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Back inside, Tatum finishes her set, breathing hard, that half-smirk already forming when our eyes meet. I jerk my chin at the mats, raising my voice for all the prospects to hear. “Gear up. We’re starting full-contact training today.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. For the next hour, we destroy her—drills, takedowns, exhaustion scenarios. She rotates with Mason and Thomas. Thomas goes hard, but she gives it back viciously, sweat soaking her shirt, outlining her hard nipples. Every time she hits the mat and bounces up, pride and dark hunger twist inside me. I want to pin her down right here, strip her, and drive my cock into her tight little pussy while the others watch what belongs to me.

She’s gonna get me killed over just a taste, and some sick part of me is more than okay with that.

By the time the session ends, she’s bruised but upright. I bring her a towel, and our fingers brush. Electricity shoots straight to my dick. “You’re holding back less.”

“I’m trying to impress the powers that be,” she fires back, sass intact. “How am I doing, sir?”

Sir. Fuck. I picture her saying it on her knees, lips stretched around my thick cock, drool slipping down her chin while her hair is wrapped around my fist, and I fuck her throat. I clench my jaw. “Weapons training tomorrow afternoon. Be ready.”

The rest of the day blurs by. I supervise the others, but my mind is on her. When I finally get back to the clubhouse, I go searching for her. It doesn’t take long before I find her in a game of pool with a couple patched members. She’s bent over the table, ass presented like an offering, the curve so perfect my hands itch. I want to smack it red, then sink into her from behind while she tries to keep playing. My dick twitches in response.

She’s not mine. Can’t be. Yet the obsession grows like a sickness.

“Stalking me now, Switch?” she asks without turning.

“Making sure you’re not broken from today.” I keep my eyes on hers, gauging how she stands and speaks. She took one hell of a beating today.

She straightens and faces me. “I can handle it. Question is, can you?”

I step closer, crowding her against the edge of the pool table, bracing one hand beside her but not touching her. “Don’t matter what I can handle. Lennox pulled me aside. Made it clear what happens if I cross lines with you while you’re prospecting.”

“And yet here you are.” She bites her lip, a flirting tone lacing her voice, and I have a feeling I know where it leads.

I lean in, voice rough. “Part of me doesn’t give a fuck. I want to throw you over this table, yank your shorts down, and fuck you so hard you feel me for days. But you’re a prospect carrying heat, and he’s my brother. Stay focused. Don’t distract me with that smart mouth and this body that’s driving me insane.”

She closes the gap, pressing against me. “I’m already distracted, Switch. I have been since you made me come on your fingers while you lost it in your pants, or did you forget that?” Her voice is a soft whisper.

Heat floods my face, while my cock hardens painfully. “That won't happen again.”

Her smirk is prideful, and I can see the dirty thoughts circling her brain. “That’s fine. We’ll find other ways. Dirtier ones.”

I pull back with a curse, raking a hand through my hair, trying to keep my focus on what could be coming any day now. “Tomorrow we’re doubling everything—hand-to-hand, weapons, scenarios. If Nicholas is coming, you need to be ready to meet him.”

“I’m not running,” she says, eyes fierce.

The next few days become a punishing blur of obsession and restraint. Mornings start with brutal hand-to-hand. Fuse spars with her. Full contact, no holding back. I watch and correct when she needs it. Then I take over for scenarios. My hands are on her constantly. Adjusting stance, pinning her down, feeling her struggle and submitting beneath me. She improves fast, using agility to flip bigger opponents. Every grapple leaves me aching, cock straining against my shorts. I imagine slamming her against the mat, ripping her clothes off, and pounding into her until she falls apart while begging for more.

Afternoons are spent on the range and with knives. She’s deadly accurate with handguns, steady under pressure. Knife disarming might be her best skill. It really shows her Redline edge. She disarms Fuse, taking him down quickly, earning a grunt of approval. I picture those skilled hands wrapped around my shaft, stroking me while she looks up with those defiant eyes.

I’ve catalogued every detail: sweat tracing her collarbone and disappearing between her breasts, the crease between her brows when focused, the way her ass flexes when she pivots. Every caught stare sends fire through my veins. Fuse ribs me relentlessly. I tell him to fuck off, but he’s right—I’m either fucking gone for her or desperately need to get laid. There are plenty of club bunnies. Maybe one of them in the dark with a bag over her head will take the edge off, because with the obsession I have with her, that's the only way I'd be able to do it and not break the rules.

By the second day of intense training, waking up rock hard is routine. Cold showers do nothing. I fist myself roughly under the stream, imagining her mouth, her pussy, her ass—every hole as mine to use. Rough. Possessive. I want to choke her while I fuck her, mark her neck with my teeth, fill her with load after load until she’s claimed. Lennox’s warning echoes, but the devil in my head counters with the memory of her taste, her whimpers, how perfectly she’d take my cock.

Nights are the worst. Lying in my room, I replay every touch. The compound feels suffocating, tension thick. Prospects complain about the intensity, but Tatum takes it all, growing sharper, stronger, sexier. She’s changing everything. The threat from Nicholas feels like a shadow in comparison to how badly I need to consume her.

I watch her from across the room sometimes, and my fantasies are turning darker: tying her to my bed, edging her for hours until she begs, then fucking her senseless. Making her mine in every filthy way possible. She's off-limits, I know this the same way I know how far I can push my bike…but the obsession. The obsession only deepens with every day, every bruise, every glance, every near touch, every breath.

She’s going to ruin me. And I’ll gladly let her—as long as I get to call her mine.

TATUM

We arrive at the gym late because of a meeting Switch had with some other members. When we walk in, Fuse already has most of the guys running drills. Every head turns as we enter. Corbin brushes his hand against the small of my back—a quiet claim that sends warmth curling through me even as nerves twist in my stomach. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across the equipment while the clank of weights and grunts fill the air. Fuse throws a smirk at Switch as we step into the center of the room.

Fuse claps his hands once, sharp and loud. “All right, listen up, you little shits. Time to see what kind of progress your sorry asses have actually made. We’re running live pairings. I’ve matched each of you based on your strengths and weaknesses. No half-assing it today.”

Corbin’s voice cuts in next, steady and authoritative. “You will be judged on the form you’ve been taught, as well as how you give and take. This isn’t the time to pull your punches. First up: Thomas and Tatum. Tape up and get in the ring.”