Chapter 14 What He Hid #2
The impact was clean and devastating. It was the shot that shut down nervous systems and made breathing impossible.
The kid folded in half, his whole body seizing, his guard dropping completely.
The follow-up was textbook. Declan's head kick caught the kid clean on the temple as he was folding, and the sound of the impact was loud and clear even over the roar of the crowd.
The opponent went down hard. He hit the canvas and didn't move, just lay there while the ref waved it off.
It was a round one finish.
The crowd went insane. Declan barely reacted. He just nodded once, his chest heaving now, sweat dripping off him in the lights, and he walked back to his corner like this was routine.
Like he hadn't just dismantled someone in under three minutes with surgical efficiency.
I stood there in the back corner feeling like the floor had shifted under me, like everything I thought I knew about Declan had been a lie or at least a very incomplete picture.
“Impressive, isn't he?”
I turned. Rafael stood beside me, appearing out of the crowd like he'd materialized from thin air. He looked relaxed and comfortable, like he belonged here.
“Didn't see you there.”
“You weren't exactly hiding. Tall, angry-looking guy in the back corner?” Rafael smiled. “You stand out more than you think.”
I didn't respond. I just turned back to watch Declan accept water from his corner, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.
“How long have you been watching?” Rafael asked.
“Long enough.”
“Ah. So you didn't know he fought professionally.”
“No, I didn't.”
“That must have been a surprise.” Rafael leaned against the wall beside me, mimicking my posture. “He's good though. One of the best in his weight class locally. Probably could have gone further if he'd started younger.”
“You come to his fights often?” The question came out harder than I meant it to, edged with jealousy I had no right to feel.
Rafael glanced at me, reading the subtext in my tone. “When I can. Support local talent, you know. Plus Declan's always worth watching. He doesn't waste movement. Everything he does has purpose.”
I watched Declan talking to the woman in his corner. He was calm and focused, completely in his element.
“You didn't tell me you knew him this well.”
“You didn't ask.” Rafael's voice stayed light and easy, with no defensiveness in it. “Besides, I wasn't sure it was my place to mention. Declan's private about his life. I respect that.”
“He keeps a lot of secrets.”
“Most people do.” Rafael studied me for a long moment. “You're angry.”
“I'm fine.”
“You're gripping that wall like you want to rip it down. That's not fine.” He paused. “Is it because he didn't tell you? Or because I knew and you didn't?”
“It's none of your business.”
“Fair enough.” Rafael didn't push. He just kept watching the cage where they were setting up for the next fight. “For what it's worth, I don't think he kept it from you to hurt you. Some people just compartmentalize. Keep parts of their lives separate because it's easier than trying to explain.”
“You defending him?”
“I'm observing. There's a difference.” Rafael straightened. “He's got another fight in about twenty minutes. You sticking around?”
“I am.”
“Good. This next one's going to be harder. His opponent is experienced and smart. Declan's going to have to work for it.” Rafael clapped me on the shoulder once. “Try to relax. He knows what he's doing.”
Then he disappeared back into the crowd, leaving me alone with thoughts I didn't want and anger I couldn't justify.
The second fight was everything Rafael said it would be.
It was longer and harder, three full rounds of violence that left both fighters bleeding and exhausted.
Declan's opponent was older and more experienced, moved like someone who'd learned patience the hard way. He didn't give easy openings. He just worked methodically, testing Declan's defense, looking for patterns in the way he moved.
They went back and forth. Declan landed more and controlled the pace, but he took damage doing it. He got cut above his eye in the second round. He moved slower by the third, the accumulation of body shots taking their toll.
By the time it ended, I was gripping the wall hard enough to hurt my hands, every muscle in my body tense like I'd been the one fighting. My heart was pounding. My cock was half-hard in my jeans from watching Declan move and sweat and bleed and keep going anyway.
Declan won on decision. The judges saw what mattered. But it hadn't been clean.
When Declan left the cage, I slipped out ahead of the crowd. I found a spot near the back exit where I could see the hallway leading to the locker rooms.
I waited, telling myself I just needed to see that he was okay. That this had nothing to do with the heat still pooling in my stomach or the way my body was responding to the image of him covered in sweat and blood.
