Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother - Chapter 166

Chapter 166: Chapter 166
Seraphina’s POV

“I knew you’d call eventually. They always do.”

The smugness in Rico’s voice made something cold and angry twist in my gut.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I snapped. “I’m calling because I have questions. That’s all.”

“Fair enough.” He sounded amused. “Ask away.”

I paced my tiny apartment, my free hand clenched into a fist. “This underground fighting thing. How dangerous are we talking?”

“Dangerous enough to be interesting. Safe enough that most fighters walk away in one piece.”

“Most?” My voice went up an octave. “What about the ones who don’t?”

“Injuries happen. Broken bones, concussions, the occasional knockout that requires medical attention.” He paused. “But we have doctors on site. Good ones. And insurance.”

“I want to see it first,” I said. “The venue. A fight. Everything. Before I make any decisions.”

Silence on the other end. Then Rico laughed.

“Smart girl. I like that. Most people are too desperate to ask questions.”

“I’m desperate,” I admitted. “But I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Papers rustled in the background. “Alright. There’s a fight tomorrow night. Nine PM. You can come watch, see what you’d be getting into. No commitment.”

“Where?”

He gave me an address in the industrial district. “Look for the blue door. There’ll be a guy named Tommy outside. Tell him you’re my guest.”

“I’ll be there,” I said, and hung up before he could say anything else.

—

I stood at the bus stop, staring down the street at abandoned warehouses and broken streetlights, seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me here.

A text from Mr. Peterson lit up my phone: *”11 hours until eviction. Hope you’re packing.”*

I shoved the phone back in my pocket and started walking.

The address Rico had given me was three blocks down, tucked between two buildings that looked like they’d been condemned sometime in the last decade. The street was empty except for a few cars that probably cost more than my yearly salary.

The blue door stood out like a beacon. And beside it, exactly as promised, was Tommy.

He was huge. Not just tall—massive. The kind of size that made you think twice about everything you’d ever done wrong in your life.

“Help you?” His voice was surprisingly gentle for someone who looked like he could bench press a truck.

“Rico invited me. To watch the fights.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change. “Name?”

“Sera.”

He pulled out his phone, checked something, then nodded. “Go on in. Straight down the hall, through the double doors. Rico’s expecting you.”

The hallway was cleaner than I’d expected. White walls, fluorescent lighting, the distant thump of bass-heavy music. It could have been any office building if not for the sound growing louder with each step.

Music. Shouting. And something else that made my stomach clench.

The wet, brutal sound of fists hitting flesh.

My hand trembled as I reached for the handle.

I pushed the doors open.

The noise hit me first. A wall of sound so loud it felt physical—music blaring, people screaming, the referee’s whistle cutting through it all like a knife.

Then the lights. Professional rigs hanging from the ceiling, casting everything in harsh whites and dramatic shadows.

And finally, the ring.

It sat in the center of the warehouse like an altar to violence. Professional ropes, padded corners, bloodstains on the white canvas that someone hadn’t quite scrubbed out.

Two women were fighting.

No—fighting was too gentle a word. They were destroying each other.

The blonde was bigger, maybe five-foot-nine with muscles that suggested serious gym time. Her opponent was smaller, darker, quicker. They circled each other like predators, and when they collided it was with a force that made me flinch.

Blood sprayed from the blonde’s nose. She staggered backward, and the crowd erupted.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I spun around to find Rico standing beside me, his eyes fixed on the ring with the kind of reverence most people reserved for art museums.

“Beautiful?” I choked out. “That woman is bleeding!”

“That woman is making three thousand dollars tonight,” Rico said calmly. “The winner takes home five.”

Five thousand dollars.

My brain stuttered trying to process that number. Five thousand dollars. For one fight.

In the ring, the smaller woman landed a vicious elbow strike to the blonde’s ribs. The crack echoed through the warehouse, and the blonde went down hard.

The blonde rolled to her feet, blood streaming from her nose, her eyes wild with something that looked like rage and pain and determination all mixed together.

The crowd was on their feet now, screaming encouragement and curses in equal measure. I scanned the audience and felt my stomach drop.

The smaller woman drove her knee into the blonde’s solar plexus. The blonde doubled over, gasping, and took a punch to the face that snapped her head back.

More blood. So much blood.

The blonde swung wildly, catching her opponent in the jaw. Now both women were bleeding, both staggering, both fighting like their lives depended on it.

Maybe they did.

“Round!” The referee stepped in, separating them. “One minute break!”

Both fighters retreated to their corners. Medical staff rushed in with water and towels, trying to clean them up enough to continue.

“Three rounds,” Rico explained. “Three minutes each, one minute break between. Unless someone gets knocked out or submits.”

The smaller woman was spitting blood into a bucket. Her corner man was shouting instructions I couldn’t hear over the crowd noise. She nodded, took a drink of water, and stood up.

Ready for more.

“Time!”

They met in the center of the ring like a car crash. Brutal. Relentless. The kind of violence that should have been illegal.

The blonde caught the smaller woman with an uppercut that lifted her completely off her feet. She hit the canvas hard, and for a horrible moment, I thought she was dead.

But she pushed herself up. Shaking her head like a dog. Blood and sweat flying.

The crowd went insane.

“See that?” Rico’s voice was full of admiration. “That’s heart. That’s what separates good fighters from great ones. The ability to take a hit and keep going.”

The smaller woman exploded forward with a combination that drove the blonde backward into the ropes. Left, right, left, right—her fists were blurs.

The blonde tried to cover up, but it was too late. The smaller woman landed a spinning kick to the side of her head that made a sound like a baseball bat hitting concrete.

The blonde went down and didn’t get up.

“Knockout!” the referee shouted, raising the smaller woman’s hand.

The winner stood there, blood streaming from her mouth and nose, one eye already swelling shut. But she was grinning. Grinning like she’d just won the lottery.

Because she had.

I watched as medical staff helped the unconscious blonde out of the ring. Watched as the winner collected her money with shaking, bloody hands. Watched as the crowd slowly filtered out, already placing bets for next week.

“It’s barbaric,” I whispered.

“It’s profitable,” Rico corrected. “That girl who just won? Six months ago, she was sleeping in her car. Now she’s got an apartment, a reliable income, and enough money saved to go back to school.”

“So?” Rico’s voice cut through my spiral. “What do you say? You in or out?”

My hands were shaking. My heart was racing. Every logical part of my brain was screaming at me to run.

But I was so tired of running. Maybe I was weak. But maybe I could become strong.

I turned to look at Rico. At this stranger who was offering me a chance to fight my way out of homelessness. It was dangerous and crazy and probably the worst decision I’d ever made.

“I’m in,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake at all. “I’ll do it.”