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HALLIE

M y heart climbs into my throat as the music blares and the crowd roars.

Then he steps into the cage—my Conan—in those shimmering green shorts.

His body gleams under the lights, muscle carved like a god’s.

I press my lips shut to stop myself from salivating.

When his opponent enters the ring, Conan’s eyes find mine.

And in that second, nothing else matters.

When he winks, I melt.

I blow him a kiss, and he chews on his lip, giving me that look.

The one that says he wants to rip my panties off with his teeth.

“Good luck,” I mouth.

The bell rings. The crowd goes feral.

His opponent, smaller but fast, launches at Conan, who grapples him and slams him against the cage wall.

He lands with a brutal thud.

“Fucking come on then!” Conan beats his chest as the man scrambles to his feet.

Conan lunges without hesitation, slamming into him like a truck.

As he grabs on, he drives a punch into the guy’s gut.

“Cover, Conan!” A huge blond guy pounds the metal.

The other fighter brings his knee up—smashes it into Conan’s jaw.

Conan stumbles and shakes it off. Then they're back at it, brutal and relentless.

Like two wild animals tearing at each other.

Punches, kicks, sweat, blood.

The guy swings. Conan ducks. Drives his foot straight into the guy’s stomach.

My pulse won’t calm. I’m chewing my nails like they’ll anchor me.

“You can breathe, Hallie. Nothing’s going to happen to him,” Finn says beside me, eyes locked on his brother.

“Fucking hit him harder!” Declan shouts, making me jump.

The bell rings again. The ref pulls them apart.

I finally breathe.

That five minutes felt like a goddamn eternity.

Conan wipes sweat and blood from his face, eyes locked on mine as he blows me a kiss.

I hope I don’t look as pale as I feel.