My arm throbs where that guy grabbed me. It'll probably bruise. I'll have to wear long sleeves for a few days so Daisy doesn't ask questions.
*"You work here, right? You know how to have a good time."*
My stomach twists. I hate that I froze. Hate that I didn't just walk away the second he started talking to me. But I'd been trained my whole life to be polite, to not make a scene, to smile and deflect and hope the guy gets the hint.
They never get the hint.
Not until someone like Danny makes them.
I chance another look.
He's not watching me anymore. His eyes are closed now, head tilted back slightly, jaw clenched. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making him look even more severe. There's fresh blood on his knuckles, dripping onto the floor I just cleaned.
He'd asked what my name was.
I'd known who he was, obviously. Everyone who works here knows the fighters. Knows their names, their records, their reputations. Bruiser's reputation is simple: undefeated except for one loss to Rampage, and absolutely brutal in the ring.
But no one had ever mentioned that he'd defend a nobody cleaner from some drunk asshole. That he'd use that rough voice. That he'd step back when he saw fear in my eyes.
"You good over there, Joanna?"
I jump, nearly dropping the mop. Marcus is standing a few feet away, a trash bag in one hand, concern on his weathered face.
"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Why?"
"Saw that guy hassling you earlier. Saw Bruiser handle it." He glances toward Danny's corner, then back to me. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Really. He just... he wouldn't leave me alone. But it's fine now."
Marcus nods slowly. "Bruiser's a good guy. Don't let the rep fool you. Man's got a code."
"A code?"
"Doesn't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it. Respects the workers here. Hell, he knocked out some asshole a few months back for grabbing one of the ring girls." He shrugs. "Like I said. Code."
I digest that. Try to square it with the image of Danny beating a man unconscious in the pit less than an hour ago.
"Thanks, Marcus," I say.
"Anytime, kid."
He heads back to the bleachers, and I return to cleaning. But my mind won't settle.
A code.
I think about the way Danny had materialized behind that guy. The low, dangerous tone of his voice. *She said no.* Like those three words were law, and anyone who broke them would pay for it.
I think about his hands. The way blood had dripped from his split knuckles onto the concrete. The way he'd dismissed my offer to help like it was nothing. Like pain was just part of his daily routine.
*I've had worse.*
Of course he has. Ten years in prison, I'd heard someone say once. For nearly killing a man. I don't know the details, and I'm not sure I want to. All I know is that Danny Cross is exactly the kind of man I should stay far, far away from.
Dangerous. Violent. Complicated.
Everything I don't need in my life right now.
I have Daisy to think about. A daughter who needs stability, safety, and consistency. Not some... whatever this feeling is. This stupid, inconvenient flutter in my chest every time I look at him.
