Mated to My Fiancé’s Alpha King Brother novel Chapter 158

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.

I 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 I forced them steady as I scanned the mouth of the alley.

“Who’s there?” My voice came out stronger than I 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!” I 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 come any 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 I 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, I 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 I am a coward,” he admitted with a shrug. “Or maybe I was about to step in when I realized you had the

situation well in hand.”

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

Instead of answering, he reached into his coat pocket. I 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?” I 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 watched me fight for my life and he was analyzing it like some kind of performance.

“You’re sick,” I spat.

“I’m practical.” He took a step closer, and I tensed again. But he stopped just outside what I considered my danger zone. “I’m also offering

you an opportunity.”

10:44

113

“I’m not interested in whatever twisted-”

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

I stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You want me to 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. I can spot talent when I 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, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

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

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

“Maybe. But I 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.”

I 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?” I 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, I can barely fight,” I said, but I didn’t throw the card away.

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify