I keep my gaze on Rafe Schaefer as he glares at the faux-blonde waitress.
“I suggest you stay out of it,” Rafe says. “Get back to losing your boxing match, old man.”
“If you’d been paying any attention to the fight, you’d know that it’s over,” I say. I have to speak loudly over the crowd, but I still use a controlled tone.
Rafe is all temper and reaction, like a volcano that’s never been dormant a day in its life.
Like the other boxers, he also likes to point out that I am older than him every time we have a run-in, as if being in his early thirties actually gives him an edge against me.
It does not.
Not in the ring and not out of it.
He smirks, a cynical smile that he often sports just to get under my skin and boost his ego. “The gash on your face says differently. Might need stitches on that one.”
I instinctively press the back of my wrist to my brow. The salt from my skin increases the sting. But I don’t give Rafe the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I think you need to take a step back,” I tell him. “You know as well as anyone that it’s against the rules to put your hands on a woman.”
“Oh, so he wants to talk about following rules now, does he?” Rafe scoffs, and several of his men materialize behind him from out of the woodwork of the crowd.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” Niko, the bar and club owner, steps in.
He’s a small man, about five foot seven, and looks like he should be running a strip club, not a fight club. His dad started the joint back when I was a teenager, and it’s been a place of refuge for me ever since.
Blowing off steam in the ring has become a type of therapy for me. Traditional therapy isn’t really my gig. Nothing hits better than taking out your anger and frustration on another man’s jawline.
I’d prefer it in the ring, not on the sidelines.
“Why don’t you ask Dom here,” Rafe says with a hostile smile that never leaves his face.
Niko turns to me. “Mr. Wolfe?”
I am suddenly aware of the girl I pulled away from him.
She is still standing next to me but slightly behind. Her hands are on my arm and she’s shaking and breathing as though she’s about to cry.
I might love a good fight, but not where women are concerned.
Rafe actually looked like he wanted to hurt her, and that’s the difference between me and him.
I’m not a woman, but I know what it’s like to be a target. I had to work to get to where I am now. I’ll be damned if I am going to leave this girl here alone to fend for herself against an angry, drunk Rafe.
“Nothing's wrong,” I finally say. “We were just leaving.”
Niko glances over at the waitress. “Yes, it would be best if you left.”
“But–” she starts to argue, but Niko holds up his hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid. Go rest before your day job.”
The girl looks up at me with panic in her eyes and immediately looks away. She’s probably embarrassed.
My brow is throbbing. Blondie is still lying flat on his back in the ring, and I have no desire to be here anymore, so I pull the girl with me down the hall.
My stride is brisk and determined, and she has to jog in her heels to keep up with me. I would be impressed, except I am around women like her every day. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, even if this one is a little more attractive than the others.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as I pull her into the locker room. “I could have handled him myself.”
