“You don’t know me,” he says quietly.
He leans in, just a little. “You want to stop girls like Amber from coming to me? Then give them something better.”
That lands like a slap to the face. I don’t hit him. I don’t pull my blade. But I want to.
“Next time you want to accuse me of something,” he says, slipping his phone out of his pocket, “know what you're talking about.”
He walks away without another word, leaving me standing in the street with my fists clenched, and my heart hammering like I just lost round one.
He disappears into the warehouse, the door sealing behind him like the mouth of a beast.
I don’t ride back right away. I just stand there under the cold dulling sky, the scent of sea salt and oil thick in the air, trying to breathe past the rage.
He thought he could question what we do. What I do. Like he knows the cost. And that pisses me off more than anything else.
2
DANTE
Idon’t hand out compliments, but Katana? She’s a fucking storm, the kind that levels cities.
Everyone in this town knows her reputation, ex-military, ice in her veins, loyal to her club like it’s carved into her flesh. But in person, she’s worse… because I didn’t expect her to be beautiful.
She’s not soft, not polished or perfect. No, she’s something else entirely. She’s fire-forged with scars and knives tucked into her smile. The kind of woman who’d rip her own heart out before asking for help.
The Royal Harlots have been circling since I opened my doors. They think I don’t see them spying, but I do. I’ve broken men for less. But I let it slide because of her. She’s the only reason I’ve been watching them as hard as they’ve been watching me.
I’ve seen her more times than I should admit. Caught in the static haze of surveillance footage outside my gym, reflected in mirrors, glimpsed through the blur of rain-streaked windows. Once in the glass at a gas station near her gym. Another time, through a zoom lens, watching her move inside the ring from a busted apartment window across the street.
It started as curiosity but now it’s something else, something uglier. I tell myself I’m studying her, learning how she moves, how she leads. But the truth is, I just want to watch her bleed. To crack her open and see what she’s hiding behind that steel spine and spitfire temper. I want to see how far she bends before she breaks.
I stroll into the warehouse with my fists clenched and her words still landing like punches that almost drew blood.
Your ring is a death sentence.
She meant it. And I felt it. Not because she’s wrong. Hell, I’ve heard worse. It’s because she said it like she knew what kind of damage I cause. Like she’s seen the wreckage and wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from it… or dive into it.
The worst part is, she didn’t flinch. Not once. Most people tremble under that kind of heat. But her? She stood there like she’d been through worse and dared me to try.
I walk through the side door and into the warehouse’s main floor. My jaw is tight, my heart drumming too fast. My head’s a mess. That woman gets under my skin like broken glass.
The last match ended ten minutes ago. The cage still stinks of blood and fear when I walk in. Ridge, one of our new fighters, sits slumped against the ropes, wheezing through a busted lip and holding his ribs. Brick’s standing over him, his face grim.
“The opponent tried to bail mid-match,” he says. “The crowd turned.”
“Is he alive?”
“Barely.” He wouldn’t be the first to not make it out of the ring, and he won’t be the last. Yeah, people get hurt. That’s the nature of it. But at least here, they know the rules going in.
“You want to see him?” Brick asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
I glance at Ridge again. His eyes are dazed, panic still wet on his skin. He looks young. Too young. He’ll either crawl back intothe ring next week, or vanish. That’s how it works. The ones who survive get meaner. The ones who don’t get forgotten.
Brick raises a brow but he knows better than to argue.
I jerk my chin toward the hallway. “Got something I want you to see.”
