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Hunter exhales and says, “Look, I’ll do it if you want. I can hold my own, but do you know the cognitive damage a concussion can cause? Memory loss, concentration issues, processing speed.” He lists them off like they’re written on his hand–which they’re not because he’s avoided concussions and doesn’t need to. “Not to mention the physical effects like dizziness, headaches, sleep disturbances–”

“I’ll do it,” I snap. “Save your brain. It’s not like I’m going to win a Nobel Prize in physics or whatever.”

“You sure?” Hunter asks. “Because we can forfe–”

“No!” The group of guys all shout at once, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t step in there will be a revolt in our first week as Barons.

“No forfeiting.” I may start throwing punches sooner than later if everyone doesn’t chill. Thankfully, they believe me, and I can save my knuckles for the main event. “It’ll be fine. Rob, clean up Mateo and get his ass out of here so he can ride this out somewhere safe. Carson, find me some shorts and whatever else I need to get ready for tonight.” I look over at Hunter. “Go let that mean older lady in the leopard print know there’s been a change in fighters.”

“I’ll help you get ready,” Bronwyn says. In the black heels she’s almost as tall as I am, her long legs hidden beneath a long skirt that matches the top. Her hand rests on my chest and her black painted lips are dangerously close. I’ve tasted them before,even though I was high as fuck at the time. “Every fighter needs a woman in their pregame ritual.”

“Isn’t that the Baroness’ job?” Carson asks.

“Any other year and I would have been the Baroness,” she snaps, gaze flitting over to Arianette. “I put in the work over the last three years, I have the bloodline and legacy. I know exactly how to take a pregame edge off and then walk you out to the ring so that everyone is both jealousandfears you.”

The locker room is quiet, waiting on my response. And to be fair, my brain is running through the scenarios of exactly how she’d help me with my nerves because they are on a rampage right now. But she lost me the second she mentioned bloodlines and legacy.

Because fuck her.

“Bronwyn is right. She put in the time and has the history.” I look over at Arianette who has her teeth bared at the other girl. “But Arianette has something you don’t.” I reach out and tug her top down, revealing the bandage. Ripping it off, I say, “Our mark. So you may want to back the fuck off now because you won’t have to deal with me, you’ll have to deal with her.”

And Arianette Hexley is a stone cold killer.

Bronwyn rolls her eyes and mutters, “Whatever,” before striding out of the locker room. That gets everyone else moving. Rob and a few other guys manage to get Mateo on his feet and help him toward the door. As Mateo passes by, he grins over at Arianette and says, “You like waffles? Maybe we can go get waffles.”

“Keep moving, dumbass,” Hunter says, ushering the group to the door. He follows them out and Carson returns, dumping a duffle bag on a nearby bench.

“This is all of his stuff.” He unzips the top and rummages inside. “Shorts, a pair of gloves, a cup to protect your junk, rollsof wrap and tape.” He sets a pair of slides on the bench and holds up a small case. “I think this is a mouth guard…”

“Okay, Carson,” I cut him off, “thanks.”

He looks up, a small crease of worry between his eyes. “You need anything else? A shot? Some weed? I could try to find some Scratch, but you know the Dukes are zero tolerance on that shit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Awesome.” He stops just short of the door. “Porterfield is a good fighter, but he tends to fall into patterns. Pay attention and you’ll find an opening. He also is impatient and goes for the first hit. You can either take it and go from there or beat him to it.”

I nod, trying to follow all the little details. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

He exits and it’s just me and Arianette. I ignore her, grabbing the shiny red shorts out of the bag. A little flashy, but maybe it’ll hide the blood better. I undress, kicking off my shoes before I remove my shirt and pants.

I’m pushing my feet through a pair of black compression shorts when I look up. Arianette’s staring at me. “Jesus, Baroness, I’d tell you to take a picture but you’re welcome to stare at me naked any day of the week.”

She doesn’t shift her gaze, but says, “Death found you, too.”

I pull the shorts up and adjust my dick and balls. “Excuse me?”

Her finger runs across the throat. “Death. It came for you.”

“No shit,” I mutter, grabbing the red shorts to pull over the top.

“Was it wearing a mask?” she asks, head tilted.

“No.” Sometimes I wonder what it’s like in that little head of hers. “He had pimples and a chip on his shoulder.”

She frowns, and I sit on the bench, pulling out the rolls of hand wraps and tape. I take a deep breath, trying to settle my heartbeat. How the fuck did I end up here again? I’m used togroup home scuffles and prison brawls. Not organized fights in front of the entire Greek system.

I pick up a roll of wrap and study it, unsure of where to even begin.