The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(12)

Chuito nodded. “Sí, cabrón, I am.”





Chapter Five


The rest of the building might be in shambles, but the fighting cage they had was state of the art. A metal octagon just like the ones he’d seen in the UFC fights on pay-per-view.

Chuito studied the high walls, feeling trapped like an animal. There was something truly barbaric about this cage, blocking the outside world, leaving the two opponents in there until one either quit or was too beaten to defend himself anymore.

In the fights Chuito participated in at home, there was always a place for someone to run. If they got too scared, they could jump past the ropes and get out, but there was no escaping this.

It was like a fight to the death.

Muscle and anger pitted against each other.

Until the meanest motherf*cker won.

Chuito ran a hand against the cage, looking past it, thinking just how much he loved it. The finality of it. That once he got in, he couldn’t get out. He would have to fight to survive.

It was a language he understood…the only language he understood.

Steal or starve.

Beat or be beaten.

Kill or be killed.

This wasn’t like the streets. He probably wasn’t going to die in this cage, but he could appreciate the possibility of it. The harsh symbolism of only the strongest surviving.

And he was stuck in this cage with a cop.

Not just a cop.

A sheriff.

Like this cage, Wyatt Conner symbolized so much to Chuito. This sheriff was all his enemies wrapped into one very large, very blond-haired and blue-eyed package.

The men who judged him before he deserved to be judged.

The ones who hounded him after he turned into what they made him just by expecting it of him.

The men who killed his mentor Victor, forcing Chuito to take over the gang when he was only seventeen and bringing the wrath of their rivals to his door.

Wyatt was the bullets that killed Chuito’s brother and tía.

He was the man who put handcuffs on his cousin and tossed him in prison.

Now Chuito was in the cage with him, just the two of them.

He felt like he’d just won the gangster lottery, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I think I’m gonna ref.” Clay Powers stood up from his seat next to his other business partner, a very intense, very tall woman named Jules, who looked like she could hold her own against just about anyone.

“It’s practice.” Jules held up her hand to the cage. “You said this was practice.”

“He doesn’t need you to babysit him,” Wyatt said as he stretched his arms. “He’s so big and badass. He’s got this.”

“I’m gonna ref.” Clay opened the cage door with intent and gave Chuito a harsh look, making it obvious Chuito wasn’t the one he was babysitting. “Do you know the rules?”

Chuito arched an eyebrow. “Last muchacho standing wins.”

“No low hits. No kidney hits. No fishhooking. And if he taps…” Clay suddenly seemed deadly serious. “You stop.”

“I’m not gonna tap,” Wyatt assured him and then put in his mouth guard, which was something Chuito thought Wyatt could use as a permanent accessory.

Wyatt gestured with his hands and then stretched his arms once more.

Chuito didn’t like the mouth guard when he put it in. He wasn’t used to it. He thought it was for pussies, but if it was part of the rules, he could play along. He sure wasn’t going to stand there, bouncing around and stretching. Instead he savored the adrenaline rush that surged into his bloodstream, making his muscles tight.

When they walked to the center of the cage, Clay stood between Wyatt and Chuito, giving Chuito one more harsh look. “You got the rules?”

Chuito nodded but remained otherwise motionless, letting a lifetime of anger build, while Wyatt tried to loosen himself up by hopping around like a fool. It wasn’t necessarily part of a greater attack plan on Chuito’s part, but by default the sheer lack of movement seemed to throw Wyatt off, because Chuito didn’t take any sort of fighter stance when Clay stepped back.

Chuito and Wyatt bumped fists for one brief moment. Then Chuito let all that fury spring free, jumping forward and lashing out with a left hook rather than bouncing back like Wyatt had. Chuito caught him a second time with an uppercut before Wyatt could regain his footing. Chuito mourned the fingerless gloves he was wearing as he watched Wyatt fall. He would’ve liked to feel the punches in his hand, to make his knuckles bleed with the effort of hurting this motherf*cker.

Chuito had to give Wyatt and his black belts some credit. When Wyatt hit the mat, he recovered so fast it was impressive. Chuito never had someone knock his feet out from under him like that before, with one powerful sweep of his leg against Chuito’s ankle.

Then Chuito was on his back on the mat that wasn’t as hard as cement but still knocked the air out of him in an agonizing gush. Before his lungs could start working again, Wyatt’s foot connected with his jaw, making Chuito very glad he was wearing the mouth guard.

The pain f*cked him up, putting him into survivor mode rather than just fighting in a little revenge match against a cop, because damn if those black belts didn’t have some benefit. This pendejo was so damn quick and recovered faster than any other man Chuito had fought before. Wyatt had Chuito pinned to the mat before he could really start breathing clearly.