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Before I can turn back and tell him to go fuck off to wherever the hell he’s been for the last month, Viv comes into view and gives me a tight hug, making me groan from my injuries.

“You did awesome for your first time. Still got a lot of work to do, but you’ve got serious potential. I’ll let Tommy know you’re ready to train with a sponsor, and he’ll get you your next fight.”

“Like hell he will,” Atom grumbles, and I watch as Domino’s eyes go wide and Viv’s narrow at his words.

“Is the problem with having a sponsor or who it is? Because despite his ties to the Mafia, Tommy is one hell of a sponsor. He cares for each of his girls and treats us right. He doesn’t put us in a ring just to see us bleed like some others do. And he also doesn’t put a girl up against someone she can’t hold her own against.”

“Like what just happened?” Atom tosses a hand toward the ring behind us, which is becoming more and more visible with each person who leaves the warehouse. The fights are over. I was the last of them. Doesn’t mean anyone is in a true hurry to leave. They’re probably too hyped up on blood play to want to go back to their boring nine-to-five lives.

“I told you this was her first fight. Of course she’s going to be outmatched. The point is to see how she reacts. She didn’t run. She didn’t cry. She took each hit well and even got in a few on someone who was bigger and taller than her. It wasn’t about how hard she got knocked down but what she took before she did.”

That was all news to me, but I’m not against it. Makes sense from what Viv and Meekail told me about the underground scene. These aren’t fair fights. That’s the point. The pay is better because it isn’t fair.

Not that I care about the money. I’m doing this for the feeling I get after. That I can take a hit, get up, and hit back. Something that was never an option each time I was taken. Then it was just “get hit and take it.” There was no fighting back. Not with my hands, anyway. I used my words a few times, got hit more. But now? I don’t know if I’ll get taken again. Even then, I don’t know if I’ll have the option to fight free.

But now I know I can smile after a hit. I can fantasize about what I would do if given an option. Something I didn’t have before.

I’m not doing this to plan for my next kidnapping. I’m doing this to say “Fuck the kidnapping, I can do what I want when I want.”

And if that leads to my death?

I’m oddly okay with it.

I move past the arguing group of people who seem to think they can decide things for me and head to the back room. The guard lets me pass without a second glance my way.

My stuff is where I left it, tucked under the table in the corner. Grabbing it, I look down at my side and see a dark bruise has already begun blooming across my ribs, stretching farther than I expected. By morning, it’ll probably be twice this size. Nothing to do about it now, so I ignore it and start untaping my hands. But there’s a reason why you always see someone doing it for a boxer in the movies.

“Here,” Atom says as he turns me and takes my hand.

I don’t even jump at his presence. I somehow always expect him to be there when I’m away from him. Only time I didn’t was when I had my spot in the Hounds’ clubhouse and waited on him to finish work.

I keep my eyes on my hands as he unwraps the tape, but I feel his stare on me. It’s intense, just like him. I feel every part of his stare all over my body.

My barely covered body.

I didn’t have a second thought about what I wore before going out there, or even during the fight. It was expected and just part of fighting. But now?

I feel the air-conditioning against my sweat-covered body. Goose bumps break out over my skin, and it’s definitely because of the cold air on my skin. Not because I feel his breath against me. Or the heat radiating off him as he stands so close that I could take a deep breath and connect with him.

My chest is just close enough that with one move, we’d be touching more intimately than I’ve done with a person in a very long time.

I might not have had a pleasant experience with my first sexual encounter, but like most things in my life, I refused to be defined by what happened to me.

So after I was released, after I was okay with the deformities to my nails and toe, I had a one-night stand. The guy wasn’t perfect, but he did what I needed him to. He showed me I wasn’t broken. That I could have sex and not cry.

I had a few partners after him. Not enough to make me a trollop, but I know how to get off during sex, and I know enough to get the man off too.

But Atom isn’t like anyone I’ve ever been with. He not only has experience, but he has patience. Something he shows daily.

Not that I’m thinking about sex with Atom. My captor.

Something I have to remind myself of more often than I did before.

It’s just that he’s close. He smells amazing, and he’s warm. I don’t find him attractive. I’m just hyped from the fight. Adrenaline and all. That’s what this is. A need for physical touch after a beating. Nothing more.

He moves to my other hand, tugging on the tape with more aggression than necessary, but I say nothing.

He’s mad. Probably thought I ran away or something. Pissed that I might have actually gotten away. But the thought never crossed my mind. Not because I find comfort here, but I realize I still have nowhere to go.