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And he needed to beat someone unbeatable.

Me.

But the only way to sell the lie was to hurt the man I was falling in love with.

“I need you to place a bet for me, Rowan,” I said.

Then I proceeded to explain my idea.

25

BETT

When I’d found Dalton at the Pit last night to place a bet, I’d been nervous that Vaughn would find out and get pissed at me.

That was nothing compared to how I felt right now.

My stomach heaved with nerves, and my skin tingled.

He’s going to fucking kill me.

“You all warmed up, kid?” Dalton asked gruffly.

That same gruff voice had sweet-talked me into turning my hundred-dollar bet into an eight-thousand-dollar fighter’s fee with an extra ten percent cut of the take if I won—which I was under no delusion would happen.

I fully expected I’d lose. My biggest hope was to lose with dignity and the least amount of permanent damage possible.

I didn’t know shit about cage fighting. I’d watched several matches at the frat house over the years, for whatever good that did. I’d watched Vaughn fight a few weeks ago, though I’d spent most of that fight trying not to drool over his gorgeous body or flinch every time he took a punch, so I hadn’t exactly been checking out his technique. I’d also taken three years of karate as a kid, where they wouldn’t let us make contact with any of the other kids.

That was the sum total of my experience.

Well, that and the one-hour fighting lesson my father had forced on me after I’d embarrassed him in last summer’s bar fight. One of his security guys had met me in my parents’ home gym to teach me how to punch and be punched.

I’d been so furious and mortified, I hadn’t even been able to absorb it.

Now, here I was.

“Listen,” I told Dalton. “I need you to keep me from getting killed or maimed. For real. I know there are no actual rules here, but you and I are both in deep shit if something serious happens to me.”

He laughed. “You’ll be fine. You’re tougher than you look. I’ve been following you on the field for years. Remember that game against Sovereign last season when the snap was botched and you had to run?”

I huffed out a laugh. “You trying to make me cry?”

“No, hear me out. You fought like a motherfucker. Deking and juking through guys three times your size. There had to have been at least four guys who got hands on you before you got blindsided by that linebacker. And when he did get you, you protected the ball and did your job. Went down clean.”

I grinned at him, even though I felt like I was going to puke. “You’re saying I should go down clean?”

The sound of his laughter reminded me of Vaughn. It was enough to pull me back from the edge just enough to keep from hyperventilating.

Look. I wasn’t proud of my fear. I was simply realistic. Arvie Spanner was a big dude. The cage was his turf. And when Vaughn came home tomorrow night and found me in the hospital, he was going to be pissed.

“Maybe you can give me some last-minute tips?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

He met my eyes, all trace of humor gone. “Hands up. I don’t care how tired you get—hands up. The second they drop, it’s over.”

I nodded, and he continued. “When you get hit, don’t panic. You’re going to get hit. Everybody gets hit. It’s gonna hurt, but you can handle hurt. Hurt’s not the same as done. Also, watch his shoulders, not his hands. Hands lie.”

“Pretty sure I’m not going to be able to keep myself from watching his hands,” I joked weakly.