“The fact that you can’t keep up with me even on a good day makes it easy enough,” he grins. I don’t know where it comes from, but a surge of rage bullets through my arm and I slam him with an uppercut straight to the teeth.
Pain hits my knuckles just as Rafe hits the floor. He pulls his face up and glares at me through the blood. “This isn’t over, Wolfe,” he spits.
“Nope,” I say as I duck out of the ring. “Not even close.”
Andrew sprints to follow me as I stalk towards the locker room.
“Are you crazy fighting without a guard?” he asks. “What the hell happened up there?”
“Exactly what I expected to happen,” I tell him. “Went to battle, and he started a war.”
That night when I get home, I am still fuming. I don’t hit the shower or even the sack. I go straight for the liquor cabinet. I never lock it because I have no reason to. The only person that comes in and out of my house aside from Andrew is the maid, and she’s always been well-behaved. Other than her sass mouth from time to time. She’s a little saltier than I’d prefer, but a bratty maid is the least of my problems right now.
Rafe is on the fast track to outbid me for the Golden Rule deal, which is going to fuck up my life in more ways than one. It’s not like I can just grab a random girl and force her to marry me. Even if there were someone viable just standing around, the legalities of it all will take time. Obviously, it wouldn’t be the real deal, so a pre-nup is nonnegotiable. No woman in her right mind would be interested in more than my money. I’m not exactly known for my tender heart.
Speaking of tender, my knuckles are killing me. Fuck that man and his pretty teeth. I run my hand under cold water while finishing my first glass of whiskey. It’s not enough to numb me entirely, but all the whiskey in the world couldn’t do that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I shut the water off to pull it out, wincing as my skinless hand brushes the fabric. Then I see the text.
Andrew: Rafe counted it as a walkout. Took the win. He’s been a drunken idiot ever since.
Dominic: What’s new?
Andrew: He’s telling everyone he’s got the Golden Rule deal in the bag.
“Godamnit,” I shout as I throw my glass across the room. It hits a mirror on the wall, shattering it before bringing the whole thing to the ground. I run my good hand through my hair before reaching for the whiskey bottle and taking a gulp. I suck my teeth hard as the alcohol sneakily finds the cuts in my mouth, and I round the counter to the living room.
None of this would even be a problem if I could just get my hands on that money. MY money. But because my dad is notorious for being a pain in my ass, I’m in a bind. That hasnever stopped me before. A photo on the other side of the room, one of him and my mom, seems to stare at me, and I return the eye contact.
As usual, he’s smiling. Smug. Like he knows he’s inconveniencing me. Without better judgement I throw the half-empty bottle of whiskey at the frame, sending it and the bottle crashing in a mess on the hard floor. Then I walk back through the living room towards my bedroom, my shoes crunching on the glass with every step. The maid is going to have her work cut out for her tomorrow.
Chapter 11
Mila
I wakeup the next morning and my mind is buzzing. Actually, after the night Lainey and I had at the ring, I hardly slept at all. I can’t stop thinking about the way Dom looked in the ring. Like I said, it’s not the first time I’ve watched the man fight. But in a way it is. Last time, I was dealing with Rafe. This time I was able to sit, undistracted, my full attention on his full…everything. The way he moves, the way he calculates. You would never guess he’s got ten to twenty years on the other guys. Not from his skill and certainly not from his body.
Don’t get me started on his body.Fuck me.
As my Jeep comes to a rumbling stop in his driveway and I kill the engine, I make my way up the sidewalk barely noticing the guy trimming the shrubbery or the other guy on the lawn mower or even the window washers on the scaffolding in front of the house next door. My mind is still at the ring, but not just on the fight itself. Not that that part wasn’t glorious. I’ll tuck that version of Dominic away like a mental Polaroid so I can look at it whenever I want, which might be often.
No, I am hung up on what happenedbeforethe fight. When I ran into him in the hallway. Once again, he didn’t recognize me (or did he?). And once again we played a guessing game. And once again before twenty questions could lead him too close to the bullseye, I disappeared into the night. Or the bathroom.
I punch the number on the door lock and make my way inside. Then I head into the kitchen to start coffee. I have seven minutes before he comes walking down the hallway. My hair is down today, something I don’t normally do at work. But as usual, I have nothing on my face except for some moisturizer. With all the make-up they expect me to wear at the Cockpit, it’s nice to let my skin breathe a little.
I start the coffee and turn around to grab a couple of mugs out of the cupboard. But when my eyes skim over the living room I stop.
“Is that glass?” I ask out loud, rounding the counter to have a look. Sure enough, there is a shattered highball glass on the floor and the wall mirror is also broken into smithereens.
What in the world?
I turn to see if anything else is awry and find a picture frame face down, the glass cracked. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say foul play was involved. Then I see the broken whiskey bottle behind the couch.
I let out an angry sigh just as I hear footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Coffee ready?” Dominic asks and I spin around to face him, the neck of the broken bottle in my hand.
“What is this?” I ask, holding it up.
