"That's not what I’m doing."
"Save it." He releases one hand to gesture wildly. "I know you, Dec. I've watched you cycle through numerous women over the years. Models, musicians, journalists, actresses, businesswomen, whoever catches your eye for a week. And now you're targeting my sister? My fucking sister, who's worked her entire life to be taken seriously."
"I'm not targeting Ivy."
The moment I mention her name, his grip around my shirt tightens.
"Then what are you doing?" The question comes out raw, desperate. "Because all I can see is you doing exactly what I warned you not to do."
The team is dead silent now. None of them is moving toward Marcus and me. They're watching and waiting to hear what I'll say.
I could lie.
Should lie.
Should make up some excuse about being a good teammate and a worthy, reliable best friend who was helping a colleague. But I'm so damned tired of lying.
"I didn't take Ivy home only because I wanted to help," I confess, my eyes meeting his in challenge.
His face darkens further, eyes glaring
"I’m attracted to her."
He flinches. His expression shifts from rage to betrayal.
"You what?"
"I’m attracted to Ivy." The admission tears out of me, weeks of hiding and pretending, crumbling in seconds. "And before you hit me again, yes, I know she's your sister. Yes, I know my reputation that I'm the last person who should..."
His fist catches me in the ribs this time.
I double over, breath exploding from my lungs. The pain is sharp and immediate, but I still don't fight back. Can't fight back.
"She's not one of your puck bunnies!" he roars. "She's brilliant, driven, and deserves someone who sees her as more than a conquest."
"I know that," I wheeze, straightening despite my screaming ribs.
"You don't. You're doing what you always do, taking what you want and destroying it in the process."
His hand curls into a fist. He pulls it back to give me another punch. Jake's hand catches it as he steps between Marcus and me.
"That's enough."
"The hell it is, Jax!"
Marcus tries to push past him.
"I said, enough!"
The sharpness of Jake’s command stops Marcus cold.
"Declan, back up. Marcus, take a walk. Now."
"Jax..."
"Now, Chandler."
Misha and Tyler move in, physically steering Marcus toward the door. He fights for a second, eyes locked on mine, promising violence. Coach Petrov appears in the doorway with a stormy expression.
