Page 53 of Hard Bargain

The lights were on when Dominic walked into the private gym the next morning, some old rock song drifting from the speakers.

Cassian was already there, sprawled on the bench press, weights stacked higher than anyone else in the crew bothered attempting. He wore old basketball shorts and the same half-amused smirk as always. “You look like absolute hell, boss,” he called, racking the bar with a grunt.

Dominic walked past him toward the wall of wraps and started working them around his knuckles, tight and methodical.

Cassian sat up, towel around his neck. “Rough night?”

“You planning on working out?” Dominic said. “Or running your mouth?”

Cassian grinned wider. “Ah. Definitely a rough night.”

Dominic shot him a look that would’ve shut up anyone else. Cassian only looked more entertained. Dominic moved to the heavy bag in the center of the room. The leather was old and scarred from years of impact.

Cassian leaned against the rack, arms folded. “Something tells me,” he said, “that this isn’t about business.”

Dominic ignored him. He stepped back, planted his feet, and hit. The first punch cracked through the room, the bag jerking hard, chains rattling against steel.

Again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Each strike harder than the last. He focused on mechanics, but Knox’s face kept flashing behind his eyes.

That look in his eyes.

That slow drop to his knees.

Christ.

Dominic drove his fist into the bag hard enough to jar his shoulder.

He’d given Knox an out. The boy could’ve walked away. Could’ve said no. But he hadn’t. That was his choice. That part lodged under Dominic’s skin worse than anything.

He hit harder. The bag slammed back into him. He absorbed the impact and drove another brutal punch into the center.

He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t confused either. He knew exactly who he was. He’d never wanted a man before—had never looked twice, never been tempted, not once in his thirty-eight years. Whatever the hell last night had been, it had nothing to do with Knox being male. It had everything to do with Knox being Knox, which was a distinction that should’ve been comforting and absolutely wasn’t.

A growl left his throat as his fist slammed into leather again.

Cassian had gone quiet. Which meant he was paying attention.

Dominic adjusted his footing and unloaded a combination—three body shots, pivot, cross to the side of the bag. The impact vibrated up his arm, settling in his shoulder like punishment. He needed the pain. Pain was simple. The bag swung back hard enough to clip his ribs. He didn’t step away, letting the sting settle into bone as sweat dripped down his spine.

Cassian pushed off the rack and circled a little closer. His voice had lost the teasing edge. “Are you gonna tell me what you’re fighting, or am I just supposed to guess?”

“Guess.”

A quiet laugh. “Alright. Either Mercer did something spectacularly stupid… or the kid did.”

Dominic’s fist faltered, just for a second, but Cassian noticed. “Ahh,” he said softly. “So it’s the kid?”

Dominic hit the bag so hard the chain shrieked. When it swung back, he caught it and leaned his forehead against the leather, breathing hard. “He works for me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Dominic shot him a look sharp enough to cut skin. He hated how easily his cousin could read him. Always had. Even as a kid, Cassian had possessed that particular, infuriating talent for seeing through him.

Cassian held up both hands. “Alright. Fine.”

Dominic dragged a forearm across his face. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t some confused teenager having an identity crisis. He’d fought too hard for control—for position, for respect—to let this destabilize him. Last night was a one-time lapse in judgment that he was perfectly capable of putting behind him and never revisiting. He could compartmentalize this. This was nothing.

He kept hitting the bag until the noise in his head dulled from a roar to something manageable. By the time he stopped, sweat clung to his skin and soaked through his shirt. His knuckles throbbed under the wraps. He peeled one loose with his teeth, yanking harder than necessary.