eyes. His standing there damp and bare-chested made him look like some kind of wild, rugged warrior… and more attractive than I'd ever seen him.
He reached into a pocket at the side of his bag and pulled out a hair tie, fastening his long hair back. Then he pulled out a roll of bandage from his bag and began wrapping it around his knuckles. He used tape to tighten it before standing up and approaching the punching bag. He began to hit it, his punches gradually building in power, until the bag was swinging all over the place, hardly able to catch a break.
"Why don't you wear those thicker, tougher fingerless gloves I've seen the other fighters wear?" I asked him. "Why only bandages? Aren't you more likely to get injured?"
"Yes," he replied. "But it's standard at my level of fighting."
That made no sense to me. "What do you mean?"
"It'
s what the crowd is used to watching at sub-level. A portion of them prefer sub-level fights for this reason; it's less regulated. More danger involved without hard gloves. More pain."
"Sounds grim," I muttered.
He chose not to comment.
My eyes wandered again around the room. I noticed a pair of flat, cushioned gloves hanging from a hook near the locker. They were apparently designed for a trainer to catch punches. I reached for them and slid them on absentmindedly, as I flexed my wrists.
"Hey," I said, standing and raising my gloved hands. "Want to have a go at punching me instead?"
He paused and turned to me, his expression quickly turning incredulous.
"Why not?" I asked. "Nobody's watching."
He merely shook his head before resuming his focus on the punching bag.
I quirked a brow. "You don't think I can handle it?"
He didn't stop punching to face me this time as he replied through sharp breaths, "I can't throw a punch at a woman."
Hm.
I’d wanted to attempt to recreate the feeling I’d experienced in my gym sparring match with Viggo. But it seemed that wasn’t going to happen.
Not wanting to be pushy, I sat down again, glaring at my gloves. Still, I couldn't help but inform him, "I've fought girls as strong as men before." My mind turned back to Dina. Not as strong as Viggo, of course, but he didn't need to know that.
"It doesn't matter how strong you are," Viggo breathed. "I saw how you took down that guy in the street. I know you're skilled. But if you asked me to punch you, it wouldn't be a punch. It would be a nudge, a light jab at the most."
He worked himself up into another flurry of punches until he appeared to be satisfied that he'd warmed up enough. He backed away from the punching bag, tightening his bandages.
"Okay. How about I punch you? " It wouldn’t be the same as in the gym, but it would be better than nothing.
Viggo smirked. "That I could allow…"
I rose to my feet, removing the training gloves from my hands and handing them to him. But, on taking them from me, he discarded them on the floor. Apparently, he was going to use his bare palms as my target. Suit yourself.
He dipped into his bag and retrieved the roll of bandage. He moved to me, reaching for my hands, but I shook my head. "Come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're only going to be at it for a few minutes. You're gonna have to leave for the fight soon."
Still, he looked reluctant. "And what will I tell your husband if you go home to him with bruised knuckles? I already returned you once with grazed knees."
"My knuckles aren't made of flower petals," I replied.
He hesitated a moment more before resuming his position in front of me. "All right," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half smile. He raised a daring brow. "We've got ten minutes. Have at me."
A rush ran through my body as I clenched my fists. Although he wouldn’t see me eye to eye, Viggo was still a dream sparring partner. I had been one of the toughest girls in my defense classes; a lot of the other girls couldn't take blows as hard as I could throw them and I'd often ended up partnered with Ms. Dale for that reason. But with Viggo… I didn't have to hold back. He could take anything I threw at him. Plus, I didn’t have any facial hair to worry about keeping in place.
I approached him, aiming my first swipe at his right palm, which was rock hard. But the contact felt good. Like scratching an itch. I threw a punch at his left palm, then right again, before moving on to a kicking combination. As my right foot rose to his stomach, he blocked it—firmly enough that I didn't reach him, but not hard enough to cause a bruise.
When I moved to punch him again, he surprised me by catching my wrist. He spun me around, my back against his chest, where he held me in a firm lock. I hadn't expected him to elevate the game. I supposed this was as close as he was going to get in treating me equally in terms of fighting.
Having been trained to get out of this kind of hold before, my next move was wired in my brain. It came as mere instinct for my right leg to slip backward and jerk forward. I caught him at the back of his right knee. He hadn't been expecting that, either. He lost balance, causing the two of us to tumble to the floor. I quickly scrambled to gain an advantage while he lay on his back. Gripping his arms and pressing them hard against the floor, I straddled his hips. I leaned over, my face leveling with his. As our eyes met, we both broke out in a tense laugh.
"Surrender?" I asked him.
I felt his stomach muscles tauten against my thighs. He narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you think this is?"
I didn't get a chance to respond, or see what he'd do next, as a sharp rapping at the door brought reality spiraling back.
Viggo cursed. I leapt off him and he stood up just in time before the door swung open.
Being in Patrus, there wouldn't have been an awful lot of ways a married woman and an unmarried man could have explained that position.
