Me. I'm that man.
And I hate him.
Clearing my throat, I turn away from the ugly figure and snag my tux jacket from the closet, slipping it on without thought.
It doesn’t matter what I see or who I hate. Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about them.
It’s about Gage and all his fans, who are excited to welcome him back into the ring for his first public fighting appearance in years. It’s about Maddox drawing up more business for TheDen, which, while owned by all four of us equally, is his baby. It’s about Stone, considering this entire thing was his idea.
But mostly...
Mostly, it’s about her.
Isabella.
Thumbelina.
Mi Princesa.
And apparently, it’s about Hunter fucking Morris. God, I hate that guy. Still, not as much as I hate myself, but fuck if he’s not a close second.
I double-check that I have everything I’ll need for the night. Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Guns? Check. Shoes, jacket, cologne...
When I’ve gone through my list six times and am starting over for a seventh cycle, I realize I’m stalling.
“Fuck,” I rasp, squeezing the handle to my bedroom door. I know I need to get downstairs. Know we can’t be late.
But I also know what waits for me when I get there.
Isabella looking beyond gorgeous in a dress meant to break hearts and stop people in their tracks. One that will undoubtedly cause me to go into a murderous rage the first time some handsy, drunk motherfucker tries to tempt fate with his eyes or fingers.
One I stupidly bought her.
But, fuck, I couldn’t help myself. The second I saw it on the mannequin in the window display downtown, I knew it was meant for her.
Ella deserves all the nice things the world can offer her, especially after what she’s been through. She deserves diamonds and jewels, though I know she doesn’t want them. She deserves a fucking crown for putting up with my shit alone.
The dress, though... it’s perfect as if it was made with her in mind. The long sleeves and floor-length cut will cover a lot of herscars, not that I think they need to be covered, but I know she’s still not ready to show them off proudly the way she should.
She'll get there.
My cock hardens, pressing roughly against my zipper as I imagine how the black silk will look as it splits to reveal her chest and, again, all the way up her left thigh.
Dammit. She’s stunning every day. Fresh from a shower or just rolling out of bed, her long, chocolatey hair a mess of tangles on her head, and her cheeks still creased from her pillows. When she’s sweaty and throwing my big ass to the mat during our training sessions, I find her irresistible.
But like this...I just know she’ll have me ready to fall to my knees for her and try as I might, I’m losing the will to resist it. I’ve been fighting my attraction to her, our connection—the one we made a few years ago on the bridge. I’ve been swallowing it down, knowing she deserves better than me.
To be honest, she deserves better than all of us.
Isabella deserves the world.
But I’m not blind. I see the way my brothers make her feel. I see the way they are with each other. I see how good she’s made them. And I’d be even more of a coward if I didn’t admit it makes me insanely jealous.
The ding of the elevator arriving snaps me from my thoughts, and with a quick exhale, I practically shove myself into the hall, tensing for whatever I might see.
My body deflates when Stone strolls from the metal car, his shoulders back, a cocky smile on his face. His hair is pulled up and into a tight bun at the back of his head, keeping his neck-length blonde hair out of his eyes.
Seeing how calm and happy he is, I find my shoulders relaxing.
