Chapter 30 Theo
THEO
Seven days of silence. The longest we’ve gone without speaking since this thing between us began.
I stare at Julian’s text invitation to Victor’s underground fight night. The irony isn’t lost on me—invited to Victor’s domain by someone else entirely. Julian mentions he’s considering investing in Victor’s operation, expanding the fight club into something more legitimate. More profitable.
Victor had every opportunity to invite me himself. He didn’t.
I toss my phone onto the bed and pace my apartment. The sensible move would be to stay home, lick my wounds, and accept that Victor will never give me what I need. But I’ve never been particularly sensible when it comes to him.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, heading to my closet. If I’m going to crash Victor’s party, I’ll make damn sure he knows I’m there.
I select my newest Tom Ford—midnight blue, impeccably tailored to showcase my lean frame.
The silk lining slides cool against my skin as I button a crisp white shirt.
Gold cufflinks catch the light as I finish dressing—understated elegance that screams money.
More than most of Victor’s fighters make in months.
The warehouse district pulses with energy when my driver drops me off. Men in various states of undress mill around outside, muscles gleaming with sweat despite the evening chill. They eye my car, then my suit with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
Inside, the air is thick with testosterone, sweat, and anticipation. The makeshift arena centers the warehouse, spotlights creating dramatic shadows across the fighting ring. Blood spatters mark the canvas—remnants of earlier matches.
I spot Julian in the VIP section, surrounded by men in expensive watches and women in revealing dresses. He raises his glass when he sees me, making room beside him on the leather couch.
“You came,” he says, handing me a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. “Victor will be thrilled.”
“Will he?” I take a deliberate sip, scanning the crowd for him.
“I wouldn’t miss his face when he sees you here for all the money in my portfolio.” Julian’s smile is all calculation. “How long are you planning to let him pretend you don’t exist?”
I settle back against the leather, positioning myself for maximum visibility. “I’m done being invisible.”
Victor’s eyes find me across the crowded warehouse, and I watch the emotions cycle across his face in rapid succession—shock, anger, and finally, unmistakable desire.
His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble I know feels like sandpaper against my skin.
For a moment, he freezes mid-conversation with a group of well-dressed men who look distinctly out of place among the fighters.
I raise my glass in a silent toast, letting my lips curl into the smile that drives him crazy.
Julian chuckles beside me. “And the game begins.”
Victor murmurs something to his companions, and they turn as one to look in my direction.
I meet their curious glances with practiced ease, taking another leisurely sip of my drink.
Victor’s hand clenches and unclenches at his side before he straightens his shoulders and begins leading them toward our section.
“Julian,” Victor nods stiffly before his eyes reluctantly shift to mine. “I see you’ve brought a guest.”
“You know Theo,” Julian says smoothly.
Victor clears his throat. “This is Theo Winters, owner of Eclipse.” His voice stays professionally even, but his eyes dart away from mine. “Theo, these are potential investors interested in our expansion plans.”
“Gentlemen,” I extend my hand to each man in turn, holding eye contact a beat longer than necessary. “Eclipse just completed our third expansion last quarter—happy to share some insights on scaling while maintaining brand integrity.”
Victor shifts his weight imperceptibly. I can read his body like a book now—the way his breathing quickens when I speak, how his pupils dilate slightly despite his neutral expression.
“You run that nightclub downtown,” one investor says, impressed. “My daughter couldn’t stop talking about your New Year’s event.”
“We sold out in four minutes,” I reply, not looking at Victor though I feel his eyes on me. “Similar to how Victor’s fights sell out, though our clientele is...” I pause deliberately, “somewhat different.”
“Theo has built an impressive empire,” Victor acknowledges stiffly. A bead of sweat trails down his temple despite the cool air. “His business model is... unique.”
“I’d love to hear more about your fighter development program,” I tell the investors, leaning forward with genuine interest. “The right talent pipeline is everything in any industry.”
The conversation flows with surprising ease. These men speak my language—ROI, market penetration, brand loyalty—and I find myself genuinely engaged. Victor hovers at the edge of our circle, interjecting occasionally but clearly unsettled by my presence in his domain.
One of the investors—Roberts, I think—claps Victor on the shoulder. “You didn’t mention you had connections to Eclipse. That’s a powerful alliance.”
Victor’s jaw tightens. “We run in some of the same circles.”
“More than circles,” Julian murmurs into his drink, audible only to me.
