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“My old agent. Says the UFC wants to promote some big comeback series of fights with people who retired or whatever. Not interested.” I head toward the ring.

“Five million is a lot of money,” he says, following me.

“Well, he didn’t actually offer five. He offered one and then upped to one point five. Still not enough.”

“But you love to fight.”

“I used to. Now I love being healthy and eating most of what I want. I’m almost thirty-eight. Why the fuck would I want to subject my brain, and the rest of me, to that kind of abuse? Money isn’t the most important thing in the world. Besides, I have a good job.”

He nods. “Agreed. But you do love to fight.”

I grin. “And that’s why I’m going to kick your ass around the ring tonight.”

He grunts and the conversation is apparently over. We put on head gear before climbing through the ropes. I roll my shoulders and arch a brow at Grim as I put in my mouthpiece.

“Ready?” I mumble

He grimaces. “Yeah, whatever.”

I just laugh.

The company I work for, Shadow Security, has a standing fight night every Friday, where we work out, spar, and generally mess around. Usually, it’s lighthearted and fun, even though as bodyguards to celebrities and international dignitaries, we’re serious about staying in shape. But Friday nights are about camaraderie and honing our skills—not getting hurt.

I lift my fists. “Let’s go.”

He narrows his gaze just a little. In this particular situation, he doesn’t trust me. And that’s a good thing. That’s how he and the rest of our colleagues will learn to be better fighters. We’re all what’s considered elite bodyguards with special skill sets. No one here has to learn anything, in the general sense.

But I’m the best with my fighting skills, and I’ve been showing them how to be better. Most of them appreciate it. Grim, however, is my closest friend. My confidante. The proverbial brother from another mother. We’ve been through almost everything together, so when we get in the ring, there’s a trust between us that doesn’t exist with others.

And I might take advantage of that trust once in a while.

I take a playful swing at my friend and he ducks out of the way, but we’re just warming up. My body moves effortlessly, as comfortable in the ring as I am sprawled on my couch, and I feel the familiar tingle of excitement.

It’s always been this way, since my days as a wrestler in high school. Then I moved on to boxing, and by the time I got to the Marines, I was primed for everything they could throw at me in their Force Recon school. That was when I got serious, and when I transitioned out of the military, I wound up in the UFC—Ultimate Fighting Championship—which is a premier mixed martial arts promotion.

“What, taking it easy on me today?” Grim taunts.

“You asking me to put a hurt on you?” I counter, narrowing my gaze at him.

Not that I would ever hurt him—or anyone else unless I have to—but I like to mess with him. And he’s well aware of it, which is why he’s always on guard. To be fair, I don’t fight like other men. If I wanted to hurt someone, even a guy as tough as Grim, I could. Everyone knows it.

In fact, it’s kind of a joke here at headquarters because there’s literally a schedule—every Friday I fight someone different since no one wants to get in the ring with me two weeks in a row.

I think it’s hilarious that they’re all a tiny bit afraid of me.

Okay, they’re not afraid. Not in the true sense of the word. If we all didn’t have a level of comfort, we wouldn’t be here. I should probably say they have a healthy respect for my talent when it comes to fighting.

Once Grim and I are in fighting stance, we exchange a few jabs, eyeing each other. He’s wary and I’m trying to decide how I’m going to surprise him. Between the head gear and mouthguards, there’s a level of protection, but I still need to fuck with him.

Turning sideways, I bend my arm at the elbow at a ninety-degree angle, aiming for the side of his head. My right hook is hard, and his head snaps to the side, but he comes back with an upper cut, catching me under the chin. With enough practice and the right amount of force, you can knock someone out with one of those. Luckily, that’s not his intention.

“Nice one.” I grin. Then I hit him back. Hard enough to make him stumble.

A bunch of our colleagues are here to watch, and I hear them chuckling, egging us on, catcalling just because they can.

I bounce on my toes, giving Grim a chance to get his bearings. Then we settle into the fight, each blow a little harder than the last as we work up a sweat and get more creative with our tactics. That’s what this is all about. He’s a better sparring partner than he thinks he is, which makes it fun for me. He’s big and smart, quick on his feet, and all things being equal, he’s as lethal as I am. Just in different ways.

I’ve just pulled back my fist, about to catch him with a right cross, when I see a flash of hot pink in the doorway. I turn, barely a fraction of an inch, and I see her.