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Within minutes, I’m in front of the mansion, parking at the bottom of the steps, the Defender nowhere in sight. Bounding up them two at a time, I push the front door open, only to stop dead in my tracks. Why wasn’t that shut?

Before I can finish considering that, I hear, “I’m sorry.”

“Kota?”

In the middle of the foyer, between both staircases, she’s on her knees, crying, shaking, her hands in her lap.

Her eyes are swollen and red as she peers up at me through the damp strands of hair falling over her forehead.

I thought my heart was broken earlier, but that pain was nothing compared to seeing Kota like this. What have I done?

“I’m so sorry.” A long string of saliva dangles from her mouth. “They made me.”

What?

“They?”

“Killa’ K. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I spin around, finding two men stepping out from behind the door I’m now realizing was broken open before I got here. One I’ve never seen before and one that looks somewhat familiar. Obviously from my fights if he knows my nickname. Yeah, yeah. I remember now. It was at my last fight. The New Yorker that bumped into me in the ring afterward. Who the fuck is he? But more importantly…

“Who touched my girl?”

Balling my fists, I take exactly one step in their direction when Kota screams, “Wait!” and then everything goes black.

When I come to, I’m laid out in the foyer and the sun’s streaming in through the windows around the door. I don’t know how many hours have passed but it’s been at least a couple.

Jesus. Who the fuck hit me and what did they use?

“Khaos, are you okay?” Kota asks from beside me, her wrists tied together. They tied her up? How long has she been like that?

I notice my wrists are tied as well, thankfully in front of me and not behind me.

“Who touched you?”

Kota’s eyes go to the man above me, pointing a gun at my head.

I barely give him a glance, mostly because my vision is spotty as shit. I don’t recognize him either. That solves who hit me and with what. He must’ve been the one who snuck up on me when I was facing his friends. His friends… They’re here, too, so unless there are more of these fuckers lurking nearby, there are three total.

“You’re gonna regret that,” I tell him point-blank while getting myself up to my knees, then feet.

He snorts, probably because I’m currently subdued but that’s a front. Nothing about me is calm and I sure as fuck don’t need my hands free to take a motherfucker out.

“Enzo, keep him off his feet,” the man from my fight says, clearly aware of my footwork.

Enzo rattles his pistol at me. “Back on your knees.”

Now I’m the one who’s amused.

“I only kneel for her.” I nod at Kota before telling her, “Come on,” and helping her up to standing.

“She stays—”

“Same rule fucking applies,” I snarl down the barrel. “There’s only one man she gets on her knees for and you’re looking at him.”

My vision improving, I consider Enzo again. He’s got a lump on his temple and scratches down his throat, all the way past his collarbone, disappearing below his shirt.

I ask Kota, “Did you do that to him?”