Hateful Games: (An arranged marriage billionaire romance) (Arranged Games Book 2)
Chapter 7

An illegal underground fighting ring.

That’s where Malcolm has brought me.

It’s hidden in one of the old abandoned buildings just at the back of the huge, beautiful campus. I was in awe the entire time as I gazed at the building, gobsmacked at the stunning architecture. My campus back home is pretty but compared to here, it might as well be a chaotic village.

Only a few universities back in India could match the luxurious feel.

Bianca, my interior designing enthusiast best friend, would’ve fainted.

“Is your idea of thrill betting at an illegal fight?” I ask before muttering, “How lame. Judging by the car you drive, I assumed you come from money.”

“I do.” Malcolm gazes down at me before muttering, “And I’m starting to see why Nova hates you.”

“Trust me, out of all the reasons he hates me, being annoying will be at the bottom of the list.”

“I want that list.”

I roll my eyes and pay attention to walking down the flight of stairs to the basement with Malcolm taking the lead. The narrow staircase is mostly dark, with flickering light bulbs. However, I can hear the unmistakable and muted noises drifting to us. The telltale sound of hooting, whistling, and shouting.

“What about me screams my idea of fun is violence?”

Malcolm neither looks back nor slows down as he replies, “Nova once slipped and told us that a girl blasted his precious Maybach, I’m betting it was you.”

My gait falters. While my guilty silence gives him his answer and his shoulders shake as if he’s both impressed and humored.

“Damn, love. How the hell did you even manage that?”

“My driver, who’s family to me, taught me all about cars growing up. I was always fascinated watching him work in the garage on my dad’s precious collection. He would explain all the ins and outs while I listened,” I relay, reminiscing about the happy memories from my limited peaceful collection of my childhood. Shrugging, I confess, “It was easy, really. Just a twisting and interchanging of wires and a leak in the oil tank did the trick.”

“What if you had been caught? Or Nova had reported it and gotten you arrested?”

My father would’ve probably praised me and then bailed me out. “I would’ve walked away scot-free.”

It’s not a brag. Just the honest truth.

“Moral of the story: I should sincerely refrain from pissing you off.”

Before I can give a smart-ass comeback, we reach the basement and I’m swept into the mayhem and adrenaline and aggression pumping in the air. The wide-open space with high ceilings is jam-packed with hundreds of students. Some dancing in dark corners, while others are drunk and tripping, completely shit-faced.

Kegs are spread out all around while in the middle sits the large boxing ring.

No—strike that. It’s a cage.

It looks scary with its steel barbwire walls, almost representing a death ring. Where only the winner comes out alive. I feel claustrophobic the longer I stare at it.

Only someone insane would willing go inside it, let alone fight.

I glance around at the crowd, my heart beating faster at the thought of Nova jumping out of thin air in my path. Malcolm’s scowl doesn’t disappear, even as his friends come and greet him. The boys slapping him on the back while girls throw themselves at him with their sultry eyes.

Of course, he’s popular.

Meanwhile, I gingerly trail after him while trying my best not to get trampled.

Curious eyes observe me intently, betraying that I’m a new face. The attention making my skin prickle. However, I’m given a wide berth. Mostly because of who I’m with, rather than my own icy expression I could never tame.

“Who do we have here?” a flirty and slightly slurred voice asks. A classically handsome guy appearing from my right, stopping to stand next to Malcolm. “I haven’t seen her around. Fresher?”

Malcolm doesn’t push him away when the stranger rests his arm on his shoulder. Malcolm’s lips curve to the side and before I can beat him to it, he reveals smugly, “No. She’s Nova’s secret fiancée.”

The stranger’s arm slips while his jaw hangs open, eyes widening comically.

I glare at Malcolm, who smirks.

“D’Cruz is engaged?” The friend manages to replace his voice. “Since when? Just yesterday, he was shagging some first year.”

I mask the revulsion at the revelation of his manwhore ways, pissed he’s living his life while I’ve been living mine like a nun for the last two years. Not my fault, though, the guys in school were too scared to talk to me while the ones outside, who found the nerve, would either ghost me or disappear after the first date. Never to be heard from again.

It’s the sole reason I’m holding on to my virginity as if it’s the secret to the holy grail.

I’m not jealous of him being with other women. I never expected him to be loyal or had the intention of being loyal to him myself.

But the knowledge that our forced engagement hasn’t disrupted his lifestyle at all is arousing the vengeful need inside me to get even. Our relationship might be a contract, but hell if he’s going to have more power.

