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Humoring me, to get me to keep running my mouth.
Brilliant, bad little girl.
It makes me want to knot her right here on the floor of this ring.
And, fuck me, watching her throw punches is making me harder.
“That’s enough for today,” I decide, pulling off my gloves. “Your arms are going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes at me like that’s somehow my fault but follows suit, tossing the gloves near mine and taking the water bottle I offer her.
After a swig, she nods at my chest. “Did you get new tattoos?”
Without an ounce of shame, I pull one bandage down, showing her what’s underneath.
The pieces took some doing. I had to work fast, after the day she had her first heat-spike—tracing the scratches she left along my pecs with a permanent marker until I could make a proper transfer.
Now, there are four jagged scars branded into each side of my chest.
I used white ink, making sure the lines sliced right through whatever shit I had underneath. A skull on one side. Some crown on the other.
Fuck it all. I only need her marks on me.
“I told you I wanted your claws. You didn’t break the skin, though,” I explain. “So I did.”
She sets the water bottle down, stepping closer. With care, she fits her fingertips into the tattoo’s gouge-like lines, tracing them. When her head falls back to lock our gazes, her eyes are dark.
She likes this. And I?—
Fuck.
I love her.
It snaps through me like an electric current. So intense, I know she must be able to feel it; especially when her lips part and she gasps.
But I let her see. She needs to know.
Especially since I’m about to fuck her like I hate her. Right here in this boxing ring.
Her perfume winds into the air, pumping adrenaline through my blood. If any other alpha in this gym scents her, they’re sure as hell going to smell me, too. By the time I’m done with her, they won’t know where I end and she starts.
Tilting my chin at the ropes, I ask, “What about my claws, kitten? Think you can handle those?”
Who even knows if I’m teasing her anymore? Truth is, I don’t think I am. I want her to see me fight. To know she’ll still see the guy she likes and trusts after she watches what my Alpha and I can do in that Octagon.
Serena absorbs the look on my face, her own softening. “I want to,” she whispers. “Can you show me?”
My heart clenches, fear and frustration and fucking want jolting through me. “Take off your shorts. Panties, too.”
Biting her lip, she casts one last nervous glance around the empty gym but starts to shimmy out of her clothes. I close in, backing her into the ring ropes while I growl, “I’d never let anyone live after seeing you like this. So we better hope no one walks in. Or they won’t be walking out.”
I hear her swallow as she nods, stepping out of her shorts and her shoes, leaving her in just that ripped-up black top and the blood-red bra under it.
The bra I like—but this shirt is pointless. With one tug, I rip it right in half, letting it fall off her.
“You could have just told me to take it off,” she teases, raising a brow. “Menace.”
I like her nickname. It feels right. Like me.
