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“Who’s the last match against?” Conor asks.

Why does it matter? My stomach drops. It doesn’t matter who it is. I already know I don’t have anything left. I know my body. I know my limits. Right now, it could be anyone, even someone half my size. I’d still go down.

“Edward’s boy. Tyson.” There’s a beat of silence.

“Fuck that. Change the card. I’ll take Jaxon’s place.”

My head snaps up. Before I can even process what he just said, he’s already moving, grabbing my bag, and pulling out the roll of tape.

“Now hold on a fucking minute,” Henry barks, stepping forward. “You can’t do that.”

Conor doesn’t even look at him. “I can and will.”

Henry sputters, scrambling for control, but Conor finally turns his head just enough to pin him with a look.

“Unless you’ve already placed bets that Jaxon’s going to lose,” he adds, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Is that why you’re pushing so hard? You bet against your own fighter?”

The words hit like a punch. The air shifts. People nearby start paying attention now. That’s not a small accusation Conor just made. Conor tilts his head slightly, voice dropping just enough to carry.

“You know how that’s going to look, right?” he continues. “Wearing your fighter down just to make a profit off him losing.”

Henry goes still. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks uncertain. As I sit here, staring at Conor, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Because no one has ever stepped in for me like this before. Not even Trent when it really mattered.

“You didn’t do that, did you, Henry?” Danny’s voice cuts in, sharp now. Controlled, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before. “Stacking a bet is not something I tolerate. I run clean here.”

Danny steps into Henry’s space. Close enough that Henry has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes, and even then, he doesn’t hold it. He shifts and takes half a step back. There it is. The truth, plain as day.

“No, I didn’t,” Henry says, too fast, too stiff. His eyes flick around the room, looking anywhere but at Danny. Lying. Everyone can see it. The nearby crowd goes quiet, attention shifting, sensing something more interesting than the fights themselves. Danny’s jaw tightens. Conor doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him beside me. Steady, unmoving, like he already knew how this would play out. My gaze drifts back to Henry. And for the first time since I got dragged into this mess, he looks small.

“Good,” Danny says, his voice still edged with warning as his gaze stays locked on Henry. “Since that’s the case, Conor will take the spot. Unless you’ve got something else you want to tell me?”

The look he gives Henry is enough to make even my spine straighten, a quiet kind of menace that doesn’t need to be loud to be felt. Henry hesitates, just for a second, like he’s weighing something, before shaking his head.

“No. It’s fine.”

Coward. He turns and disappears into the crowd without another word, and the tension he leaves behind hangs in the air for a moment before it slowly starts to loosen. Danny exhales and shifts his attention back to Conor, studying him in a way that feels sharper now, more curious than before.

“What was that all about?” he asks, brows pulling together slightly. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you take such an…” His gaze drops to me briefly. “…interest in the fight cards.”

Conor doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even glance my way before answering.

“He’s gassed and shouldn’t be fighting again,” he says evenly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m actually looking out for your best interest. You should be thankful and not ask so many damn questions.”

Danny watches him for another beat, like he’s trying to decide if there’s more beneath that answer, something he’s not being told, but then he lets it go with a short nod, stepping back like the matter is settled.

Just like that, something in my chest sinks before I can stop it. So that’s it. It was never about me. It was about the fights and the money. Of course it was. I don’t know why I let myself think, even for a second, that it could be anything else. Still, I let out a slow breath, my shoulders loosening as the reality of it settles in, because regardless of the reason, I’m done for the night. No fourth fight. No stepping back into that cage with nothing left in the tank. No pushing my body past the point where it might not recover. Relief spreads through me, heavy and quiet, settling deep in my bones.

“You’ll wait for me here.”

I keep my eyes on the floor, assuming he’s talking to Danny, because there’s no reason he’d be talking to me. No reason he should be giving me orders like I’m his to command. That is, until I feel it. His hand cupping my jaw. Firm. Unyielding. It’s not enough to hurt, but more than enough to leave me with no choice.

My breath catches as my head is forced up, my gaze dragged from the floor until it collides with his. Conor’s eyes are locked on mine. Bright green and focused in a way that feels almost physical, like the weight of his attention is something I can feel pressing against my skin. It hits something inside me I don’t understand. Something I don’t want to understand. Especially not here. Especially not with him.

“Don’t leave until I get back,” he says, his voice low, controlled, carrying a promise more than a threat. “I’ll only hunt you down, and I won’t be happy. Understand?”

There’s no room to argue. No space to push back. The words settle heavy in my chest, and for a second, I just stare at him, caught somewhere between resisting and something else I don’t want to name. I feel like I’ve gone from the frying pan straight into the fire.

It was already bad enough being under Henry’s thumb. Bad enough knowing Manny ultimately controls all of this. But now there’s him. Conor. And somehow, that feels more dangerous than both of them combined. My jaw tightens as he finally lets go, but the sensation of his grip lingers. Just how much more fucked can my life get?