Back home, guys were aware of my last name, but here I’m just another girl.

It’s freeing. Exhilarating. Full of adventurous possibilities.

And the only thing I’m going to say goodbye to when I leave London will be my virginity. I have no grand desire of saving it for the right man or my future husband.

I’ll be damned if Nova gets to claim me.

Malcolm’s drunk friend continues talking, not the least bit bothered he shouldn’t blurt something like that out in the open. What if I had actually been in love with Nova—insert vomit—this would’ve been a shitty way to get my heart broken.

“But is she off-limits or not?”

“No girl is fucking your drunk ass, Hunter. Certainly not Nova’s fiancée.”

“I have a name and it’s not Nova’s fiancée,” I snap. Both of them turn to me. “Seriously, what the hell is every man’s problem in saying a girl’s name right. It’s not sexy or that hard.”

If anyone had a doubt I didn’t belong here, my accent has fixed it.

“Blimey, she’s sassy,” Hunter mutters in awe.

I look him up and down before retorting, “And yes, I’m fucking off-limits to you.”

“Why? You loyal to D’Cruz?”

“No. Because misogynistic men aren’t my type.”

“Nova wouldn’t let you touch her anyways,” says Malcolm. “The bloody bastard has been hiding her existence for the last three years.”

I glare, not correcting him that it’s two years. “Nova is not the boss of me.”

“If you say so.” His tone is sarcastic.

Exasperated with them, I turn and say behind my back, “I’m getting a drink.”

“Don’t get lost,” warns Malcolm.

The alcohol-filled table near me is too crowded, so I stroll to the next, which is on the opposite end. There is still no sign of Nova, which is a blessing, but nevertheless, I want to stay closer to Malcolm. He’s my ride home and the only person I know.

I eye a bottle of vodka. Snagging it, I pour it into one of the red cups on the side and mix it with Sprite. Twisting around, I take a healthy sip while searching for Malcolm. Even though I’m not short, people here are quite tall. I stalk in the direction I came, only for the sudden darkness to swallow us whole.

There’s a pin-drop silence.

Someone bumps into me and I audibly gasp when bright lights, almost blinding me, illuminate the cage.

It appears even more sinister and seedy.

The crowd’s attention is riveted to it, some aggressively pushing aside each other to reach the front. The anticipation of the upcoming fight thrums in the air while the boys start to pump their fists toward the sky, chanting to begin the match.

The announcer enters the cage, his shaggy blond hair shining under the flickering lights.

“It’s time!” he shouts. “Who’s ready?”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

“Fighting tonight for the Savages is Bryant.”

Cheers go around as a huge, bulky, and a beast of a guy storms into the cage from my right. His body oiled up as he eyes the crowd with a menacing glare, flexing his muscles. I can only imagine what the other fighter is going to look like. Although, this guy looks like he could beat anybody into a pulp.

“Our next opponent, fighting for one final time for the Hellions, is our very own favorite,” introduces the announcer, his deep voice raising goosebumps as he builds the anticipation. “The undefeated Nova D’Cruz.”

My. Heart. Drops.

My lungs suddenly not breathing enough oxygen.

The world vanishing around me.

Meanwhile, the crowd goes berserk when Nova is introduced. The screams so loud, it’s deafening. His popularity distinctive, just like it was in our high school. Why did I assume it would be different here? My fiancé is well-versed in amassing his fan following.

Yet I’m in disbelief, replaceing it extremely hard to believe Nova fights in an underground and very illegal boxing ring. Let alone digest he hasn’t lost a single match.

And then he enters the cage.

Stealing the rest of my air.

An aggressive and savage beast of a warrior.

He saunters to the center in all his half-naked and muscular glory, towering over the other two like a dark Greek god. Confident and graceful. I gulp past the sudden dryness in my throat, slowly coming to my senses as I study him, seeing him after almost a year.

Looking nothing like the boy I remember.

He’s all man, carved from stone.

Broad shoulders taper into muscled pecs to a chiseled set of eight-pack abs, each distinctive and hard. The small trail of hair leading to the deep V of his hips and into a lean waist. My eyes—which suddenly have a mind of their own—travel lower to his loose black shorts, hanging just above his knees.

The rest of him is just as perfectly built.

When did he get so ripped? Or was he always hiding all of that underneath his clothes?

I reluctantly pull my gaze up before my mind conjures a mental image of him naked. Wondering if he’ll look better without anything hindering my view. Or if height does in fact have any correlation to a man’s size.

