Running Wilde (Wilde Security, #4)

Neither have I.

And it was the last coherent thought he had as Bellisario launched at him. He became a creature of violence, all action and reaction, dodging, blocking, trying to land his own punches. Bellisario was fast. As soon as he blocked a punch on one side, the bastard was landing another somewhere else. Bellisario drove him across the octagon, trying to corner him against the cage.

He recognized the move. Cristiano had tried it on him when they fought. But when he tried to drill his elbow into Bellisario’s spine like he had Cristiano’s, he was blocked. Bellisario hooked a leg around Vaughn’s and, fuck, he was going down. He hit the cage with his back, rattling the links, and bounced. Pain stabbed through his side, but he ignored it and used the momentum of his bounce to find his feet again. He got a fist to the face that rang his bell good, but he was still upright and issued an uppercut that snapped Bellisario’s head back.

Bellisario staggered a few steps away, and the lull gave Vaughn the second he needed to pull his shit back together. Somewhere in the distance, he recognized Cam and Dahlia cheering him on, their voices echoing through the warehouse. With the pain blazing up his ribs and his energy flagging, hearing their voices was exactly the motivation he needed to get his ass back in the fight. He launched at his opponent with a kick. Bellisario blocked and took a swing, a sloppy cross that would have probably been followed by a jab if Vaughn hadn’t caught his arm with the crook of his elbow. He ducked his head and wrapped his arms around Bellisario in a clinch hold. He needed to get the bastard on the goddamn ground.

Bellisario hit the side of the cage and went down but grappled for control, briefly grabbing Vaughn in a chokehold before he was able to slip out. They broke apart and circled each other.

Vaughn swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes and realized it wasn’t only sweat. A gash at his hairline streamed blood, but Bellisario’s chest was heaving, and he had a cut under his eye leaking down his cheek.

Thank fuck Vaughn wasn’t the only one bleeding, because that would have been embarrassing.

Bellisario punched. Vaughn shoved it aside and struck a blow that glanced off Bellisario’s jaw. It didn’t slow him down. He swiped out again, and his fist collided with the bruises along Vaughn’s ribs.

Every molecule of air left Vaughn’s lungs, and pain blinded him. He tried to swing, but Bellisario had dropped and grabbed his leg, yanked it out from under him. He hit the concrete with a bone-rattling force that whited out his vision. Punches rained down, and he had no leverage to hit back. All he could do was block. Protect his face and head. Distantly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard someone screaming his name.

Cam.

His brother was not going to witness his death. No fucking way.

He tried to hook his legs around Bellisario, tried to gain control and switch their positions, but his strength was fading. Bellisario knew his weakness now and was taking full advantage, aiming shots at his sides.

He was losing.

Another voice joined the first. Female. Dahlia. He twisted on the mat and through the flurry of fists, saw her at the door of the cage. She struggled to open it while Tommy was hot on her heels with a gun. He lifted it and brought the butt down on the back of her head. She crumpled.

No!

With a roar, he let the cork pop on the bottled up emotions inside him. Heat flashed through his body, and with the flood of rage and fear and love came strength he didn’t know he had.

He didn’t fucking lose. Not this time. Not ever.



Dahlia crawled to her hands and knees and told herself not to puke as her head spun and multi-colored spots danced through her vision. She felt the sticky heat of Tommy’s body directly behind her, too close, his breath sending cold chills down the back of her neck.

“No interfering,” he sneered.

She struck out but missed since she was seeing two of him. “Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve always wanted. You’ll fuck anything with a cock.” He wrapped an arm around her middle, hauled her upright, and there was no mistaking the lump of his erection when he ground it suggestively against her ass.

A small lump.

Just like the rest of him—small and ugly and not worth her notice. She refused to even acknowledge the little worm and broke out of his grasp. Ignoring her roiling stomach and the pounding in her head, she focused all of her attention on the octagon and the fight still raging inside. She could barely see Vaughn under the onslaught of Giuseppe’s fists, but he was down and there was a lot of blood. Everywhere. Sprayed across the concrete, splatted on Giuseppe’s face and clothes, dripping from his knuckles. So much blood.

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