The memory flashes before I can stop it—him leaning against the pool table, tattoos shifting over muscled arms, danger woven into the lazy smile he shot me, every inch of it a loaded weapon. My pulse spikes hot, shameful, unwanted. I shove it down, bury it under anger and survival instincts.
“No thanks,” I say quickly, voice hoarse. Chest tightening. Throat dry. The instinct to run tangles with the instinct to fight. “Cliff’s letting me barback. I’m getting experience here.”
I force a brittle smile, already retreating, already fortifying the walls. The last thing I need is more Outsider entanglement. More dangerous men wrapped in false promises.
Victor Valentine. Another one of them. Another wolf dressed in respectability. Just like Malachi. Just like the rest of them.
No. I’ll carve my own way out of this life. I’ll build my own future. Even if it kills me.
Chapter 5
Malachi
Beaulunges,aiminganotherlow kick at my legs, but I catch it a mile away. Lazy. Sloppy. I deflect it with ease, barely feeling the impact. Sweat drips down my temples, the tang of salt hitting my lips, fueling my irritation.
He comes at me again, telegraphing his move with all the finesse of an amateur. I feint left, draw him in, then snap my right fist forward in a brutal hook. My knuckles slam into his jaw with a satisfying crack, the sharp sting vibrating through my bones, and he drops hard, face-first onto the mat.
My pulse roars in my ears, adrenaline surging through my veins. Instinct tells me to wait, to find out if he’s out cold, but I don’t hesitate. Coach Tompkins drilled that out of me a long time ago. I drop to my knees, my arm snaking around his neck, locking in the chokehold. Beau’s heartbeat pounds against my forearm, frantic at first, then slowing with each passing second. If the punch didn’t do it, this will.
Beau struggles, his body tensing against mine, muscles quivering with defiance, but I don’t loosen my grip. He won’t tap; I know that. Hate him or not, I respect the fact that he’d rather go down fighting than surrender. A kindred spirit in that way. His resistance weakens. His limbs go slack. Only then do I let go, lowering him gently to the mat before rising to my feet, breathing ragged, my chest tight with lingering aggression.
The ref grabs my wrist and yanks it into the air, declaring me the winner. A mix of cheers and boos erupts from the crowd, but there are more cheers than the last time I beat Beau. The tide is shifting. He was once their golden boy, but I’ve clawed my way to the top, and he fucking hates it.
Stepping out of the cage, I catch the towel Coach Tompkins tosses my way and drag it over my sweat-slicked face, inhaling sharply through the rough fabric before chugging a bottle of water. The cool liquid rushes down my throat, washing away the metallic taste of violence.
“Good fight, man,” Coach Tompkins says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Beau’s gonna come for a rematch.”
I smirk, shrugging. “I’ll just beat his ass again.” But beneath my bravado, unease coils tightly, whispering that every victory sharpens the target on my back.
As we make our way toward the locker room, I glance at him. “How much did you make?” I ask, already knowing he had money riding on this.
“Ten grand,” he says, grinning. “Appreciate that.”
“Damn. I need to start betting on myself.”
Coach Tompkins rolls his eyes, but before he can respond, a voice—high-pitched and eager—cuts through the noise.
“Malachi! Can I get your autograph?”
I turn, already regretting it, just in time to witness a woman lift her shirt, her finger hooking beneath the lace trim of her bra. The overpowering scent of cheap perfume slams into me, a stingto already raw nerves. “And if you’ve got a few minutes… maybe I could meet you in the locker room?” She winks, biting her lip.
I arch an eyebrow.The fuck?Some guys live for this kind of attention, but me? I can’t stand it. I rake my gaze over her, unimpressed. Pretty enough, but not my type. When I take a woman to bed, I want something to hold on to. She’s got nothing. My chest tightens uncomfortably with irritation, and a sharp bitterness coats my tongue.
“No thanks,” I mutter, stepping back and turning away.
“What the hell? What about the autograph?” she calls after me, voice laced with indignation.
I don’t bother answering. No point in feeding the drama. Women like her see what they want to see. One signature, one ounce of attention, and they’ll twist it into something it’s not. I don’t need that shit.
Keeping my head down, I push forward, ready to be done with this night.
Until Coach’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Candace! Good to see you, lady.”
My head snaps up.Fuck me. Candace? Here?My stomach knots instantly, anticipation and irritation warring in my chest.
“Hey, Coach Tompkins,” she greets him, her voice light, carrying a smile I’ve never seen before. It’s soft. Almost real. My heart jolts painfully at the sight, possessive instinct clawing its way up my throat. But it’s not meant for me. She hasn’t noticed me yet, so I stay back, watching, my pulse inexplicably racing.
At first glance, she’s just another beautiful girl. Blonde hair, long legs, the kind of effortless style that makes it seem she doesn’t have to try. But something shifts. I really look at her, and the realization slams into me forcefully, mimicking a punch to the gut.
