They live for this.
After Armand tapes them up, they warm up and then step into the ring. My boys are killers in hand-to-hand combat. They’ve trained in Japan, China, Indonesia, and Russia. Their techniques are precise, brutal, and elegant.
Malikai studies his opponent, picks his moment, then strikes like a ghost. Sebastian? He’s pure aggression, heavy hands, and relentless power. He doesn’t waste motion. Just destroys.
They balance each other. Theyneedeach other.
I hit the heavy bag, eyes drifting to the crowd forming around the ring. Armand’s movement catches my attention. He stalks over, arms folded, gaze sharp. He’s reading me. Gauging where my head is.
He knows me too well.
Our fathers were best friends. We grew up together—even oceans apart—and stayed connected. My father let it happen, even if he pretended not to know. Armand saw me before andafter… everything before Talon and after when I was broken. He was there through all of it.
And I love him for that.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I shove them down. Now’s not the time.
I can’t break.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
Armand doesn’t speak. He stands there, arms folded, his gaze heavy on mine. His silence says more than words ever could. I don’t have to ask if he sees the cracks. Of course he does.
He’s always been able to read me.
I look away first, watching my boys in the ring. They’re moving fast now—fluid, deadly. I take a slow breath, willing my body to relax. But the tightness in my chest doesn’t ease. Not when I can still feel the weight of everything I’ve done for this club. Forhim.
Talon.
I still taste his name like rust and regret.
That man tore me open, and part of me never fully healed. Some wounds don’t close. They scab over and wait to bleed again. And being back here? It feels like picking at old scars.
Armand shifts, stepping closer, voice low. “You okay?”
I give a slow nod, jaw clenched. “Fine.”
He doesn’t believe me. Smart man.
“You’re overthinking,” he says. “You always do when your mind travels tothenand him.”
My eyes stay on the ring. Sebastian swings hard, and Malikai dodges, grinning like this is the best day of his life. It probably is. My boys thrive in chaos—they’re their mother’s sons.
“They don’t deserve this version of you,” Armand murmurs.
I look at him. “Which version is that?”
He lifts one brow. “The one still bleeding inside.”
I want to laugh, but it gets caught in my throat. I’m not bleeding. I’m a fucking flood. They can’t stop. But I swallow the emotion down and nod once.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “They’re about to get all of me. The whole damn storm.”
He gives me that small, rare smile. The only one I ever see. “Then God help them.”
We both glance toward the gym doors as they creak open.
