Page 59 of Butterfly Assassin
Aaron looked down at the text on his phone detailing the fight venue and the time he should arrive.
He wasn’t ready. Wasn’t in the right headspace for fighting.
And he knew exactly why that was.
The moment he chose to quit, he’d lost that edge. He’d accepted that he didn’t need to exercise such rigid control over his body, and now he was struggling to get it back.
“Fuck.” Setting his phone on the bathroom counter, Aaron rested his hands on the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Apart from that one scar, there were no marks on his skin. Would anyone think it odd that he had no yellowing bruises lingering after his last fight? Would they be able to tell in the dim lighting of wherever they ended up tonight? Fluorescent lights always did weird things to his skin tone anyway. Maybe he’d get away with it.
But maybe not.
With a resigned sigh, Aaron flicked his claws out and cut his cheek, hopefully in the same place Crossford had struck him. He let it heal enough so it looked old, then forced his body to stop. It hurt for a second, made him grit his teeth as he fought against his body’s natural instinct to heal itself, but then weeks of training kicked in and he let out a shaky breath, gripping the sink tight.
The bruises would have to be painted on. The make-up he used was expensive, designed to stay perfect for hours. He just needed it to stay in place until whoever he was fighting made new ones.
Thirty minutes later, he was done and ready to go. Harry and Michael should already be there by now. As had become typical in the last couple of months or so, Aaron’s was the final fight of the evening. There would be at least one or two fights before him, maybe more, depending on how many rounds they lasted, of course, but Aaron fought no matter what.
He grabbed his bag and his keys and headed out. They weren’t meeting up at Lycanis tonight—couldn’t take Michael there—they were all coming back to Aaron’s flat instead for a quick recap of the night’s events before heading home. No point driving there since hopefully he’d be getting a lift back with Harry, so Aaron walked the two minutes down the road to the tube station.
The place Smith had found for tonight was five stops and one change away. No one looked Aaron’s way as the train swayed along the tracks. The people in his carriage were either on their way out for the night, chatting excitedly, or half-asleep as they made their way home. Either way, no one was particularly interested in him.
When he arrived at the empty building, Aaron stopped, searching past the scaffolding on the front of it for a way in. He hoped the interior was in better shape. Having a building fall down on him wasn’t part of his plans for tonight.
A dim light came from down the left-hand side of the building, and Aaron followed it, surprised to see Blake standing just inside the doorway. By this time of night, he was usually guarding his boss.
Blake nodded in greeting. “Bass.”
The abbreviated form of his stupid fucking nickname grated on him like always. And just like every other time, Aaron smiled like he didn’t give a shit. “Blake.” Aaron nodded back.
“A few of Smith’s friends are in tonight,” Blake said, still blocking enough of the doorway that Aaron couldn’t slip past him.
“Oh?” This was new. Usually Aaron only uttered a few words to whoever was on the door.
“He’d like you to make it last tonight. Give everyone their money’s worth for a change. Your fights are getting a little predictable.”
Aaron bristled. “I’m not going to—”
“So he was thinking maybe go six rounds this time.” Blake kept eye contact as he talked over Aaron, smugness radiating off him as though he knew Aaron was in no position to argue if he wanted to continue to fight.
If only you knew how wrong you are.
Aaron would like nothing better than to tell Blake that Smith could go fuck himself and then turn and walk away.
But he had to fight. He’d made a deal with the SCTF and he wouldn’t go back on it. He wouldn’t embarrass his alpha like that.
“Fine,” he gritted out. “I’m sure whoever I’m fighting tonight will be more of a challenge than my last one.” Aaron felt guilty referring to Crossford like that, but it was what Blake expected.
“Speaking of Cross…” Blake moved closer, and Aaron held his ground. “Have the police been to see you?”
“Why would they?” Aaron’s heart kicked into overdrive as he wondered what Blake could possibly know.
“You know he’s dead, right?”
“Yeah, I saw the news.”
“Well, it said he was killed in the early hours of Saturday morning.”
“And?”
