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There were a few women mixed in. He wanted to find Sylvie, but not here. Not like this. Because if she was here, where was Brooke? Who was she with? Worrying about her left a weight in his gut.
Slowly, Morgan wove through the crowd, pushing gently to make progress. He didn’t want to be recognized, and he didn’t think he would be. He’d been out of the game long enough.
“Thane!” A voice broke through the din, and Morgan cringed. No, please, don’t know me. He tried to keep going, knowing that if Sylvie were here, she’d be running now. He needed to get out of the crowd, get far enough away to see her leave.
“It’s Thane!” Another voice broke the night. He couldn’t ignore them now.
“I’m not here for a match,” he told the beefy guy ahead of him.
“Yeah?” The guy crossed thick arms over his wide, muscled chest. “You sure?”
“Positive.” Morgan wasn’t in the mood to fight, but neither was he one to back down from a challenge. Especially not when the one doing the asking was big as a house and someone Morgan had clocked before.
“Not looking for a rematch?” Bull growled, leaning in close.
Morgan lifted his hands in surrender. “Not tonight, man.” He took a step back. “I’m retired.”
Just then, a woman’s all-too-familiar laugh came across the crowd. Morgan spun around, at first not seeing her, then catching a glimpse of someone who looked like Sylvie. Sort of.
The same height, same body—but the blue eyes that he’d once thought were beautiful he now saw were cold as ice. Dear heaven, had there ever been any warmth in Sylvie’s eyes? Did she look at their daughter with those eyes? She didn’t look in his direction.
“Sylvie,” he whispered and took a couple of steps toward her. She looked so different. If she hadn’t laughed, he doubted he’d have recognized her with blue hair and tattoos. A shiver of fear told him he couldn’t lose her now. He might never find her again. He struggled to control his desperation.
Sylvie tipped her head back and laughed again, this time at the man beside her. She actually batted her eyelashes at the fool. Drama had always been her talent, and she knew how to play the crowd. Bull was practically salivating as he stared at her. “You aren’t getting near her, Morgan. She’s mine. She doesn’t want to see you.”
That hurt, but he swallowed the injury. “I don’t believe you.” And he didn’t, not really. But that tiny feather of doubt was difficult to completely ignore.
Then she was moving away from him through the mass of bodies, bodies that managed to step in between them, blocking him. “Sylvie,” he called, the sound of his voice disappearing in the noise of the crowd. Morgan turned to follow her.
“Don’t even think about followin’ the lady,” Bull said.
Morgan knew he could take on the mountain of a man and maybe win. Maybe. He’d been out of this too long. And while he’d kept up the workouts, he wasn’t sure how well he’d really fare. Bull looked like he had other things in mind than a fair fight.
Morgan wasn’t going to back down, though. He’d never been good about that. His father had taught him well. Backing down only made the beating worse. “You going to stop me?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Morgan saw Bull’s fist up close and personal an instant before he ducked away—an instant too slow. Pain shot through his right cheek, and the red he saw was as much from his busted face as it was the roar of rage that exploded inside him.
No backing down now. No following Sylvie, either, damn it.
He’d failed tonight. But he wasn’t ready to give up. The big man in front of him stumbled back from the power behind Morgan’s first punch, and he continued to retreat with each consecutive blow. None of the fist falls that Bull threw could keep Morgan back, though two shots to the ribs nearly did. Nothing slowed him down. He relished the pain.
For the first time in months, his blood rushed in his veins, and he felt alive.
When the big man finally fell on his backside in the dirt, he didn’t get up. Morgan stopped, something he was fairly certain Bull wouldn’t have done.