It’s a dangerous territory I cannot travel into.

Fuck… I couldn’t possibly be drunk after one tiny sip. Right?

Messy hair falls on his forehead, which he always keeps pushed back. If I didn’t despise him so much, I might even say he looks dreamy. That chilling and angry expression… Every woman’s kryptonite. Wet dream. Spank bank material.

Stop it, Rosa.

Unlike his opponent, Nova doesn’t engage with the audience that is chanting his name like a prayer. His attention is locked tight on his huge rival, yet Nova is the one who looks terrifying with his iconic and seething calmness.

I’m oddly mesmerized.

Meanwhile, I’m so lost checking him out, distracted by his sinew and unbelievably corded muscles, that I miss half of what the speaker says and only catch him at the end yelling, “Let’s go!”

Without preamble, the fight begins.

Both the players circle each other. Nova light on his feet as he toys with the other man, coming in close and then ducking at the last moment when Bryant attempts a punch him. He does it again and again, until his opponent’s patience snaps and he raises his hand to strike, giving Nova exactly what he wanted.

Nova dodges to the left, deflects, and delivers two quick punches. One to the face and the other to the gut. His speed like a ninja, that Bryant doesn’t even see it coming.

The cheers ring around as Bryant staggers on his feet. Whirling around with a roar, he attacks Nova, who isn’t even sweating and is still focused. A sharp glint darkens his gaze, revealing his true passion for the sport.

I finally realize why he’s indomitable.

The moment he entered, he was dominating the whole arena.

Among the sea of masses, the tension rises and so does the palpable hunger for blood and violence.

I’m not a fan of either but sports like this get my heart pumping. Watching him move lethally in the cage has me on the edge. I won’t lie that I might even be wishing to see Nova get hit in his smug face, once or twice. It will make my entire night.

Hell, the entire trip, worth it.

A group gets in front of me, obscuring my view, and just then the crowd roars. Pushing past them with all my might while they curse at me, I somehow manage to squeeze my way to the front.

“Oh fuck!” I gasp at the sight. I’m so close I could put my fingers through the small holes of the cage.

Nova has Bryant on the ground, holding him down with his arm wrapped around his neck in a headlock. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, eyes unbelievably dark. While his rival is struggling to get the upper hand, scratching Nova’s arms.

I can make out a little blood pouring out from the scratches.

Just then, a body slams into mine, followed by an angry voice. “Move out of my way, bitch.”

The worst thing happens.

Nova’s violent gaze collides with mine.

I stagger back when he blinks. Once. Twice. Before his gaze narrows into slits.

That one split second ruins everything. Because Bryant uses Nova’s momentary distraction against him by flipping him over. I yelp when he lands a punch square against Nova’s jaw. The hit causes his forehead to smash against the bars of the cage, causing a second gnash on his forehead.

Blood oozes from the cut in his lip as well as the one on his head.

Yet his expression is thunderous and locked on mine.

The angry dude behind me loses his patience when I stay rooted to the spot and takes ahold of my arm. He yanks so hard that I lose my balance and crash into people on my side. Pissed at the stranger’s audacity, all my defense classes kick in as I face him and twist his arm, about to knee him in the balls.

But one minute, he’s standing in front of me.

The next—he’s gone.

When I look down, he’s lying flat on the ground and passed the fuck out. I’m too stunned to react at what just happened when I take in the sudden quietness in the room. Everyone’s attention locked on me.

Sharply turning to my right, I raise my gaze at my savior and am about to pass out myself.

It’s none other than my six-foot-four beast of a fiancé breathing down on me.

While behind him, his opponent is being dragged out of the cage, unconscious.

When the fuck did he do that? And did he jump over the cage to get to me? And why won’t everyone stop looking at—

My world tilts as I’m thrown over a massive shoulder like a sack of potatoes. My hands clash against naked, sweaty, and warm skin as I’m carried away on Nova’s shoulder. Upside down, I can only hold on and pray he doesn’t drop me on my head.

Who the hell does he think he is? Meanwhile, the crowd parts for him like the Red Sea. Their amused and heated stares digging into my backside. Thank fuck I didn’t wear a skirt.

“Nova!” I shout. “Put me down, you brute.”

He doesn’t listen or whisper so much as a word. So, I try kicking him.

“You’re making a scene,” I grumble to him. “Nova!”

Spank. Spank. Spank.

No. Fucking. Way.

I’m so going to kill him.