"You won your fight. Take your money and get the fuck out of here. Go," I say, trying to pick him back up.
"Declan," Lyra hisses, grabbing my arm. "Stop it."
The fighter looks between us. "Whatever, man. She's not worth this shit."
It's the wrong thing to say.
I lunge at him again, and Lyra gets in between us.
"Declan, stop!"
One of my men comes up and pushes the fighter out of the room. I turn and look at Lyra.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demands, storming toward me.
I straighten, adjusting my jacket. "I thought he was disrespecting you."
"No, he wasn't! He was getting stitched up and made a joke! Jesus Christ, you nearly killed him!"
She tries to shove past me, and I grab her. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To go check on him," she says.
"Leave him. I tell you what to do."
She stops and looks at me. "Excuse me?"
"I protect what's mine. If I thought he was disrespecting you, then that's what he was doing."
"Whoa, whoa. Wait, I'm sorry. I am not yours," she says, each word precise. "I work for you. That's it," she says, crossing her arms.
I take a step forward, smelling her scent. "Yes, you work for me. That's close enough."
Her eyes flash with rage. "No, it's not. You don't own me, Declan. No one does. Not anymore."
She turns and picks up her bag and walks toward the door. "Find someone else to stitch up your messes, Declan. I'm done."
"We had a deal," I call after her.
She pauses at the door, not turning around. "Deal's off. Whatever you thought this was, it's over."
Then she's gone, slamming the door behind her.
I stand in the empty locker room, breathing hard. Not from beating the fighter, that barely qualified as exercise. No, this is something else. Something I haven't felt in a long time.
I know if I follow her, I won't stop at just an apology.
Because I'm not sure I could.
14
LYRA
My phone's alarm blares at 6:15 a.m., but I've already been awake for an hour, replaying my interaction with that stupid man in my head like a horror movie I can't turn off.
It's been four days, and I was doing better until he decided to call.
I didn't answer, so he called again. I stood there looking at it, a mixture of joy that I was standing firm, but also questioning why the phone was fully charged and not turned off in a drawer.
