CONAN

T wo whole days and nothing from Hallie.

I’m pining for her, and I’m pissed off at myself. Probably because I didn’t fuck her.

That’s what I tell myself. But the truth? She’s funny as hell. A firecracker with a soft heart and a stubborn streak that makes me want to bite.

I check my phone again. Still no reply from Declan. Oh, maybe my cell is broken?

I shake my head. Declan isn’t replying because he’s on his honeymoon with Charlotte this week. Drago’s watching their daughter, Isabella. But tonight, I’m on duty for Uncle Conan’s bedtime story hour.

My phone pings with a text and I nearly drop it from excitement. Which soon leaves me when I see Declan’s name, not Hallie.

Declan

I’ve sent the info to Enzo, and I’ll forward any reply. Who is he? Why are we looking into him?

Another text comes in.

Declan

Actually, don’t answer. My wife might stab me if I do any work this week. I’ll see you Monday.

One less thing to worry about. We’re looking into that slick bastard, Ben. I don’t trust him, and I sure as hell didn’t like the slimy threat he slid Hallie’s way.

Even if she never wants to see me again, she looked after me. She doesn’t deserve his bullshit.

I need to stop thinking about her.

After a quick cardio burn with the ropes, I head for my therapy—beating the shit out of the punch bag. Every jab helps bleed off the rage bottled in my chest. Keeps me sane.

My trainer quit on me last week. Said I wasn’t taking the title seriously. Then I may have accidentally punched him too hard in the nose.

He’s wrong. I’ve bled for this.

I’ve worked my ass off since we moved to the States. Yeah, I fucked up. I killed James Bowen in the underground cage. But that was then. Now, I’m clean. Undefeated. Ranked in the UFC top ten.

Win this next fight, and I’ve got a shot at the championship belt.

I pound the bag again, fists slamming harder. Kicks follow. Sweat slicks down my spine. My lungs burn. My mind still won’t shut up.

Caramel hair. Big eyes. That sweet fucking mouth.

It was supposed to be one night. We didn’t even finish the damn night.

I have to get her out of my system.

I throw one more punch. It rattles up my arm, white-hot pain flashing through my shoulder.

“Fuck!”

“I thought you were told not to train. You’re supposed to be healing that wound.”

I steady the bag and glance over. Finn.

Grey eyes, unreadable. Hair perfect. Suit pristine, like he stepped out of a mafia funeral and not my gym.

“It’s healed,” I lie.

“Bullshit,” he says flatly. “Also, did something happen with Hallie? She’s been skittish around me. I’m blaming you.”

He walks closer, adjusting his cuff like he’s about to interrogate me.

“No. Nothing.”

Finn narrows his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me, brother.” He points a finger like Dad used to and my jaw tics.

“Nothing happened. I helped her with something. She got called into work. Rowan picked me up. That’s it.”

“Then why is she asking me to check your stitches instead of doing it herself?”

That fucking stings. She doesn’t want to see me?

“I don’t know,” I admit, voice tight. But I want to.

“Declan’s back from his honeymoon this weekend. We’ll finalize the details for the Decadence Chase. I assume you’ve confirmed all your contestants?”

Shit.

“I haven’t checked.”

Finn gives me a look like I’m already on thin ice.

“Finish up and shower. I’ll meet you at your cabin to redress the wound. You good?”

I nod. But my thoughts are stuck on her.

Why is she avoiding me? I liked her. I thought she liked me too.

I don’t want her avoiding me. I don’t want her career fucked up because of me, either.

As Finn reaches the door, I clear my throat.

“Finn?”

He pauses.

“If you, uh... wanted to see a girl more than once, would you text her?”

He blinks.

“Me?” He presses a tattooed hand to his chest. “You’re asking me that?”

“Yes,” I mutter.

“You talking about the girl you were meeting the night of the crash?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, hoping he doesn’t catch the truth.

He always does.

“What’s there to lose?” He shrugs. “Text her. Worst case, she ignores you. Then you find your next victim for the woods.”

I clench my fist. Asshole.

“Or… you chase her directly into the woods?” His grin sharpens.

“Got it.”

Hallie liked it rougher. Wonder how she’d handle my kind of chase. I bet she’d run. I bet I’d catch her.

The door clicks shut behind him.

My palms are sweating as I dig through my gym bag for my phone.

I texted myself from her phone in the hospital. I find the message and hover my thumb over the screen.

This feels more dangerous than stepping into a ring.

I type fast before I lose my nerve.

Me

Hi, trouble. You okay?

It sends. Too late to take it back.

I stare at the screen. Has she read it?

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have sent it. She’s ghosting me. She doesn’t want to see me. She didn’t even come to check my stitches.

I pace the mat, phone clutched in my fist. I feel crazy.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I should’ve just let her go.

But I swear I felt something. That spark my mom used to talk about. The one that tells you she’s it. The one. I wasn’t even looking.

Two minutes pass. Still no reply. No read receipt.

I consider throwing the phone into a wall. Or off a cliff.

No. What if she replies?

I laugh through my obsessive psycho moment, tossing the phone onto the mat. I rake a hand through my sweaty hair.

I need to get a grip. I’ve got a fight in a couple of weeks and no damn trainer. Time to focus on that.