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Patreus narrowed his gaze sizing her up, but he eventually nodded. “You can go around and ask if anyone wants their gear washed. But hurry up.”

Without a word, she turned away, eager to put distance between herself and the strangely aggressive old man.

The air was charged with anticipation as she made her way around the tense circle of onlookers. She felt Takeshi’s intense focus briefly shift to her, a silent warning in his gaze.

Her stomach tightened into garbled knots as Takeshi picked up the pace of the fight, and the heady grunts from the girl he was fighting amplified.

She needed to leave. Quickly.

The men and women were drenched in sweat and grime and tossed their gear to her with little regard, like she was a mere servant. Khalani’s glare hardened, but she continued collecting their dirty rags.

She reached the last person, her arms full of sweat-soaked and vomit-stained shirts, when a hand slapped her backside.

“Hey, parasite, you forgot my shirt!”

A burly man with curly brown hair and a handsome face laughed along with a few men as Khalani whirled around in shock. Her cheeks flushed as the choking laughter expanded, numbing every sound.

Her eyes flared and her hands shook.

Khalani had been through too much, suffered at the hands of too many men, to let anyone touch her without consent.

The shirts tumbled from her arms into a forgotten heap.

Before the cackling guy had a chance to react, she lunged, her fist barreling into his face. The jarring impact sent him to the ground, and the crowd gasped.

Pain flared in her knuckles, but she ignored it, finding a flicker of satisfaction in his audible groan as he staggered back, clutching his nose.

His friends clamored around him. “Are you okay, Garret?”

Garret brushed them off, spinning on her.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he growled.

“Do you make a habit of assaulting every girl that walks in your vicinity?” she shot back.

“You disgusting h—” Garret stepped forward but was abruptly yanked back.

Takeshi towered behind him, gripping the back of Garret’s neck. His other friends gulped, instinctively backing away.

“What happened?” Takeshi asked through his teeth.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” the man complained. “This bitch hit me—OW. Shit!”

Still clutching his neck, Takeshi kicked him in the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees. He leaned in, digging his fingers into the tendons of Garret’s neck.

“Do you know how many bones there are in your body? Two hundred and six. Call her that name again, and I will break every single one.”

The man whimpered in response, and Takeshi’s head lifted, staring directly at her. “What did he do?”

She crossed her arms and told the truth. “He smacked my ass.”

Takeshi’s left hand balled into a tight fist, while his other—still locked around the man’s neck—tightened. His nails dug into the man’s flesh, eliciting whimpers of pain as the guy squirmed and tried to wrench himself free. But the man’s struggles only seemed to fuel Takeshi’s deadly resolve.

It felt as though the very face of death gazed back as Takeshi reached for the sharp blade hidden in his boot.

“Steele!” Patreus yelled and the crowd parted for the old man who marched into the circle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You said you wanted me toteach. That’s what I intend to do,” his low, gravelly voice practically had its own wavelength. Takeshi leaned closer to Garret, who looked like he was about to wet himself.