King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)

I knew tonight was going to go sideways by design when I saw the cage. The octagon sat on a bare cement floor, much like the ones I’d stood in for years in various underground gambling dens. The Enclave had added their own décor around it, with burning sconces on the walls and a sea of velvet-cloaked freaks milling around.

Enjoy the weirdness, fuckers. Tonight, all this grandiose bullshit ends.

The octagon told me how seriously they were taking this show. I supposed it made sense. They only had one acolyte this session, and I already knew these people got off on watching others bleed and hurt.

Until tonight, when that all stopped.

Elio was getting ready outside with his men. He had a guy trying to hack the security cameras but wasn’t optimistic, given that Giada was out of commission. Of course, we could have told her what was going on, but that would involve her being here, and it was too dangerous.

Tonight, we had Archibald in the same place as Aldo and the rest of The Enclave motherfuckers. It was the best chance we had of taking as many of them down as possible and finding out who exactly was responsible for the experimental drugs… and ending them.

“This is the test? You know I’m practically a professional, right?” I grinned at Archibald and nodded toward their cute little octagon setup.

Archibald nodded. “I am aware. I’ve always wanted to see a proper fight in here, so I am happy for the opportunity.”

There was something so blank and odd about this man, I decided, as he smiled placidly at me. He didn’t blink enough, I realized belatedly. It was uncanny.

Members wandered around in masks amid a low thrum of chatter. A feeling of excitement lit the air. Archibald left me so I could get ready, not realizing I was ready; I’d fight like I usually did, in my jeans. I didn’t need fancy clothes to destroy whoever they’d decided to pit against me. I just hoped I’d finish the fight before Elio and the Italians showed up.

A loud gong sounded in the air, the same one as the first night, and everyone stilled.

A tall figure appeared, wearing the distinctive plague doctor mask. Archibald, all dressed up and ready to play.

“Tonight, we are gathered to witness the final test for our acolyte. Everyone faces an individual test created just for them. The test is designed to reveal the true man beneath the surface. For you, Brandon O’Connor, we will see how good you really are at surviving, when the odds are against you. Good luck.”

Someone opened the door to the octagon, and I stepped in. Spectators gathered close around the cage.

A round of applause rang out as I wandered the outer circle of the ring, waiting for my opponent. The door opened again, and a man stepped through it.

I paused, raising an eyebrow at the sight. I’d never met him before, but I could tell he could fight from the way he held his body. Most pressingly, the nunchucks in his hands held my attention.

Ah, so my opponent would have weapons, and I wouldn’t? How fun.

The man lunged toward me before I could make any kind of plan, his nunchucks swinging in a smooth, practiced motion. He advanced, and I danced backward. He lashed out with one spinning stick, and I ducked out of the way just in time. A hard smack echoed when the stick hit the bar of the cage. That had been meant for my ribs. This guy wasn’t here to play. He pulled back, indulging in some fancy footwork. I retreated around the ring, and he advanced. I didn’t give a shit if the spectators thought I was running. I wasn’t. I was waiting.

My opponent had fancy moves. Classically trained somewhere expensive. He looked like he ate right, got enough sleep, and treated his body like a temple.

He got closer, and I knew I had to let one of his hits connect, to catch him off guard. I let him come close and purposely dropped my guard on my right side. He spun into that space, and I reared back as much as I could to temper the ringing blow of the stick heading for my ribs. It hit hard, and pain vibrated through my body, but I ignored it and kicked his knee out to the side. He gave a rough cry and fell. Without giving him even a second to recover, I stepped in, grabbed his shirt by the neck, and landed a punch to his jaw that knocked him out flat.

He lay there, unmoving, as people clapped and catcalled.

I turned away, pressing a hand to my aching ribs and taking a deep breath. Motherfucker, that had hurt.

The door to the cage opened, and men came in to drag the other guy out.

“Is that all you’ve got, Archie?” I grinned at Archibald who stood on the other side of the mesh.

Before the door could shut behind the guy who I’d knocked out, it was pushed open, and another guy stepped in. This one was spinning and kicking high in the air. He also had a baseball bat.

“Not at all, Mr. O’Connor. The night is just getting started.”

Damn it.

Four fights later, and I was flagging. Thank fuck that Elio, Declan, and all the men we could scrounge together were about to bust in here, because I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through the test. Honestly, I didn’t think they’d planned on letting me.

“Now, Mr. O’Connor, you meet your final test,” Archibald announced when I sank to the floor, having only just managed to choke out my latest opponent.

Exhausted and bloodied, I’d been reduced to grappling around on the floor with them, hanging onto their legs until they fell and then getting them into a lock. If there was one thing I knew about fighting, it was about not giving up. Knockdown, drag-out brawls, any kind of dogfight you could come up with — I’d die before losing.

Tonight, I had a bad feeling I was about to test that conviction, possibly unwillingly.

The unconscious man was dragged out of the cage, and the door opened for the last time. A man stepped in, followed by another. One more brought up the rear.

Three against one were odds I could handle on a good day, when I wasn’t already exhausted, had more than a few cracked ribs, and one of my eyes wasn’t so swollen I could barely see out.

Three against one today? Shit, I needed a miracle.

The first guy cracked his knuckles and beckoned me forward. I took a deep breath and shrugged. He was overly confident, with his buddies at his back. I could use that.

I pushed myself up from the mat and sauntered toward him, while he courted the attention of the audience, having a good old laugh at my expense. I watched him carefully as he shifted his weight and balled up his fist. Anticipating exactly where he’d hit me, from the furtive glance of his beady little eyes and the angle of his body, I ducked enough for his swing to go wide. I lashed my hand out when he was bent awkwardly forward and yanked him off-balance. A quick pivot, and I was able to bring my knee up under his head and smash them together hard.

He fell to the floor heavily, and silence fell in the octagon, before applause and cheering sounded.

The other two guys glanced at each other and separated, circling around me. These two wouldn’t be so easy. Then one withdrew a long, wicked-looking knife from a sheath on his leg.

All the other weapons so far had been blunt ones. The knife changed things. I checked the other guy and saw he’d also drawn his blade.

A sharp intake of breath distracted me, louder than all the shouts and cheers.

I glanced that way and saw her.

Giada.

My wee selkie, standing ringside.