Five minutes later, Declan emerged. He was still shirtless, still sweaty, with blood crusted at his eyebrow. He was moving carefully, favoring his ribs.
Then Rafael appeared.
He just walked up to Declan like it was the most natural thing in the world. He said words that made Declan's mouth curve slightly. Not quite a smile but close.
Rafael disappeared into a side room and emerged seconds later with a first aid kit.
So Rafael didn't just come to watch. He helped after. He patched Declan up. He was part of this world in ways I'd never been invited into.
The jealousy twisted in my chest, hot and unforgiving.
Rafael knew this side of Declan. He had seen him fight. He had patched him up after. He had probably been there for wins and losses and everything in between.
While I'd known nothing.
I left before they could spot me. I got on my bike and headed home with anger and want and jealousy all burning hot in my chest.
I made it three blocks before I realized I was being followed.
The feeling hit me the same way it had the first time. The rhythm was wrong. Someone was matching my pace too precisely. The instinct came from years of being alert to threats.
I opened the throttle, weaving through sparse late-night traffic, checking my mirrors every few seconds. The tail stayed with me.
I took a turn down a side street. The tail followed. I gunned it, putting distance between us, then cut into an alley and killed my lights.
I waited in the darkness, engine ticking as it cooled, adrenaline already flooding my system.
The motorcycle appeared seconds later. The rider slowed down, looking for me.
I came out fast and clipped their back wheel with my front tire. They went down hard, their bike skidding across pavement in a shower of sparks.
I was off my bike and on them before they could recover.
I grabbed their jacket, yanked them up, and threw a punch aimed at their masked face.
They blocked it and countered with an elbow that caught me on the temple. Stars exploded in my vision.
We scrambled apart. We both got to our feet and started circling in the narrow alley.
Same build as the first attacker. Same controlled movement. Maybe even the same person, hard to tell with the mask covering their features.
They came at me fast and threw a combination that I mostly blocked, then drove a knee into my still-healing ribs.
White heat tore through me. I gasped, staggered back, and barely got my guard up in time to block their follow-up.
I countered with a low kick that buckled their knee and followed with a hook to their ribs that made them grunt behind the mask.
We traded shots. Both landing. Both bleeding. Both too stubborn to back down.
They were better than me. Faster and more skilled, reading my movements and countering before I could capitalize.
I was losing.
Then headlights cut across the alley, bright and sudden.
The attacker glanced toward them. Just a second of distraction.
I threw everything I had into a right cross that caught them on the jaw. Their head snapped back. They stumbled.
The truck door opened with heavy footsteps following on pavement.
Declan.
He didn't hesitate. He just came at the attacker like a freight train, driving his shoulder into their midsection and slamming them against the brick wall hard enough that I heard the air leave their lungs.
The attacker recovered fast and threw an elbow that caught Declan's already damaged eye. Blood sprayed, fresh and bright.
But Declan didn't stop.
I got back in the fight and moved in from the side, going for the attacker's exposed ribs while Declan had them pinned.
The alley was narrow. Too narrow for three people fighting. I had to get close. Too close. My shoulder brushed Declan's back as I threw the punch, felt the heat of him through both our shirts, felt the flex of muscle as he drove another knee into the attacker's midsection.
The contact sent electricity through me even in the middle of the fight. Even bleeding and hurt and fighting for my life, my body recognized his and responded.
The attacker twisted and broke Declan's hold. They threw a wild elbow that missed me by inches.
Declan and I moved at the same time. Both going for the opening. We collided hard, chest to chest, his body solid and hot against mine for half a second before we both adjusted, circling opposite directions to box the attacker in.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Adrenaline and arousal and fear all flooding my system in a cocktail I couldn't separate.
I needed to focus. I needed to stop noticing the way Declan moved, the way he smelled, the way his presence beside me made me feel safer and more dangerous at the same time.
The attacker came at me again with a fast combination that drove me back toward the wall. I blocked most of it but took a shot to the jaw that made my vision blur and my ears ring.
Declan was there. He grabbed the attacker's jacket from behind, yanked them off me, spun them around and drove a hook into their ribs that made them fold.