Page 14 of Celestial Combat

But for what?

I couldn’t tell if it was because of the fight club, or because I had the audacity to look at her like I actually saw her. Maybe all of the above. Maybe something else entirely.

I clenched my jaw, forcing down the slow burn of irritation crawling up my spine.

Fine.

If she wanted to be pissed at me, let her.

I kept my voice unreadable. “Stay still.”

She did, but I noticed the way her fingers trembled in my hands, just slightly.

Once I finished wrapping her wrist, I took a slight step back. “If I let you fight, will you only fight for me?”

She met my eyes, searching for the catch. Then nodded.

I exhaled slowly, considering. “Two weeks. You’ll fight here. Under my conditions. That means I train you.”

She studied me, then smirked. “You don’t want to see me get hurt.”

I didn’t answer with theyesI wanted to.

Just held her gaze, my voice low. “You’ll fight for me, Meisa. That means you don’t break.”

Chapter 6

27 years old

Miami, Florida

THEAIR IN LITTLE HAVANA was thick with salt and old music.

Cuban jazz drifted from a cracked window above, soft and warbling. Neon signs buzzed in low colors – orange, pink, blue – casting long bruises across the shuttered storefronts and rusted balconies. Even this late, the humidity wrapped around me like a second shirt.

I walked with my hands in my pockets, now retired from my past profession as a contractor for hire. My shoes echoed lightly on the cracked pavement. I wasn’t rushing. For once, I had nowhere to be.

Someone hit me from behind.

Fast. Small.

I pivoted, hand instinctively brushing the hilt of the knife inside my jacket – but it was just a blur, a teenager. She didn’t even look back. Skinny frame, black hoodie, blood on her shoe. She tore down the street like hell was behind her.

I almost kept walking.

But then I heard the footsteps.

Heavy. Uncoordinated. Sveral.

Three men. Big. Running. Their boots slapped the pavement without rhythm.

I turned and watched them pass.

But I followed.

The city narrowed as we went – less street, more graffiti; less light, more dark. They turned a corner. I turned after them. Past a rusted-out Chevy, into an alley too narrow to lie in comfortably.

Dead end.