Page 75 of Ruthless Lord

He grumbles more about hurting Big Boss but eventually gives in. “Prefight ritual is stretching.” He sighs as he touches his toes. “Lots and lots of fuckingstretching.”

I kick my feet up on the couch and enjoy the show. Old Man Stefano grunts and groans through a series of movements,bends, and lunges. He methodically works out each of his impressive muscles, which is one hell of a show, if I’m honest. All the while, he curses and groans like someone’s shoving hot pokers up his asshole.

“Why do you put yourself through this?” I say, sipping on cold Fiji water. Nothing but the fancy shit. Might as well be Philly tap for all I care. “I mean, you’re clearly miserable.”

“This part sucks.”

“So why do it?”

“Because the part down there’s worth all this.” He sighs and cracks his neck loudly. “I didn’t always have to do all this shit, you know. Back when I was younger, I could roll out of bed, beat the shit out of a dozen strong men, and get drunk that night before doing it all again the next day.”

“Must be hard for you, learning how to limber up.”

“You have no idea.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “I’m not going to bore you with the complaints of an old man?—”

“Too late for that.”

“But fighting really is a young man’s game. The body doesn’t heal like it used to.”

“And yet you still think it’s worth it.” I get up from the couch and walk over to him. “Come here, let me help.”

“Not sure what you can do.”

“Lie back.” I grab his leg and push it back, loosening his hamstrings. I shouldn’t be touching him, but his muscles are too tempting. There are even scars on his legs, little knots littering his thighs. “God, you’re a mess.”

He follows my gaze. “I like to think I’m beautifully worn in.”

“Do you think scars are beautiful?”

“They tell stories. That one by my knee? That was a dog. A big fucker too.”

“A dog bit you?” I trace the lines. “How long ago?”

“I was… fifteen? Broke into a junkyard. Just about the biggest cliché imaginable, but it happened.”

“Bitten by a junkyard dog. I’m amazed you survived.”

“You’d be amazed by half the stories then.” His eyes drift down to my lips. “Been through too much. Nothing ever totally heals right either. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but that’s just bullshit. What doesn’t kill you now might kill you later. My fucked-up knee might mean I miss a step. Or my ruined elbows might make me hit a little too soft. A dozen injuries and more.”

“And you still want to fight.” I work on his other leg. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing touches the way I feel down there. When I’m in the ring, life is simple. It’s me and him. I know what to do. I know how to win. There’s no stress, no worry, no fucking desk or paperwork. Just my fists.”

“And his face.”

“Exactly.” He pulls an arm across his chest. “Nothing matches it. Well, almost nothing.”

“Yeah? Something finally crack that tough nut of yours?”

“Something like that.”

“Tell me, what’s nearly as good as fighting?”

His gaze meets mine and his lips curl. “Fucking you.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I look away so he can’t see my cheeks turn red. “That’s so flattering. It’salmostas good.”

“Takes a lot less warmup, anyway. You’re easy like that.”