“When’s your birthday?”
“October 12th, why?”
He flashes me a toothy grin. “Just had to double check. I’m older than you, which means you’ve gotta listen to me and stop giving me so much shit.”
“That’s probably the most childish thing I’ve ever fucking heard,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Yeah, you’re probably right. So how’d you get into fighting when you were a kid?”
“Started fighting casually to earn my family some money, but once my dad figured out how big of a cash cow I was, I couldn’t stop anymore.”
“Sounds like your dad’s a real piece of work,” he huffs.
“Yeah. You can say that again. Apparently, he sold me to get rid of his gambling debts. Can you believe that shit? Sold his eldest son so he could feed his addiction.”
He flashes me a long, sidelong look before giving me a quick and jerky nod.
“Yeah. My parents were addicts too. No idea whether they’re still alive.”
There’s a tightness to his shoulders. One that’s not put there by the crazy conditioning Rowan puts us through before we even touch the sparring mats.
“They sell you too?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “A friend of mine got in some trouble and wanted some backup ‘cause he was apparently dealingwith some crazy shit. We were kidnapped. Never saw the guy again.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is what it is.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”
“Just cause it sucks doesn’t mean you’ve gotta say sorry,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like we’ve got more in common than I thought we did.”
“Guess we do,” I say, offering him a nod.
“I learned quick that no one was coming to save me,” he says, resting his chin on his leg. “So I learned how to save myself.”
“I mean, you’ve been successful so far.”
“Yeah, but that’s only ‘cause I work fast and play dirty. I know I’m the weakest out of the three of us, and in most of the matchups I get, they put me with some pretty beefy motherfuckers,” he shrugs. “You’ll learn what you’ve gotta do to survive in the ring when you get there. Nothing quite like it, being stuck in a fucking pit with hundreds of people screaming at you.”
I try to imagine what the fights him and Rage have been through look like, piecing together an idea based on the network of scars they have on their bodies. I’ve done a lot of fighting, but there’s obviously something different about these fights.
There’s a level of pure violence I’m not used to.
“That’s enough of a break,” Rowan calls, waving us over.
I let out a huff as my muscles scream out at me in protest as I jog over to the corner of the barn where Rowan, Mirabelle and Rage are.
“Good work, guys,” Rowan says to all of us. His gaze stops on me, and he gives me a nod of approval. “Your stamina has improved. That’s great.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a deep inhale.
Even though the space is full of our alpha scents, Mirabelle’s sweet strawberry shortcake perfume still sings above them all. Iswear, being in her presence is more relaxing than a physical massage.
Though I wouldn’t be opposed to having her massage me to get all the knots and tension out.
Fucking hell, I shouldn’t be thinking about her and knots in the same sentence.
