Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother

158 Chapter 158

Seraphina’s POV 1

The sound of slow, deliberate clapping cut through the night air like a blade, making my blood freeze in my

veins.

| scrambled to my feet, my back pressed against the brick wall, every muscle in my body coiled for another fight.

My hands were still shaking from adrenaline, but | forced them steady as | scanned the mouth of the alley.

“Who's there?” My voice cout stronger than | felt. “Show yourself!”

The clapping stopped. Footsteps echoed off the narrow walls, slow and measured, as a figure emerged from the

shadows at the alley entrance. A man in a long coat and baseball cap, his face hidden in darkness.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Another predator. Another threat.

“Stay back!” | shouted, raising my fists in what I hoped looked like a threatening stance. “You didn’t see what

happened to your buddy? He's probably still running! Don’t cany closer unless you want the same

treatment!”

The man stopped walking, but instead of backing away, he started laughing. A rich, amused sound that echoed

off the alley walls.

“My buddy?” His voice carried a slight accent | couldn't place. “I think you've got the wrong idea, sweetheart.”

He reached up and pulled off his cap, revealing dark hair and a face that looked more intrigued than threatening.

Even in the dim streetlight, | could see he was smiling.

I rolled my eyes, my terror transforming into disgust. “Oh, perfect. So you're not a predator, you're just a coward.

You watched that whole thing happen and didn't lift a finger to help.”

His smile widened. “Maybe | am a coward,” he admitted with a shrug. “Or maybe | was about to step in when |

realized you had the

situation well in hand.”

“Bullshit.” | kept my fists raised, not trusting him for a second. “What do you want?”

Instead of answering, he reached into his coat pocket. | tensed, ready to run or fight, but all he pulled out was a

small white card.

“The name's Rico,” he said, holding the card out toward me. “And I'm impressed.”

“Impressed by what?” | didn’t move to take the card.

“Your technique.” His eyes glittered with something that looked like excitement. “That knee strike was textbook.

The leg sweep was

perfectly executed.”

My skin crawled. This man had watchedfight for my life and he was analyzing it like skind of

performance.

“You're sick,” | spat.

“I'm practical.” He took a step closer, and | tensed again. But he stopped just outside what | considered my

danger zone. “I'm also offering

you an opportunity.”

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“I'm not interested in whatever twisted-"

“Underground fighting,” he interrupted. “Private matches. Good money. Very good money.”

| stared at him like he'd grown a second head. “You wantto fight people?”

“I want you to get paid for something you're clearly good at.” He gestured toward the spot where my attacker

had been bleeding on the pavement. “Look, I've been in this business for fifteen years. | can spot talent when |

see it. And you, sweetheart, have talent.”

“I don’t know how to fight,” I said automatically. “What you just saw was pure luck and desperation.”

“Was it?” Rico tilted his head, studyinglike | was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

My throat went dry. I'd been trained at the wolf pack facility, but | couldn't exactly explain that to a human

stranger.

“Anyone can get lucky once,” | said weakly.

“Maybe. But | don’t think this was luck.” He held out the card again. “I think you've got training. Military? Martial

arts? Doesn't matter where you learned it. What matters is that you've got the instincts and the technique.”

| finally took the card, more to get him to back off than out of any real interest. It was simple, black text on white

cardstock: *Rico Santos. Talent Acquisition.*

“What exactly are you acquiring talent for?” | asked.

“Private fights. Exclusive clientele. Big payouts.” His smile turned predatory. “Female fighters are especially

popular. Clean up well, put on a good show, you could make more in one night than most people make in a

month.”

The thought of deliberately putting myself in danger, of fighting strangers for entertainment, made my stomach

turn. But another part of me-the practical part that was counting pennies and rationing instant noodles-perked

up at the mention of money.

“I told you, | can barely fight,” | said, but I didn’t throw the card away.

“I told you, | can teach you.” Rico’s voice took on the tone of a salesman closing a deal. “I work with all my

fighters. By the tI'm done with you, you'll be a machine.”

“I don’t want to be a machine,” | said. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Fair enough. But being left alone costs money. Rent, food, basic survival-it all costs money. And judging by that

grocery bag...” He

glanced at my scattered purchases with obvious sympathy. “You could use the income.”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

“Look,” Rico said, his voice gentling. “I'm not asking you to decide right now. Take the card. Think about it. If you

change your mind, call

a,

“What if | don’t want to call you?”

“Then you don’t. No harm, no foul.” He started backing toward the alley entrance. “But if you do decide you're

interested, | can promise

you this-you’ll never have to worry about men like that again.”

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