Chapter 242: "Let Them Fight"

The weapon the referee had passed to the fighter was a small folding pocketknife, no longer than a man’s palm. Concealed inside his clenched fist, it was almost impossible to see, particularly under the arena’s uneven lighting.

The fighter kept his fingers tightly wrapped around it as he watched the woman in white dispatch another of his companions across the cage.

The blade was small, but it would be enough. If he could drive it into the right part of her body, the blood loss should weaken her, leaving the remaining men free to break enough bones to ensure she never fought again.

’I’ve gotta stab this bitch!’

Despite the hatred, he had no intention of giving her a clear view of what he was carrying. Instead, he moved behind two of his larger teammates, keeping them between himself and Aren while he waited for an opportunity to strike.

Across the cage, Aren had just evaded another series of attacks intended to force her into a corner. She caught hold of the metal fencing and used it to swing herself upward, driving a powerful kick into the side of the nearest fighter’s head.

"Argh!"

The man crumpled into one of his teammates, sending both off balance.

Aren landed and immediately advanced on another opponent, preparing to knock him unconscious when something farther across the cage caught her attention.

One of the remaining fighters had stopped attacking. Unlike his companions, who continued charging at her with increasing desperation, he was keeping his distance behind the others. He seemed to be watching her movements carefully, his expression unusually calculating.

Aren caught only a brief glimpse before another punch demanded her attention, but the difference in his behavior was difficult to ignore.

’Why has that one stopped attacking?’

She wasn’t particularly concerned about the answer yet. For now, there were still opponents to incapacitate, and she had no desire to prolong the match unnecessarily.

Another fighter aimed a heavy kick at her leg. She shifted aside just in time, letting his foot pass close enough to stir the feathers of her costume.

When she turned, however, she found that the man she’d noticed earlier was suddenly much closer.

He was moving quickly now.

As he closed the distance and thrust his fist toward her midsection, something metallic flashed beneath the arena lights.

Aren’s brows rose slightly.

’A pocketknife?’

The blade was short, but there was no mistaking its purpose. Its sharpened tip protruded from the man’s grip, aimed directly at her abdomen.

’Where did he get that?’

Under the circumstances, however, Aren found the development rather encouraging.

Until now, she’d only been able to infer their intentions from the way they targeted her limbs. A concealed weapon was considerably more useful evidence.

’Good.’

’They’ve finally escalated.’

She didn’t have time to celebrate. The fighter was already driving the weapon toward her, clearly intending to bury it deeply enough to damage an organ.

Whoosh!

Aren reacted immediately, stepping back just as the blade reached her.

The stab missed by a narrow margin.

Her sudden movement caught the fighter off guard, and his momentum carried him farther forward than he’d intended.

"Die, bitch!" he shouted desperately. "Just fucking die!"

He struggled to recover his balance, then lunged again with considerably less restraint.

Aren had no intention of complying.

She stepped back again, avoiding the second thrust, but this time her retreat brought her directly against the cage wall.

’Oh, no.’

There was no room to retreat farther.

The man seemed to recognize the opportunity at the same moment. He drove toward her, bringing the knife forward again.

Whoosh!

Aren moved before the blade reached her.

Her knee shot upward into his wrist, knocking his weapon hand off course. She seized his wrist immediately and twisted it hard enough to break his grip.

"Hargh—"

The knife slipped from his fingers.

Aren caught it before it hit the floor.

In the same movement, she reversed the blade and drove it into the exposed side of his rib cage.

Schwck!

"AAAAARGHHH!"

The man screamed as the knife pierced his flesh. He lurched toward her, his face contorted with pain, but Aren planted her foot against his midsection and kicked him away.

Schluck!

The knife came free as his body was forced backward. Blood spilled from the wound, splashing onto the cage floor as he collapsed, screaming.

"HARGH! HARGH! AAAARGH!"

Aren raised the bloodied knife high enough for the surrounding spectators to see.

"There’s a weapon!" she shouted, turning toward the remaining fighters. "One of these men brought a weapon into the cage!"

Several of the fighters froze.

Their companion’s attack had failed so completely that, for a moment, they seemed unable to decide what frightened them more: the bleeding man on the floor or the fact that the woman they’d been ordered to cripple was now holding his knife.

Aren gave them little time to decide.

She advanced before they could regroup, the knife held securely in her hand. Her expression had grown colder, stripped of the polite composure she’d maintained throughout the opening exchanges.

Flash!

The remaining fighters recoiled at the sight of the blade as she closed the distance, but they were too slow. The knife struck, drawing another spray of blood.

Splurt!

"HAAAARGH!"

The effect on the spectators was immediate.

Men who’d spent the evening shouting insults and demanding violence fell abruptly silent. For several seconds, the noise that had accompanied the match seemed to drain out of the crowd as people tried to understand what they were seeing.

High in the elevated seating, Jeremiah recognized his opportunity.

"Weapon exposed," he said into his earpiece. "Demand that they stop the fight. Move now."

Among the spectators surrounding the cage, his men received the instruction. Each gave a brief acknowledgment before moving through the crowd toward the fencing.

"THERE’S A KNIFE!" one shouted, raising his voice above the startled murmurs.

Another pointed furiously toward the cage.

"THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES! STOP THE FUCKING FIGHT!"

The accusations finally stirred the spectators out of their stunned silence. They looked at one another, their faces still taut with bewilderment.

"What the fuck just happened?"

"A fucking knife? Where’d that come from?"

"Did Lombardi bring it?"

"No, you idiot! I saw that guy try to stab her! She took it off him!"

"Then stop the fucking match!"

"Like hell! Don’t stop it now! Let them fight!"

Within moments, the stunned silence gave way to an even louder uproar.

Some spectators began demanding that the referee end the match immediately. Others, excited by the sight of blood, shouted for the fighters to continue.

"Let them fight!"

"Let the fucking blood spill!"

"No, you fucking sadist!"

"Somebody stop them!"

Arguments broke out among the spectators. Several began shoving one another as they fought for a better view, making the task facing Jeremiah’s men considerably more difficult.

They were already struggling to push through the packed audience, and the sudden surge of movement left them with little room to advance. Every time they gained a few steps toward the cage, another cluster of spectators blocked their way.

To make matters worse, Cavallo’s security personnel reacted almost immediately. Several guards converged around the cage, forming a barrier between the fencing and the increasingly agitated audience.

"Move back!"

"Don’t come any closer!"

"STAY BACK!"

From the elevated seating, Caio and Jordan watched the situation deteriorate with increasing distress. Both had spotted the knife when the fighter attempted to stab Aren, and Jordan had felt his stomach tighten at the sight of the blade heading toward her abdomen.

Now she had the knife, but that brought him little comfort. The entire situation was unraveling, and the referee was doing nothing to stop it.

Caio’s face, meanwhile, had gone cold.

The instant Aren had secured the weapon, he’d turned toward Leo.

"Get down there. Control the crowd. I don’t care what you have to do — get her out of that cage at all costs."

Leo didn’t hesitated.

"Yes, Boss."

He signaled to the other Sartori men and led them down the steps in a disciplined formation.

Jeremiah, who’d heard the entire exchange, turned toward Caio with a faintly amused expression.

"Well, surely that wasn’t necessary," he remarked lightly. "My men are much closer. They can handle the situation."

Caio didn’t look at him. His attention remained on the crowd surrounding the cage, where Jeremiah’s men were still struggling to break through Cavallo’s security.

"Hm." He sounded unimpressed. "Your men don’t seem to be having much luck getting past those guards."