Chapter 6
Riley
I stand flush against the warehouse wall, letting shadows swallow me while the crowd surges toward the empty cage.
The Red Corner buzzes with bloodlust and beer, men and women packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces cast in crimson light from overhead floods.
I don’t belong here. Everyone else is already three drinks deep, hungry for violence.
Meanwhile, I’m sober in slacks and a dark sweater, heart pounding like I’m the one about to step into that cage.
Betting happens openly around me, cash changing hands, voices calling odds.
Ten-to-one on Reyes, someone shouts. The Butcher.
I’ve looked him up since Jacob mentioned him.
His last opponent went to the hospital with a broken orbital bone.
The opponent before that, a separated shoulder. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I shift my weight, feeling exposed despite the shadows.
I tell myself I’m here to observe Jacob’s shoulder mechanics after my therapy session.
If Jacob spots me here, I don’t know what will happen, but the thought makes my palms sweat.
I scan the crowd, calculating escape routes if needed.
The warehouse doors seem miles away, blocked by a sea of bodies.
The only clear path is a narrow corridor to my left, leading to what I assume are back rooms for the fighters.
“First time?”
I flinch at the voice. A woman with electric blue hair and tattoos crawling up her neck leans against the wall beside me, smirking like she can smell my discomfort.
“That obvious?”
“You look like a cop. Or a lawyer.” She shrugs, her gaze returning to the cage. “Nobody comes to The Corner looking that clean unless they’re trying to shut it down or they’re looking for someone specific.”
I don’t respond. My fingers tap restlessly against my thigh as I check my watch.
Ten minutes until the main event. Jacob versus Reyes.
I should be at home with a glass of wine, reviewing patient files, not standing in an illegal fighting venue watching a man whose body I can still feel under my hands.
Last night replays in my mind despite my efforts to block it.
Jacob on my table, the way his muscles yielded under my touch.
The moment I realized he was aroused. The heat in my own body responding to him, a reaction I’ve never had to another man.
But there was something about Jacob’s vulnerability in that moment, the raw need in his eyes that hit me low in the gut.
He ran. Of course, he ran. I don’t blame him.
What happened between us crossed every line I’ve drawn in my professional life.
I’ve never touched a patient like that, never let therapy slide into something more intimate.
But the memory of his skin under my hands, the sounds he made when I pressed into tight muscles, has been playing on repeat in my head all day.
I’m not gay. I’ve never been attracted to men. I’ve dated women exclusively since college. So what the hell happened with Jacob? Was it just the moment, the intimacy of touch, the power dynamic? Or is there something more I’ve been missing about myself all these years?
I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present. I’m here as a doctor. Nothing more. I need to observe how his shoulder holds up in combat conditions, see if my treatment helped at all. That’s it. Professional interest.
The crowd roars suddenly, drawing my attention to a side entrance where tonight’s fighters are beginning to emerge. Not Jacob yet. I force myself to breathe, to look casual, though my heart thumps painfully against my ribs.
Then I see him.
Not Jacob. Worse.
Dr. Austin Parker stands across the warehouse, his lanky frame unmistakable even in the dim light.
My colleague from the hospital, an ER doctor whose path has crossed mine at work a few times.
What the fuck is he doing here? Panic floods my system as his eyes scan the crowd.
He hasn’t spotted me yet, but it’s just a matter of time.
If Austin sees me here, word might get back to the hospital. Questions will be asked. Why is a sports medicine doctor at an illegal fighting event? Who is he treating outside hospital walls? My reputation, my career, everything I’ve built could unravel if this gets out.
I push off from the wall, heart racing. Austin starts moving in my direction, weaving through the crowd.
Has he seen me? I can’t risk it. I turn sharply, shouldering my way toward the side corridor.
People grunt as I push past, but I don’t stop to apologize.
I need to get out of Austin’s line of sight, find another exit, maybe circle back once he’s moved on.
