The Fight In Us: A Brother's Best Friend College Romance (The Four Book 4) by Becca Steele (read me a book txt) 📗

with bated breath as the first two cages were opened and the dogs were herded into the ring, complete with the same kind of collar as the dogs in the previous fight. They lunged at each other, but the men holding them kept them apart as the third dog was pushed into the pit. I kept my camera recording, panning around the area so I could take in as many details as possible, then analyse it later.

Next to me, Winter trembled. “I hate this so much,” she whispered, forcing her eyes onto the crowds, away from the sight of the animals in the pit.

My spine prickled.

Then, the whistle blew.

A large hand clamped over my mouth.

And chaos reigned again.

THIRTY-TWO

“Evening.” Cassius strode up to the guy at the entrance without a care in the world, all confident, careless swagger. Falling in line with him, I let him do the talking.

“Fifty pounds entry fee,” the guy said in a bored voice, holding out his hand. Cassius peeled off a few of the notes Caiden had given him, and the guy shone his torch over them before nodding and stepping aside. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

Then, we were inside.

Cassius spoke out of the side of his mouth, keeping his voice low. “Cade and Z can do the sneaky shit. We’ll hide in plain sight. Keep your hood up. Both of us could be recognised if any of the Alstone lot are here. If anyone does recognise us, we know what to do.”

I gave him a brief nod. We melted into the crowd, outwardly casual, but I knew both of us were on high alert. Cass indicated to a free space close to the fence, and we made our way through the press of bodies.

The whistle sounded to mark the beginning of the fight. Instead of focusing on the two dogs, I scanned the faces of the people across from me. Almost all were men, some in suits despite our shady wasteland location, and others dressed more casually, as I was, in jeans and hoodies. Tugging my hood further over my head, I stared, unseeing, down into the pit, perfecting the look I used to give my English teacher when he started quoting Shakespeare at the class. Seeing, but unseeing, my head a million miles away.

“This is kind of sickening.” Cassius’ voice was so quiet that I would’ve missed it, if he hadn’t pressed his mouth right up to my ear, all wet and warm.

“You know what’s sickening?” I returned the favour, turning my head to him. “You practically kissing my ear.”

“You fucking wish.” And just because he was Cassius, he stuck his tongue out and licked my earlobe.

“Mate! What the fuck?” I spun around to stare at him. “Seriously?”

His shoulders shook as he tried to suppress his laughter. “You should see your face right now.”

“Cass,” I warned, my voice low, and he glanced up, realising we’d attracted the attention of at least two other guys in our immediate vicinity.

His gaze snapped to the dogs, his humour immediately dying away. “Bite the bastard,” he muttered, loud enough for the guy next to him to hear and voice his approval for that statement. I breathed out in relief—his questionable sense of humour wouldn’t go unnoticed here. We watched in silence for a while, or gave the impression of watching, at least. The fight was over quickly, though, so we had a reprieve.

“Who the fuck is that?” We both turned to stare at the man who’d climbed on top of a podium to address the crowd.

Not really a podium, but a large metal crate. Whatever, it put him on a level above the rest of us. Dressed in a black-on-black suit, with a long black hooded coat that almost looked like a cloak, he appeared intimidating and almost inhuman. The hood obscured most of his face, but when he turned slightly, I caught a glimpse of grey swept-back hair underneath.

Martin Smith.

Yes.

Digging my phone from my pocket, I shielded it between my palms and hit the camera button, pointing it directly at him. Would this be enough evidence for my dad? Probably not, but I continued to take photos before I switched to the video function.

I nudged Cassius to draw his attention to where Martin Smith was standing, and he gave a subtle indication of his head to let me know he’d seen him, too.

Another hooded guy across the pit caught my eye, weaving in and out of the crowds with practised ease, and I watched money exchanging hands from the people crowding around the pit barrier.

From his position on the podium, Smith tilted his head in the direction of the guy and received a subtle nod in response.

Who were they to each other?

Was this the Thom that had been mentioned in the message from Martin Smith’s phone?

I had no answers, and for now, all I could do was bide my time and hope that we stumbled across something useful.

“West!” Cassius spoke urgently in my ear, and now there was no humour in his voice. My eyes flew to his, and he mouthed the words, We need to leave, now.

Nodding, I stepped backwards, glad that the spectators behind me were more interested in getting a good view than why I was moving in the opposite direction to the fight. Cassius followed in my wake, affecting his casual, confident persona, and I attempted to do the same even though my heart was in my fucking throat. I didn’t even know what he’d seen, all I knew was the urgency in his tone that meant we had to get out of there right now.

We broke out of the crowd, and I paused for a second to get my bearings. Cassius didn’t let me stop, gripping my elbow and moving in the direction of the exit.

The security guy barely spared us a glance, too busy looking at his phone. To be fair, he was probably more interested in who was coming in than who was going out.

When