Straightening, I smile, a slow, dangerous grin. I lift my hands. Bare knuckles, skin split over old scars, sweat slick across my chest and arms. There are no gloves here, no rules I care to follow. Just muscle, bone, and the low, feral burn of rage.
The crowd fades out, bodies a blur behind the lights. It’s just me and the bastard in front of me, hungry to prove he belongs in the ring.
I feint right, let him swing wild, then drive my fist straight into his gut, hard enough to hear the breath leave him in a gasp. My muscles flex, heat rolling through me, pain and power tangled together. I want him to fight. I want to bleed. I want to forget everything except the rhythm of fists on flesh.
He swings again, sloppy, desperate. I duck, slam my shoulder into his ribs, shove him against the ropes, pinning him just long enough to taste his fear.
“Come on,” I growl, voice low, hungry, taunting him, taunting myself.
He tries for my ribs, but I catch his wrist, twist, drive my elbow into his temple. The crowd roars, a sea of noise. It means nothing. I am feral, lost in the violence, in control because she’s in mind. Every fucking second now.
When he staggers, I let him. I want him to see me, to know what it means to stand in this ring with me, bare, brutal, untouchable. For a second, I almost want him to win, but that’s not how it will end.
I fight until my knuckles split and the ache in my chest quiets, if only for a moment.
“You look like shit, mate.” Declan’s voice cuts through as I step into his office. Kian and Connor are already there, lounging like they own the place.
“Thanks.” I shrug it off, rolling my neck, sore from yesterday’s fight. The ache sits deep in my muscles, a dull, satisfied burn.
“You’ll give Christian a heart attack if you keep showing up last minute to fight.” Kian grins and hands me a glass of whisky, the good stuff. My knuckles ache as I wrap my fingers around it.
“He needs to toughen up,” I mutter, jaw tight. He also needs to stop running to Declan every time I show up swinging, the little eejit.
Connor checks the papers on the desk. “Everything’s ready for the Bratva next week.” I nod, sinking back in the chair, letting the tension unwind from my shoulders.
“And Flanaghan?” Declan asks, worry threading through his voice.
“I’ll handle it.” I lean back, feeling the stretch in my arms, resting sore muscles that still want more. My body never knows when to quit.
“You can’t kill him.” Declan’s lips curve with a ghost of a smirk.
“Unfortunately.” I tip my glass in mock salute, raising it to my lips. Whiskey burns all the way down. Maybe I’m still tasting blood.
“Did you visit Autumn?” Declan asks, like he already knows.
I meet his eyes, steady. “I did.” I hold his gaze. “Didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Not yet,” Kian pipes up, and I slap him hard on the back, just to feel the crack of muscle under my palm. He laughs, unbothered.
“Did you tell her you own the damn building?” Declan presses, eyes narrowed.
I shake my head, jaw clenched. “If I told her, she’d never have stayed.” When Declan said she was hunting apartments with Viviana, I made sure my realtor showed them the worst places in town before slipping Autumn the keys to mine. It took me three hours to get the moving company to set everything up; her taste isn’t hard to figure out. She gasps over every damn garden post on Pinterest. No one else noticed, but I did.
Truth is, I study her. The way she dresses. Her perfume, subtle and soft, lingers in my head. How she eats, how she fidgets in traffic, the little sounds she makes on the phone when she’s nervous, the way her cheeks burn when she messes up. I see everything.
She’ll never know I own that place. The fire report came back clean, no foul play, just bad luck. She’s safe, for now, but I need to know where she is, always. I almost lost her, and I won’t let it happen twice.
“Flynn?” Kian’s voice pulls me back. I blink, grip tightening on the glass.
“Sorry, mate. What?”
“For the Bratva, the dinner. You should bring a date.” Kian raises an eyebrow, smirking.
“What the fuck?” I straighten up, muscles tensing. “Why?”
They all glance at Declan.
“He’s coming with his wife, his sister, and his brother.” Declan sighs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
