Page 31

My stomach flips at the sound of our names. I glance up at Switch, but his expression gives nothing away.

I fucking hate being first. This really does feel like high school…

I grab the tape and head toward the ring. Wrapping my hands tight, old scars pull across my collarbone and ribs with every flex. The knife wound from that brutal night aches faintly, a reminder of how far I’ve come. Thomas is already there, shirtless and cocky, muscles gleaming under the lights. He rolls his shoulders with that same snarky swagger that’s always rubbed me wrong.

What a fucking twat waffle.

We step onto the mat, shaking loose. Before we even raise our guards, Thomas leans in close with a smug grin. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll take it easy on you. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face too bad.” His eyes glitter. “Besides, now that we’re going to be members together, we can put all your Redline days behind you. I need to know you can protect us the way we can protect you. I was the one who told Judge about you and your Redline Revenant ties. Had to. Club first—always gotta protect my brothers, you know?”

The words slam into me like a sucker punch. Shock freezes me mid-breath. Did he rat me out?

“I’m sorry, what the fuck do you mean my Redline days? We all know I left. That’s no secret.”

“Yeah, but when I brought it to Judge that you were Nicholas’s old lady, they seemed to not know that. I mean, I couldn’t not tell them once I figured it out. I almost didn’t recognize you at first. But we’re past that now.” He just shrugs, like protecting his potential brothers justified stabbing me in the back.

He’s fucking dead.

How the fuck would he know I was with Nicholas? Why was he digging? What is he hiding that would make him want to throw me under the bus?

I make a mental note to start digging into his background after I kick his ass. My pulse thunders in my ears. Betrayal burns hot up my throat, metallic and sharp. No one told me. Not Corbin. Not Lennox. Not a single damn person in this club. They let me be around him day after day, trying to be his friend. And now, they let me walk in here blind, facing the man who almost got me thrown out of my own brother’s club.

My eyes dart to Fuse. He had to know. Did he do this on purpose? The only response I get is a wink. That motherfucker set us up. He set me up.

Thomas’s jaw ticks. “Hands up, Tatum. Just follow my lead.”

I mimic his stance, but inside, everything ignites. He has no idea what he just unleashed. Rage simmers under my skin, but I don’t let it show. The way he said it so casually—like ratting me out to Judge was some noble sacrifice for the brotherhood instead of a straight-up betrayal—makes my jaw clench tight. Nails dig crescents into my palms as I fight the urge to launch at him right then. Heat crawls up my neck, but I lock my expression down cold. I refuse to let him see how deeply that knife still twists. Not yet. Not until I can make him feel it.

“Yeah. I’m not sure I should.” I step closer into his space, my voice dropping low and edged with venom. “Your version of ‘protection’ feels exactly like a knife in the back from where I’m standing. But sure, Thomas—I’ll follow your lead, so you take it easy on me. We’ll see exactly how that works out for you.”

His jaw ticks, the air between us thickens instantly, charged with everything we haven’t said. A few of the other prospects sense the shift. Mason pauses mid-conversation with a couple guys near the heavy bags, their heads turning our way. Switch leans against the far ropes of the ring, arms crossed over his broad chest. His dark eyes watch us with a piercing intensity that always seems to cut straight through my defenses. His presence is a steady, grounding force amid the storm building inside me, but right now, the fury belongs entirely to me and Thomas. The mat creaks under our weight. He starts with the basics, taking it slow and easy on me, which only adds fuel to the fire. A couple jabs, simple dodges, footwork patterns. He circles me with that cocky smile.

“You’re doing good, keeping up with me. We got told to not hold back, so I’m going to take it up a notch now.” His voice carries that patronizing edge, like he’s teaching a child instead of someone who’s survived hell.

Following obediently at first, letting the rhythm of fist meeting arms settle into my muscles. The sharp smacks echo through the gym, controlled for now. But my blood is singing, adrenaline already humming in my veins. Thomas’s earlier comment about Redline Revenant loops relentlessly in my head, mingling with the sting of betrayal.

He thinks he can play the loyal club man after what he pulled? Fuck that. I’m done playing nice.

The pace picks up. His next jab comes faster than expected. Instead of slipping away cleanly, I let it clip my chin on purpose. My head snaps back sharply, pain blooming bright and immediate across my jaw. Warm blood trickles from the corner of my split lip, dripping down my chin. Nicholas taught me how to take hits. Switch and Fuse’s training is teaching me how to give them back harder than I could before.

Thomas freezes for a split second, guilt flashing across his features. “Shit, Tatum—I thought you had the pace. My bad, I didn’t mean to⁠—”

I lick the blood away slowly and deliberately, savoring the coppery tang that grounds me in the moment. A dangerous smirk curls my injured lip. “Does this mean we can quit pulling punches now? I’m fucking bored with the kid gloves.”

His eyes narrow, but that underestimating glint remains. “Sweetheart, you can’t keep up with me. But fine, I’ll play your little game to make you feel better. I get it. You’re having a fit. So, let’s see what you’ve got.”

We reset our stances. I make a tiny shift in my weight—something subtle that only someone watching me with razor focus would catch. Before Thomas can close the distance fully, I strike first. A quick stinging jab to his ribs that forces a surprised grunt from deep in his chest. He blocks my follow-up, and we begin a tense circling dance of cat and mouse. The ambient gym noise fades into a distant hum.

It’s just us now—the pounding of my heart, the slick feel of sweat on my skin, and the ghosts of every back-alley brawl and training session that taught me how to survive. After trading a few blocked blows back and forth, I find my opening and take it. My fist connects solidly with his nose. The crack echoes sharply through the ring like a gunshot. Blood explodes hot and immediate across my wrapped knuckles, streaming down Thomas’s face in thick dark rivulets that coat his mouth and drip onto the mat.

“Oh, shit,” Mason mutters loudly from the sidelines, his sparring partner stopping dead.

Thomas touches his nose gingerly, eyes widening in shock before fury takes over completely. “You fucking bitch⁠—”

He circles me slowly, his temper fully ignited. I stay light and evasive on my feet, just out of reach, matching his intensity with a feral stare. The street-hardened part of me that learned to fight for her life uncoils like an agitated snake. “Where the fuck did you learn to hit like that? You were just an old lady,” he growls, blood still pouring freely and staining everything it touches.

“Apparently, you didn’t do a good enough job with your homework.” I give him nothing more. I never do.

He fakes left and drives right with power. His fist slams brutally into my ribs, the impact radiating deep pain that steals my breath for a dangerous heartbeat. But I eat it—barely flinching. I’ve endured far worse. This barely registers. He clearly doesn’t know shit about who I am or where I came from. Thomas wipes blood from his face and comes at me faster, more aggressively. I slip inside his guard with practiced ease, driving my elbow hard into his solar plexus. The air whooshes out of him in a sharp pained grunt.