Kane leaned on the wall alongside me. In a low undertone, he murmured, “Not to send you spiraling, man, but Darragh’s been sniffing around again.”
Darragh. The name tasted like ash. And like clockwork, I was hearing it more and more. He was the last man I wanted to talk to, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for whatever manipulative shit he was looking to spew today.
“The hell does he want from me?” I muttered, leaning my head back against the cold brick.
Kane sighed. “Well… I hear he’s happy that you’re still fighting in the ring.”
“And?” I snapped, cutting a sharp look his way.
He shifted, his unease with the conversation obvious. “He wants you to lose one of your upcoming fights.”
I felt my jaw lock, my eyebrows furrowing as the insult hit home. “Why the hell would he want me to do that?”
“Think he wants to see if you’ll do it… to see if he still has control over you…” Kane admitted, and I let out an annoyed sigh of my own.
Control. It always came back to that.
“I need the money, Kane, and my rank is what’s helping me. If I get back into business with Darragh, I give him complete control of my life. I’m already trying to make peace with the fact that I’m giving it to my father. I’m not dealing with him again.”
I stood up abruptly, the conversation over. I needed the weights, the burn, the distraction. I cracked my neck, reaching for the iron, but my movement stalled. Something—someone—had shifted the entire energy of the room. A flash of yellow in a sea of gray and black. A smile that didn’t belong here.
“Is Ingrid really giving these grown-ass men cookies?” Kane said, trying to hold in his laughter.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t look away. It was absurd. She was all pure, soft light, weaving between giants and handing out Ziploc bags as if she were in a bakery rather than a den of fighters. The men looked shell-shocked, their calloused hands taking the treats with confused, stuttered thank-yous.
But then I saw the way their eyes lingered on her. The way they tracked the curve of her khaki skirt and the soft fit of her yellow sweater. My blood began to simmer. She looked like a goddamn doll, and as my mind took a sharp turn into territory that was anything but holy, I had to force myself to breathe.
I averted my eyes, trying to reclaim my composure, until I felt a small, tentative tug at my sleeve. I looked down, and the world narrowed until it was just her doe-like eyes and the way she bit her lip, looking up at me.
“H-hi, Tristian…”
I stared at her, watching her fidget, her innocence dulling every dark thought I’d ever had. Slowly, I leaned down, bringing myself to her level, and took her hand. My thumb traced her palm, a silent claim.
“Hello, doll. What are you doing here?”
Her blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks. “I made cookies so I could get to know the guys here. I wanted to make sure your friends liked me… even if they’re a little scary,” she muttered.
A heavy sigh escaped me. The girl was going to be the death of me.
“Baby… the only real friends I have are Kane and James, and you know they adore you already… As for the other men here, I don’t mind that you made them cookies… but—”
“Should I have not brought them?” she asked.
I shook my head quickly, hating the wince in her expression. “It’s not that, doll. It’s just that—”
A roar from the front of the gym cut me off.
“FUCK, THESE DAMN COOKIES ARE BETTER THAN SEX!”
I groaned as Ingrid’s eyes went wide with shock.
“The men here can get a little intense… excited if you will… about certain things—and seeing a pretty girl give them food? Well, let’s just say you achieved your goal of making them like you,” Kane chimed in, snatching a cookie for himself before disappearing into the crowd.
I led Ingrid over to the bench, guiding her to sit. My protective instincts were screaming.
“Let me clean up real quick, doll. Take a shower too, and afterward, the rest of the day is ours together, hmm?”
I turned to rack my equipment, but my ears remained tuned to her. Footsteps approached—heavy, confident ones.