The lights dim, and a bell rings to signal the first match. Two fighters enter the ring, bodies gleaming under the harsh spotlights. I settle back, accepting another drink as Julian leans in to explain the fighters’ records.
Victor takes a seat across from us, his eyes constantly flicking to me despite his attempts to focus on the match. When the crowd roars at a particularly brutal takedown, I notice his gaze on my lips as I sip my whiskey.
Between the third and fourth matches, I excuse myself to find the restroom. The hallway behind the VIP section is poorly lit, industrial pipes running along the ceiling. I hear footsteps behind me, quick and determined.
Before I can turn, hands grip my shoulders, spinning me around and shoving me through a doorway. My back hits metal shelving as Victor kicks the door closed behind us.
A closet. Again. The metaphor writes itself.
“You know,” I say, glancing around at the cleaning supplies, “most men take me somewhere nicer.”
Victor’s breath comes fast, his body caging mine against the metal rack.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He’s trembling with fury or desire—probably both.
“Julian invited me.” I hold Victor’s gaze, refusing to look away. “Not that I need an invitation to attend a public event.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” Victor’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Not like this, not with them watching.”
“Them? You mean your precious investors who might discover you spent months fucking a man?” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “God forbid anyone sees Victor Kaine within ten feet of me.”
“Where have you been?” His question catches me off guard. “A week, Theo. I texted. I called.”
“After I told you to leave? After you contemplated having dinner with your ex while keeping me hidden like something shameful?” I push against his chest, but he barely moves. “I’ve been exactly where I’ve always been. You’re the one hiding.”
“I’m trying to figure this out—”
“Eight months, Victor!” My voice rises before I force it back down. “Eight fucking months of sneaking around, of watching you check for witnesses before you touch me.”
His jaw clenches. “My business, my reputation—”
“Is more important than me. Message received.” I try to slide past him, but he blocks my path.
“Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should just go back to Emily. At least that makes sense to everyone.”
The words slice through me. “Great idea. Go back to Emily. She can be your socially acceptable arm candy while you jerk off thinking about me.”
Victor slams his palm against the shelf beside my head, sending a spray bottle clattering to the floor. Then his mouth is on mine, hungry and desperate. I turn my face away.
“Don’t.”
“I don’t want her,” he growls against my neck. “I don’t want anyone else.”
I push him back. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
“I met with her,” Victor admits, his hands falling to his sides. “After our fight. She invited me to dinner, tried to kiss me, spent the whole night flirting. Tried to bring me back to her place.”
“Congratulations. Did you enjoy your heterosexual redemption?”
“My dick was soft the entire time.” His voice breaks. “All I could think about was you. I couldn’t even fake interest because I only want you, Theo.”
His words knock the wind from me. “Your dick was soft the entire time?”
“Completely. Couldn’t even fake it.” Victor’s eyes hold a vulnerability I’ve rarely seen. “She kept touching my thigh under the table, and all I could think about was your hands, your mouth...”
Something cracks inside me. Despite everything, despite my anger and hurt, my body responds to his confession like it’s hardwired to him. I reach for his face, sliding my fingers into his short hair.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, but there’s no heat behind it.
Victor surges forward, mouth claiming mine with desperate hunger.
I taste whiskey on his tongue as his large hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly.
The shelving rattles behind me as Victor presses me back, sending something—cleaning supplies, maybe—clattering to the floor.
I don’t care. All that matters is Victor’s body pressing against mine, solid and real.
He pins me against the shelf, one hand cupping my ass, the other braced beside my head. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. Through our pants, our cocks align, hard and urgent. The friction is maddening—not enough and too much all at once.
Victor breaks the kiss to mouth along my jaw, my neck. “I missed you,” he breathes against my skin. “Every fucking day, I missed you.”
I roll my hips, grinding against him, making him groan against my throat. His teeth graze my collarbone, and I drop my head back, lost in the sensation of his weight, his heat.
“Victor?” Marco’s voice cuts through our bubble. “Boss, you in there? Main event’s about to start!”
We freeze, breathing hard. Victor lowers me to my feet with surprising gentleness, our bodies still pressed close. His forehead touches mine for a moment, intimate in a way that hurts more than anything else.
“Thursday,” he says, voice rough. “Coffee shop. We need to talk. Really talk.”
I straighten my jacket, trying to regain composure. “I’ll be there.”
Victor adjusts himself, runs a hand over his face, and opens the door just enough to slip through. I watch him leave, his broad shoulders disappearing into the dim hallway.