The hallway is dim, lit by a single bulb with a dirty yellow glow. The noise of the crowd becomes muffled as I move deeper, the air cooler here. I breathe for what feels like the first time since spotting Austin, hands braced against the wall. Just breathe. Think. There must be a back exit.
I round a corner into what looks like a small alcove and stop dead.
Jacob stands with his back to me, arms raised while a man tapes his hands. His body is coiled power, muscles shifting beneath skin already gleaming with sweat. He’s wearing only fight shorts, the expanse of his back mapped with planes and contours that I could trace with my eyes closed.
The man taping him says something low, and Jacob turns.
Our eyes lock.
Surprise flashes across his face, quickly replaced by something harder. The man finishes taping, murmurs something about five minutes, and disappears down the hall, leaving us alone.
Jacob steps toward me, moving into my space until my back hits the wall. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s close enough that I can smell the wintergreen of muscle rub and something underneath that’s just him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I try to summon the clinical detachment that usually comes so easily. “I wanted to see how your shoulder held up.”
“Bullshit.” He presses closer, not touching me but caging me in with his presence. “You shouldn’t be here. This isn’t your world.”
“I’m aware of that. But since you left last night before we could discuss your treatment plan, I thought—”
“Last night,” he cuts me off, his eyes darkening. “You want to talk about last night?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “No. That’s not—”
“Because if you tell anyone what happened…” His voice drops to a whisper, the threat hanging between us.
It hits me then—he’s afraid I’ll expose him. The vulnerability I witnessed, the way his body responded to my hands. He thinks I’ll use it as leverage, or worse, that I’ll tell someone.
My jaw clenches. “It wasn’t anything.”
Jacob’s eyes flick over my face. “Exactly. It wasn’t anything.” He steps back abruptly, straightening to his full height. The fighter’s mask slides back into place. “Stay out of my way. This isn’t a place for people like you.”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks toward the main arena. The crowd’s roar swells as he emerges, the sound of his name chanted by hundreds of throats. The Brickhouse. The undefeated champion about to defend his title.
I push off from the wall, intending to find another exit, when voices approach from the main area. I shrink back into the alcove, hoping whoever it is will pass by without noticing me.
No such luck.
Austin Parker stands at the mouth of the corridor, eyebrows raised in surprise. Beside him is a man I don’t recognize—tall, muscular, with a fighter’s build, though he’s not dressed to compete.
“Dr. Parker,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and probably missing by a mile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same,” Austin replies, eyeing me curiously. “Everything okay?”
I force a smile. “Fine. Just getting some air.”
Austin’s gaze flicks to the man beside him, then back to me. There’s an unspoken question in his eyes, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he nods, a gesture of discretion that surprises me.
“Okay,” he says finally. “See you at the hospital.”
The implication is clear: this conversation isn’t over. But at least he’s not making a scene here and now.
I nod once and slip past them, my shoulders rigid, breath shallow. Behind me, the announcer’s voice booms through the warehouse, introducing the fighters. Jacob’s name echoes off concrete walls, followed by deafening cheers.
I don’t look back. I’m no longer in the mood to see him step into that cage, to watch him risk further injury for the roar of the crowd. More than that, I can’t bear to examine why I care so much.
I navigate through back hallways until I find a service exit, pushing through into the cool night air. The door swings shut behind me, muffling the sounds of combat and chaos. I lean against the brick exterior of the warehouse, letting my head fall back as I exhale.
Jacob wants to be untouchable. He’s built his life, his reputation, his very identity around being the immovable object, the unyielding force. But I’ve already touched him, already felt him yield beneath my hands. And worse, I want to do it again.
I push off from the wall and walk toward my car, the night air clearing my head.
Tomorrow, I’ll be Dr. Riley Shepard again, professional and controlled.
I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes from Dr. Parker seeing me here.
I’ll file this encounter with Jacob away as a momentary lapse, an aberration.
But tonight, I can admit the truth: something broke open between us last night. Something neither of us knows how to put back together. And I’m not sure I want to try.