She’s a fighter. I’ll give her that much.
Cupping my balls, I let out a slow breath and try to blink past the black spots dotting my vision while the girl struggles in Ford’s arms. A sheen of panic paints her wide brown eyes. It’s as if she’s finally realized how much she fucked up by coming here, let alone sneaking into my brother’s room, throwing a temper tantrum, and kneeing me in the balls. Her eye color is even richer now. The dark espresso hits like a shot of caffeine. As they dart around the room, I realize why the look feels familiar. It reminds me of the helpless animals we used to snare when my dad would take me hunting with my brothers. A timid little animal who knows she made a mistake and is about to be eatenalive because of it. All it took was one wrong move to lead her here. Sandwiched against my brother. His grip relentless. As he waits for her executioner—me—to dole out her punishment.
“Big mistake, sweetheart,” Ford growls.
She squirms against him. “Let me go?—”
“After a stunt like that?” Ford scoffs. “You’re not the brightest crayon in the box, are ya?”
Hawke shifts toward the door. His attention stays laser focused on the girl who seems to have thrown us all for a loop tonight. Blocking the exit with his body, he folds his arms and tilts his head. Seems he’s waiting, too. To see how I want to handle this. Handleher.
The once crisp bills are a wadded mess in my closed fist. Prying my fingers open, I stride closer to the pain in my ass still struggling in Ford’s arms.
“Let me go or I’lll?—”
“Stop. Moving,” I warn.
Surprisingly, she does. Her pouty lips part, and she peers up at me. It’s as if she just realized I’m not still on my knees across the room from her. I’m right in front of her, commanding her attention like I do everything in my life.
“Apologize,” Ford demands.
She lets out a shaky breath but keeps quiet, determined to stand her ground. Honestly, I’m impressed. Lifting the crumpled bills an inch from her nose, I let her eye the money, then slowly wrap my arm around her waist and tuck them into the back pocket of her jeans. When my fingers graze the small swell of her ass, my cock twitches, surprising the hell out of me. I wouldn’t exactly say the girl is my type. Even so, I keep my expression locked down like I was raised to do. “To be clear, you should probably work on your technique,” I tell her.
A little furrow forms between her brows. “What?”
“Here you go.” I pat her ass for good measure to prove a point. That she can say what she wants. Think what she wants. But I have the power to strip it all away with a simple snap of my fingers or pat of her ass. “You earned it,” I add, referring to the cash I tucked into her back pocket.
Panic swallows her confusion until utter hatred replaces it. “Fuck you.”
“You wish, Little Thief.” I bend even closer. “You. Wish.”
She raises her chin an inch higher. “Over my dead body.”
My mouth lifts. “Next time, I expect you to be a little softer. I like to work up to the finale.” My gaze slides to Ford. “Let her go.”
As soon as his grip loosens, she jerks away and reaches for her back pocket, but I grab her wrist, stopping her. “If I find out you do anything with the money except use it for yourself, I won’t be so accommodating. We clear?”
Her chest heaves before her head dips in the barest of nods.
“Good girl.”
I let her go, and she rubs at her wrist with her opposite hand. Anxious. Scared. I tilt my head toward the exit, and Hawke steps aside, giving her room to leave. Like a baby jackrabbit, she darts away, not bothering to look back or even close the bedroom door behind her as she races down the stairs toward the main floor.
Good. It lets me take in the view for a few seconds longer, even if she is a pain in the ass.
With a quiet click, Hawke closes the door and leans against it again.
“Who is she?” I ask.
“Violet,” Hawke answers. I quirk my brow, waiting for him to give me more intel, but he only shrugs. “You gave me two minutes.”
To be fair, I gave him a hell of a lot more time than two minutes. He just decided not to use it, choosing to tattle to Ford instead.
“How’d you know I lied?” I ask.
“You mean, how could I see through your bullshit when you said you were planning to fuck her tonight?” Hawke clarifies. A low chuckle rumbles past his throat. “Pretty sure you could be married to the love of your life, and you’d still keep your dick to yourself the night before a fight.”
Call me a superstitious bastard, but he’s right. I never have sex before a fight. Sure, there’s nothing like a little post-orgasmic haze or whatever the hell you want to call it, but not at the expense of a win in the ring. The added testosterone and pent-up frustration from keeping myself in check fuels me. Although, for a girl like her…
