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Sloane Kingsley.

The fucking mayor’s daughter.

I’d seen her face on news clips, in social media photos people pass around like candy. Always causing a scene. Always smirkingin court after her father bailed her out of whatever fresh scandal she stirred up. Breaking rules because no one’s ever made her follow them.

Until maybe now.

If she were mine, that mouth would be the first thing I’d handle. Then she’d learn real quick what ‘over my knee’ meant when that attitude got out of hand. I knew she’d be just the type that would test every line just to see what happened when she crossed it.

Spoiled, reckless, too damn pretty for her own good.

And walking straight into my world like she owned it.

Fucking hell.

My jaw flexed. I rolled my shoulders, tried to shake it off. The fight was what mattered. Volkov’s no joke. This wasn’t just a fight—it was about territory. Reputation. Family.

Yet even as I faced the other side of the ring and stared down a man built like a refrigerator with a mean streak, I could still feel her eyes on me.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her.

But I was, and I already knew: she was going to be a goddamn problem.

I cracked my neck to the left. Then the right. Rolled my shoulders once.

Volkov was already in the ring, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, eyes locked on me like he was starving. Good. Let him feel hungry. Let him think this was about size, about rage.

It never was.

This was about control.

The ref said something I didn’t hear. Didn’t matter. The second he dropped his hand, I stepped forward, ready to fight.

Volkov rushed toward me like he was trying to end it early.

Rookie mistake.

I ducked under the first swing, letting his momentum carry him half a step past, and drove my elbow into his ribs. As he staggered back, I heard the sound of his breath knock out of him—a hard exhale, just loud enough to satisfy.

The crowd screamed after that. They always did.

I didn’t really hear them.

I heard the blood pumping in my ears. I felt the ring shift beneath my boots. I saw fists and angles and the way Volkov dropped his right shoulder just a little too early.

He was giving himself away.

He took another swing at me. I blocked it, threw a left hook to his jaw and made contact. He staggered back, just for a second.

Moving forward, I didn’t give him room to breathe. I moved in fast, like a dog off the leash, and drove a fist into his gut. Followed it with a short, brutal uppercut to his chin that snapped his head back.

That’s when I felt it.

Her.

It’s like her stare was a hand dragging across my skin.

My focus stuttered, just for a second.