Page 190 of Romancing in Rot

He sees me looking, and his face drains.

The crowd shifts.

Russ takes a step back and laughs. “Sorry. I’m off-limits.”

Bryant follows my finger and cocks his brow. “Who said that?”

“No,” Russ says again, louder now, worry cracking through his voice. “I’m not one of your fighters.”

Bryant smiles. “I said he could choose anyone.”

“Fuck that.”

Clair’s voice cuts through the court, raw and furious. “I’d say you earned the promotion.”

A murmur rolls through the crowd.

Russ’s eyes flick to her, full of hate.

I take one step toward him.

His attention snaps back to me.

That’s right.

Don’t fucking look at her again.

Bryant looks like this is the best entertainment he has had all week. “A chosen opponent is a chosen opponent.”

Russ looks around for help, but no one moves, because men like him always expect someone else to save them from consequences.

I pull my bow from my shoulder and hand it to Jacob.

He doesn’t take it at first. He searches my face. “Brother.”

I press the bow into his hands.

He swallows and takes it.

Then I strip off the rifle, the knife from my belt, and the hatchet. One by one, I hand over every weapon I want to use on Russ.

Every weapon except me.

The crowd quiets as I step into the center court. Blood sticks to the soles of my boots as I shake out my arms.

Clair stands in the middle of the arena, bruised and bleeding and still the strongest damn thing in this place.

I walk to her first.

She doesn’t tell me not to do this. Her eyes shine, but her chin stays lifted. When I stand in front of her, I brush my thumb over the cleanest part of her cheek and lean down to kiss her, gentle enough to avoid the split in her lip.

The crowd boos.

Let them.

Clair squeezes my hand and whispers against my mouth, “I love you.”

I sign, “I love you too.”