Gino and Tycho released Tragos' arms, and as much as he wanted to throw himself at Barak, he didn't. Ares was here and the entire dynamic had changed. Tragos straightened himself up, waiting, watching. Body shaking with adrenaline and anger. He inched closer to Marcie, not looking at her, just putting his body between her and Barak.
Barak looked Ares up and down. Here it was, the confrontation that had been building for months, starting with - as he’d said - that first night Ares bought that bitch into the arena. Tragos’ initiation. A night when, by rights, Tragos’ opponent Andre should have won. Tragos had yielded. There was supposed to be no mercy, no weakness, and Ares had slipped up and shown some by laughing, by letting Tragos live. Barak held his brother to the same standards he held himself - no fucking weakness would be tolerated. He’d thought Ares held the same ideals. But that night had sewn the seeds of doubt.
"Think?" Barak spat the word out, buckling up his pants again, but fully fucking committed to his own cause as he sneered at Ares with gritted teeth. They were the same height, and Barak had spent years moulding himself in Ares’ image, years building his strength to - he believed - match him. "I fucking know it."