How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(69)

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Clary—”

“Gabe, listen to me. Sara is here. We need to find her and go.”

He cast a gaze over her head. “Where is she?”

“With the gatekeeper, but I don’t want to leave her with him for long. Please”—she latched her hand around his and urged him to follow her—“let’s go.”

But he didn’t budge, no matter how she pulled. “I need to do this, Clary.”

She shook her head until it ached. “You need to come home with me. I need you.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not sure you’ve ever needed anyone.”

Striding closer, she confessed, “I never expected to, but now I do.”

“The money from tonight—”

“I don’t care about Rigg’s money, and we’ll have plenty of our own.” Clary wound her arm through his. “Wouldn’t you rather have my money than his?”

When his brows tented in confusion, Clary stepped away from him, casting a glance back toward the spot where she’d left Sara. Apparently, the gatekeeper had gotten her a chair. She sat just inside the walls of the yard. He stood nearby, seemingly engaged with her in friendly conversation.

“Clary, please take Sara and go. I can’t do this if I’m worried about you two.”

“Then don’t do this at all.” Reaching for Gabe, she said, “I know this isn’t the place or time, but I have a proposal for you.”

A horn blasted the air, and then a man’s low shout echoed around the yard. “The moment has come, ladies and gentlemen.”

“It’s time,” Gabe said ominously. He hauled her into his arms, then quickly released her. “Go. Now. Don’t look back. Take my sister and get out of here.”

“I love you.” She wouldn’t convince him. He was determined. She could see it in his eyes.

His expression changed, softening, warming. She saw a bit of the Gabe who’d kissed her, made love to her as if she was all he ever wanted.

“Ragin’ Boy,” the announcer shouted through his bullhorn, “returns for the bloodiest fight of his life.”

Gabe’s head snapped up. Thunder came into his eyes, and his muscles bunched as he shifted and tensed. He slammed a fist into the opposite palm. Began bouncing on his toes.

“Wot ’ave we ’ere, then?” A dark, gravelly voice came from behind, and Clary wheeled around to find a thin, bearded man leering at her. A lit cheroot at the corner of his mouth let off wisps of smoke.

Then he was gone. Her view of him cut off as Gabe planted himself in front of her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Yer name’s been called, boy. Up in the ring with ye.” An evil, rasping chuckle emerged from the man. “I’ll keep yer lovie entertained.”

Gabe glanced at her over his shoulder and mouthed one word: Go. He said more with his eyes. They were bleak. Cold. In another man, she’d call them cruel. The look told her that he would brook no arguments. That he didn’t wish to know about her proposal or why she’d come. That declaring her love again hadn’t changed his intentions one whit.

He didn’t want her here. Perhaps he no longer wanted her at all. But he clearly intended to fight.

The odious man—Rigg, she guessed—scooped up Gabe’s gloves and led him toward the ring, slapping his cane against Gabe’s back to urge him on faster.

Gabe tugged his gloves back on, waited while Rigg tied the laces, and then lifted the rope to duck underneath. Once inside the ring, he glanced back at her. A fleeting moment. She could read nothing in his gaze but seething anger.

A burly man approached from the edge of the yard. “Rigg says yer to sit up front.” He hooked a massive hand under her arm and began to haul her off.

“No, thank you.” Clary brought her boot down on his foot, yanked her arm from his grasp, and searched the yard for Sara. The crowd had thickened, bodies packing in, shoulder to shoulder. A hand shot up through the crowd, and Clary glimpsed Sara’s dark hair and pale face. She picked up her skirt and ran toward her.

“We should get out of here,” Sara told her.

“And leave Gabe?”

The crowd let out a raucous roar, stomping their feet and waving fists in the air.

Sara stretched onto her toes to see over the sea of hats and bare heads. “It’s too late,” she said miserably, “the fight has begun.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She was walking away. Gabe told himself that was good. It’s what he wanted. Clary and Sara and the baby needed to get to safety.

He hated that they’d come into this ugliness to find him. Hated that Clary had seen him here among the thugs and brutes. Hated pushing her away and causing more pain.

God, he’d missed her. A few hours apart, and he’d ached for her every damn minute.

He could smell her floral scent on his skin.

But other smells swarmed in. Scents that hadn’t changed after all these years. The sweat of a hundred bodies. Liquor spilled and guzzled as the audience gaped with eager eyes. Sawdust, gritty and pungent, beneath his boots.

The sounds were the same too. The shouts of the crowd, the dancing gait of his opponent’s shuffling feet, Gabe’s own blood rushing in his ears.