I can’t look away from Atlas for a second, not if I want to keep my head on and my ribs intact, along with all the vital organs beneath them.
We dance around each other a little more, and as I move to the left, I catch a glimpse of Bishop out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the wall, watching us with a mix of something in her gaze I can’t determine without pulling my attention away from the threat in front of me.
And good God, he moves fast.
So fast it makes the men I fought in the WCAP look like sloths moving across the ring.
He lands a blow to my rib cage that feels like getting hit by a truck and I double over slightly, attempting to retreat further out of his reach. Trying to slip away without conceding defeat when I know he will keep coming.
Bishop’s voice cuts through the air before either of us can call an end to it. “I think he’s had enough, Atlas.”
When it comes to her…never.
When it comes to Atlas…probably.
Her cousin continues to bounce on his feet but holds back the eruption of finishing shots I know he had already loaded up and ready to fly. He glances over at her and mutters, “Who the hell are you, his mother?” around his mouthguard.
I snort a laugh that makes my ribs ache and push up to stand fully with a wince I try to hide before I finally look over at her.
She wears a smug smile that tells me she enjoys watching me get hit, enjoys watching my pain.
Maybe a little too much.
I was right about her—Bishop Clarke has sadistic tendencies. At least where I’m concerned. Perhaps she sees it as payback for tying her to the headboard and ensuring her loss of control the other night.
She pushes off the wall and wanders over to the ring, resting her arms on the ropes as she looks in at us. In a thin tank top and sports bra and adorable athletic shorts that show off her beautiful legs, her braids pulled back in a ponytail, she looks ready for a workout…and cute as fuck. “How long have you two been going at it?”
Atlas spits out his mouthguard and glances at me. “I don’t know. An hour?”
Her brows rise. “You’ve been going that hard for an hour?”
I shake my head. “No, he toyed with me for a while first.”
She snorts and nods, her own experience in the ring with Atlas enough that she knows precisely what I mean by that. “I’m surprised you can keep up with him.”
Did she really just say that to me?
I narrow my gaze on her.
The blow to my ego almost hurts more than Atlas’ did, until I see the smug tilt of her lips. I’m not the type to stand by and take it when I know she’s egging me on.
I spit out my mouthguard, locking my eyes with hers. “I would think that I’ve given you no reason to question my stamina.”
Atlas’ gaze drifts between the two of us and then narrows on me. “What the hell does that mean?”
Oops.
Apparently, my defensiveness may have inadvertently outed my—whatever the fuck this is—with Bishop. That hadn’t been my intention, but the glower she throws my way is enough to make me wish I hadn’t said it loud enough for him to hear.
Coupled with the comments Astrid made at The Grind the other day and the looks the family gave me at the meeting that night, he surely suspected something far before I made the verbal slip.
But still, I won’t delve into my personal situation with Bishop if she doesn’t want him knowing about it.
“Just that I’ve been working for your family for several days now, and she’s seen me and what I’m capable of.”
He nods slowly, the partial smirk revealing he clearly isn’t buying my explanation. “Suuure.”
Shit.
