“No need to apologize. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” My voice deepens,betraying my inner fight.
Her back straightens—the smirk on her face is a clear challenge. “Is that a threat,Boss?”
“What if it is?”
Her tongue darts out, tracing her bottom lip. Taunting me. “I don’t do well with threats. Even if they’re empty.”
I tilt my head. “What makes you think my threats are empty?”
Zahra sucks in a breath, but fear is nowhere to be found in her eyes. Instead, it's filled with…intrigue. Like she wants nothing more than to see how far she can push me until I fully lose it. I drag my hands down my slacks, in a feeble attempt to ground myself. To say she’s thrown me completely off my axis would be an understatement and from the look on her face, she’s more than aware.
“Finish your plate,” I bite, nodding my head to her plate.
Her smirk turns into a shit-eating grin. “Yes, sir.”
Jesus Christ. I give her a dark chuckle. “You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”
All I get is a shrug and a wink in return. The epitome of nonchalance. Though I don’t miss the way she crosses her legs and squeezes her thighs together.
Game on.
“Alright, give me a 2-3-2 next,” Arman shouts.
Zahra responds by using her first to throw a devastating right hook, followed by a left jab, and another right punch. The precision of her hits has rattled Arman’s large frame, as he stumbles back into the corner of the rink.
“Nice, Zahra!” I yell from across the rink, slapping my hand on the mat.
Her only response is a small smirk as she closes in onArman and berates him with a series of jabs and kicks to the stomach. His fate seems like a done deal, Zahra clearly having the upper hand, when he grabs her foot mid-kick and pushes her back, launching her across the boxing rink. She lands with a loud thud.
Despite knowing this is all practice, I jump to my feet to help her, but she doesn’t need it. On her back, she presses her palms behind her and kicks up in one fluid movement. Though Arman is significantly larger than Zahra, he lacks stealth and speed. Arman charges straight at her, but she’s faster—managing to move out of the way and jump onto his back, wrapping her arms around him. She tightens her grip around his neck and torso until he slowly stumbles down to the mat and eventually taps out.
Zahra lets out a howl of cheer as she unwinds herself and stands up, pumping her fist into the air like she just won a heavyweight title.
“Don’t be such a brat,” Arman groans, coming to, rubbing the back of his neck.
“C’mon, you gotta admit that body hold was solid,andyou didn’t see it coming.” Zahra catches me staring at her and winks. Her entire body is flushed and covered in sweat, and I swear she adds an additional sway to her hips as she walks toward me. Leaning over the ring ropes, she points to the bench. “Can you toss me my water bottle, love?”
She snickers, using my regular term of endearment for her. I don’t trust what may come out of my mouth so instead I choose to give her the bottle without a word. Zahra holds the bottle above her head, opens her mouth wide, and lets the water pour into her mouth and down her chest. The entire scene is so damn sensual, I can’t control the rush of heat that fills my chest. My hands curl into fists,desperate to touch her, and judging from the look on her face, she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
“Enough with the games. None of this is going to help you in the middle of a war,” a loud voice barks from the entryway. Cyrus. He slides into the rink with the poise of a killer, waving Arman away while scolding Zahra. “Or do I need to remind you how many recent attempts on your life there have been? And how we’ve made no progress to figure out who is coming for us?”
She winces in response, making me want to slam Cyrus’ head into the mat.
“Get in position, Zahra,” Cyrus commands. The entire energy of the room shifts, a harsh chill running down my spine.
She does as she’s told, standing in the center of the rink and bringing her hands up to cover her face. Cyrus lunges at her immediately. The two lock arms, grappling for the upper edge. Cyrus wins, slowly pushing Zahra closer and closer to the back right corner of the ring. She lets go of her grip on his arms, ramming her elbows into his head and neck, forcing Cyrus to take a step back. With the small space between them, Zahra can duck out of the corner and bring the fight back to the center of the ring. They exchange blow after blow and one thing is made incredibly clear. Whether Arman realized it or not, he was holding back. Cyrus has a completely different agenda.
Zahra sends a right hook flying and nails him right in the nose. Cyrus stumbles back, spitting blood on the mat, and swings his arm at Zahra’s face. She manages to block the hit with her arms, but the impact stumps her and sends her stumbling backward. Her cocky demeanor falters for a second, short enough that if I wasn’t hyper fixated on her, I would have missed it, but it's enough torattle me.
I lunge to enter the rink, but Arman holds me back. “No. She’ll be pissed at you for stepping in,andthere’s a very high possibility that she’ll find herself in this situation one day with all the enemies you two have. She needs to see that she can overcome it. Or learn from her mistakes.”
An irritated growl forms in my chest, but I take a step back. As much as I hate it, he’s right. Zahra can hold her own. I’ve seen it firsthand time and time again. There isn’t a single part of me that questions her strength…though that does little to assuage the very large part of me that hates seeing her get hurt.
I wince as Zahra and Cyrus continue to exchange blows. Her previous sparring with Arman has clearly drained her, and each jab she lands not only takes a toll on Cyrus but also on herself. She dodges a punch but loses her footing, enough for Cyrus to drag her down onto the mat. He wraps one of her legs in a triangle hold and pulls on it hard. She lets out a guttural scream—a mix of pain and rage—as she uses her free leg to kick Cyrus over and over again. Zahra lands a kick right in Cyrus’ shoulder, causing him to loosen his grip. She nails him again, right in the nose this time, sending his head flying back into the mat, delivering the final blow.
Except this time, she’s not shouting in celebration. She’s whimpering in pain, clutching the ankle that Cyrus had gripped. “Fuck. I think it's sprained.”
I’m in the rink in a matter of seconds, wrapping her arm around my neck. “Lean into me, and I’ll help you stand up.”
