His clipped tone almost made me laugh. Instead, I lifted a brow and popped off a one-two jab, deliberately close to his head.
“Yes, you are. You always get pissy after fight night.”
I pivoted, swinging hard—punch, punch, elbow—hammering the bag until he finally grunted. “They’re getting bigger. Stronger. The ones challenging you… they’re coming from all over the continent for a shot.”
I stilled, tilting my head at him. “And you’re worried I’ll lose?”
He shrugged. Those blue-green eyes that usually cut like glass suddenly looked too soft, and my fingers itched with the urge to hook under his chin and make him meet me head-on. Instead, I shoved the heat in my chest into my fists and drove one brutal punch into the bag. The canvas split, sand bursting out in a cloud around him.
He didn’t flinch. Just glared through the storm of grit, jaw tight.
I smirked at the mess at his feet, then pointed toward the spare. He muttered under his breath but hauled it over anyway, muscles flexing as he slung it into place. For just a second too long, I watched the corded strength in his forearms, the easy roll of his shoulders. When he caught me looking, I went back to lacing up my wrist tape like it hadn’t happened.
The others in the gym were staring, wide-eyed. Perfect. I gave them my best unhinged grin and a finger-wiggling wave, the kind of thing my grandfather would’ve done just to keep everyone guessing.
“All right.” Zeth’s tone was resigned but not beaten. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to mine with something rawer than he probably meant to show. “You made your point. I just… don’t want the impossible to happen.”
I stepped forward, moving close enough to feel the heat of him. “I’ll always win. Losing’s not an option. Even if they get a shot in, I’ll prevail. So, quit sulking and have a little faith in your best friend.”
His eyes flicked over my mouth before he grunted, that rough sound low enough to crawl down my spine. Then, with a wicked twist of his wrist, he yanked the bag out of my range, smug bastard that he was.
I narrowed my eyes, then snapped a vicious kick that sent the bag swinging back. My punch landed dead-center, the chain rattling overhead. “Careful, Z. Keep teasing me, and you might be the one I take down next.”
His grin was slow, sharp. “Maybe I’m counting on it.”
My fists drove harder into the bag, each blow cracking the air, the impact shoving him back a step. A clear warning. I wasn’t someone to be toyed with; I was the Rossey boss.Hisfucking boss.
The bag swung wide, rattling on the chain, and for a flicker of a second, I caught the gleam in his eyes, something warmer than mischief. Heat prickled up my spine before I slammed it back down with another strike.
“Okay. Okay!” His laugh tripped out, a little too quick, and I stilled. My chest rose with sharp breaths, sweat damp on my temples, eyes locked on him.
He raised his hands, palms out, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You proved your point.”
Hands on my hips, I tilted my head and gave a short laugh. “Really? Zeth Carter, surrendering that easily? I don’t buy it.”
That grin widened, cocky as ever, though I didn’t miss the way he looked at me like I’d just knocked the wind out of him. “Only if it’s for Nova Rossey. No point fighting with a brick wall.”
My heart thumped hard in my chest. That demon smile of his was meant to disarm people, to make others feel at ease, but that only made me hyperaware of what it did to me and how it made me feel.
I reminded myself to rein it in. I’d done a great job hiding my feelings from him and his powers for this long. It would be a shame to be caught now, but that was impossible. I’d kept it all bottled up inside, locked down tight. I had to combat these momentary feelings by thinking of all the things he did that annoyed me, and fast.
He smiles at everyone like that. He never throws his drinks away, so they’re scattered around his apartment. He thinks he knows what's good for me and always makes it known. He’s always ten minutes late, and it’s usually because he’s fucking with his hair.
Then there was the big one.
He’s your best friend and your work partner, and that's all he’ll ever be.He had made that clear years ago in the old training hall in Vegas, and it almost broke me, so I wasnotgoing there again.
Grinning wide enough to hide the crack in my chest, I jabbed a finger at him. “You better back off and be nice to me. I’m the one who signs your paychecks.”
He laughed, and I turned away, bending over to fish my phone from my gym bag. Scrolling through, I saw a few texts from my captains. Updates, requests, the usual.I’ll just forward those to Zeth.I had my hands full with starting this fight club channel, and with the launch date only a week away, I was in double-check mode. Then I saw the time.
“Shit. We gotta go.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and strode toward the door. Zeth fell in step behind me. Ezra was already twitchy because Aniyah was growing habitually late, and when she was late, the rest of us suffered for it.Damn mated bitch.
“What was that?” Zeth asked.
Oh, hell. Did I say that out loud? Fuck.
I shook my head and tossed him my keys before he could push. The Jeep chirped as he lifted the fob, and my eyes snagged on his tattooed arms. Tan, toned muscle wrapped in inky lines of dark smoke. A wolf etched into the smoke like it was emerging from it, the smoke weaving into the Syndicate mark on his hand.