Catching my breath, I smoothed down my top and tried to pretend I'd just risen from the bench when a white-haired man poked his head through the doorway. Surprise registered in his eyes on seeing me here, but he quickly focused on Viggo.
"You're on in twenty-five minutes," he said.
"Yes, I know," Viggo said tightly. I could see he was trying to steady his breathing too. And was there a slight flush to his cheeks? It felt like there might be to mine.
"Good, good." With one last glance toward me, the man backed out of the room.
My cheeks definitely heated as Viggo and I were left alone again. That had been close. I coughed my throat clear and sat back down on the bench. Viggo didn't start punching the bag again. Avoiding eye contact, he moved into the bathroom, where he splashed his face with water and stood in front of the mirror for a while. Then he returned to the room and paced up and down.
I watched him while his focus was on the floor and wondered whether nerves ever bothered a man like Viggo Croft after all the fights he had experienced.
"Have you ever lost a fight?" I asked him. That might not have been the most sensitive question to ask a fighter minutes before he was due to step inside the cage, but Viggo didn't strike me as the superstitious type.
He shook his head.
A grin returned to my face. "Then let's not make tonight a first."
Finally, he looked at me again. His expression was dark, though I sensed a smile hiding somewhere behind it. "I don't intend to."
The next few minutes slipped through our fingers like sand. A round of boos echoed down the corridor. Viggo's opponent must have entered the arena. And then the elderly man was at the door again.
"Time to roll!" he announced excitedly.
I stood up and followed Viggo and the man out of the room. Viggo was my guardian, and even though he'd be in the cage, I was supposed to follow him as closely as possible. When we headed down the corridor, however, and reached the wide-open door to the arena, I had to hang back with the elderly man while Viggo stepped into the spotlight. The audience exploded. I caught Viggo drawing in a light breath before stalking down the aisle. The spotlight followed him, and I was able to move closer to the darkened doorway without worrying about being spotted. Viggo climbed into the cage opposite his opponent—a guy with ebony skin and cropped black hair. Going by appearance alone, they looked a very even match, Viggo perhaps slightly at a disadvantage—his opponent was a little taller.
"May I ask who you are, ma'am?" the white-haired man, who was still standing opposite me by the doorway, asked.
"Mrs. Bertrand," I replied quickly, my eyes reverting to the fight. I didn't want to miss any of it.
"Oh, I see. And how do you know Viggo?"
"My husband appointed him as my second guardian."
The man stopped talking to me after that. My spine tingled as the Deepvox man announced the start of the fight. His voice was almost drowned out by the cheering crowd.
I wished that I could get closer as the two men began to circle each other. I was still worrying ab
out Cad or his parents spotting me. The chances that they'd be at the fight were probably slim, but I couldn't take any risks. I had brought my cap with me, however. If that had been enough to get by at the event the night before, it should be enough here, too.
"Excuse me," I said, taking my leave from the elderly man. I moved down the aisle, approaching the cage.
A security guard stopped me as I reached within a few feet. "Mr. Croft is my guardian," I told him before he could say anything. He let me pass and stand right next to the cage, where the water was kept and the attendants waited.
Up close was more exhilarating than I could have imagined. I could see every detail, every flicker of emotion in their eyes, every bead of sweat.
Viggo's opponent—Rod "Ruin" Ryland, according to the trim on his blue shorts—took aim at Viggo first. Viggo dodged before countering with a right hook which caught the side of Rod's face with a painful smack. Rod skipped back. The crowd yelled. Somehow, I felt that this was going to be another short fight.
Rod approached again, more cautiously, only to quickly swerve backward as Viggo launched a side kick. Viggo took the offensive, Rod backing away further. I could tell that Rod was trying to stay on his feet, jerking away whenever Viggo stooped or stepped closer. Rod clearly didn't want Viggo taking him to the ground. But that appeared to be exactly what Viggo's game plan was.
Viggo advanced, closing in like a panther, until Rod was up against the wall of the cage. Then he hurled himself at the guy's knees, going straight for the takedown. Rod desperately tried to keep his balance, but he only lasted a few seconds before his back went slamming down against the floor, Viggo on top of him. The audience howled and I found myself shouting along with them as Viggo proceeded to smother Rod's defensive punches and catch hold of his arms. "Yes! Come on!” I bellowed. I wondered if Viggo could hear me among the sea of other screams.
Rod proved to be more of a veteran on the ground than I had given him credit for. He squirmed and twisted beneath Viggo like an anaconda, and after about two minutes of intense grappling, to my dismay, he managed to free himself. The two men shot to their feet and resumed circling one another, though Rod was visibly tired by the grappling. His chest heaved and he bought himself some time by distancing himself a few steps. Viggo sensed his weakness. He swept forward and broke through Rod's defense, catching his nose with a hard punch. Rod staggered, then swung back with a flurry of quick, but rather sloppy punches. It did the job of fighting Viggo back a few feet. Then, as I sensed Viggo was about to go in for another flooring, the bell rang, announcing the end of the round.