“An intervention,” Wolfe says from the corner. His laptop is closed, for maybe the first time ever.
“Nope.” I swivel around, heading for the door.
Cillian blocks me. “You two have been at each other’s throats for too long. Gavin’s on his couch with stitches in his head. This family’s falling apart. I’m not watching it happen without trying to stop it.”
“I didn’t start this.”
“I don’t care who started it. Talk. Or fight. But you’re not leaving until something gets resolved,” Cillian says. “We’re all we have.”
I narrow my eyes at Ronan. He hasn’t moved, just watches me with that vacant expression I fucking hate. Like he’s above all this. Like he’s got better places to be.
My hands are already curling into fists, tingling with the urge to lay him out on the mat.
“Fine.” I drop my bag and pull out my hand wraps. “Let’s do this.”
Ronan walks toward the cage, his hands already wrapped tight. “I didn’t ask to be here either,” he mutters.
“Then why’d you come?”
No answer. He just ducks through the chain door and waits.
I follow him in, my pulse throbbing against the side of my throat. Shit, I’ve waited for this chance for a damn long time. I always thought if I could beat the asshole out of him, we could get back to where we were such a long time ago.
I guess we’re gonna find out if that can happen.
We circle each other, the mat squeaking under our feet.
Ronan throws the first punch.
I slip around to avoid it, barely. Then I counter with a jab to his nose. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch. He just comes back with a hook to my ribs that pushes the air out of my lungs. I double over. He grabs the back of my head and drives his knee toward my face. I twist away at the last second so it barely catches my shoulder.
This isn’t sparring. This is years of shit finally boiling over.
I launch myself at him with a low roar and tackle him against the side of the cage. The chain-link rattles as his back slams against it. I get two shots to his body before he shoves me off to create space. Then the dickhead hits me with an uppercut that makes my teeth crack together.
Good. I want to feel something besides this sick churning sensation in my gut every time I think about him.
We keep trading blows but they’re sloppy now, both of us running on rage more than power and technique. He catches me with an elbow that stings like hell. I get him with a knee to the stomach that folds him in half.
He goes down. I grab his head, line up another knee, and?—
He shoots forward and sweeps my legs. I hit the mat hard. Then he climbs on top of me, his fists raining down punches. I cover my face with my arms and roll out from under him. I use my leg to knock him off balance and shove him back down to the mat before getting in a few more good punches.
He kicks me off of him and we scramble up, gasping.
The taste of metal fills my mouth. I use the back of my hand to wipe my face, streaks of blood staining my wraps. Ronan glares at me, his breathing ragged. His lip is split, eye swollen.
“Had enough?” I grunt.
“Fuck you.”
He charges me, ready for a takedown. I sprawl on the mat, loop my arm around his neck, and flip him around so his back is to my chest. I squeeze. His face floods red. He claws at my arms, but I don’t let go.
He finally taps out.
I let go and shove him away. We’re both on our knees, gasping for air.
“Feel better?” Cillian calls out from outside the cage.
