Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 69

CHAPTER 069: Pick Your Victor

Knox walks around the car and reaches for my hand. His palm is warm and steady. Mine isn’t. I let him hold it anyway. “I want to give you a little view into my past life,” he says.

And then he urges me forward, heading for the dark building. It’s quiet out here, too quiet, and every step we take makes the gravel crunch beneath our shoes. My heart thuds harder with each sound.

When we reach the door, Knox lifts his hand and knocks. A second later, a little metal panel slides open from the inside. Someone’s eyes peek out.

“Evening, Storm,” a deep voice says. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”

“Showing my girlfriend around,” Knox replies.

“Pretty one you’ve got there.”

“She is.”

I feel like I’m being auctioned.

The door creaks open. A bouncer steps aside to let us through.

“I’ll call and get your booth ready,” he says behind us as Knox leads me into a dim hallway that smells of sweat, rust, and old cement.

We reach an elevator that looks like it belongs in a horror movie–scratched metal, unstable overhead light, one single call button with a crack running through it. Knox presses it, and after a few seconds, the doors groan open.

We step inside.

As the doors close, I brace for the familiar upward jolt. Instead, we drop.

Fast.

I grip the railing. “We’re going underground?”

“Yes.”

The elevator shudders to a stop and opens into chaos.

Loud music pours in from somewhere above. People are yelling–some cheering, some cursing. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and metal hits the back of my throat.

Right in the middle of the floor, a crowd circles a boxing ring. But this isn’t some organized match. It’s raw. Bloody. Two men are inside, shirtless and soaked with sweat. One of them throws a hard punch, and the sound it makes is awful–wet and solid. No gloves. No gear. Just bare hands and bone.

People around us cheer like they’re watching fireworks. I see someone slap a wad of cash into another guy’s hand.

Another hit. One of the fighters stumbles, and I’m almost sure I see a tooth go flying through the air.

My stomach tightens.

Knox leans in, voice calm against the chaos. “Welcome to The Devil’s Pit.”

A man in a dark suit, which is far from what I expect from a place like this, appears beside us and motions us toward the

stairs.

“Your booth’s ready, Storm.”

This is the second person calling him by that name. Guess I have to catalogue that under my Knox–to–ask list.

We climb a tight metal staircase to the VIP level–rows of glass–walled booths that look down on the ring from above. Knox leads me into one. Inside, there’s a comfortable black couch, a low table with a silver tray of drinks and glasses, and low lights built into the ceiling. It smells like leather and sharp citrus. The side walls are dark, while the front wall is made entirely of glass, stretching wide and tall, giving a perfect view of the ring and the wild crowd around it.

From here, I can see everything.

One of the fighters has collapsed. The other paces the ring, arms raised. The crowd roars like animals.

I’m still processing the view when Knox grabs my waist and pulls me into his lap. I land with a small gasp.

His mouth is instantly at my ear. “You like what you see?

“What is this place? Is it even legal?”

Successfully unlocked!

“No. But it’s good business.” His hands trace lazy lines on my hips. “You may not believe it, but fighting in that ring was how I got the capital to start my club.”

I twist to look at him. “You… fought?”

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CHAPTER 069: Pick Your Victor

He nods. “I did.”

“You must’ve fought a lot to save that much.”

“It wasn’t just about the money. I love taking punches.”

I don’t have time to react to that before a bell rings.

Two new fighters enter the ring.

One is bald, lean, with a long scar down the side of his jaw. The other is thicker, broader.

The crowd leans in closer, like wolves scenting fresh meat.

Beneath me, Knox shifts. I feel the movement of his chest against my back before I see it. He slides his phone from his pocket and taps the screen. A strange website loads–dark background, bold fonts, two flashing icons pulsing with names I don’t recognize.

“Time to place bets, Bunny,” he murmurs against my neck. “Pick a fighter. I’ll bet on them.”

“That’s creepy.”