He was red-faced and gasping, meaty fists pounding upward at the man trapping him in the hold. Even from where she stood, Skyler saw the veins bulging in the captive man’s forehead. Two men were locked together in the corner of the cage, one curled over on the mat and locked into submission by the one above him. It boasted ominous chain-link walls, and a large fighting surface covered with faint reddish stains. And almost everyone was screaming their lungs out, all eyes focused on the cage in the center of the room. Some women wore sneakers, others wore heels. Some people were covered in tattoos, some weren’t.
The hipsters looked bored by it all-they were probably there ironically, anyway-and Skyler also glimpsed several groups of businessmen in the bleachers. The Irish folks were easy to spot thanks to their thick brogues and the pints of Guinness in their hands. Bleachers spanned three of the arena’s walls, while the fourth housed a bar area with a mile-long line. Two minutes later they strode into the building, and Skyler was astonished by the number of people crammed inside of it. After he’d killed the engine, he hopped out and rounded the vehicle to open Skyler’s door. Gage pulled into the jam-packed parking lot in front of the sprawling gray building and drove up to a row of reserved spaces. What he’d referred to as the arena ended up being an enormous warehouse in the city’s west end. His hand rested on her thigh during the entire drive across town. She was fully aware that she wasn’t supermodel-gorgeous, but gosh darn it, Gage made her feel like she was. His appreciative gaze did wonders for her ego.
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