17. Tristian
Chapter seventeen
Tristian
The gym usually grounded me, but today, the three hours I’d spent punishing my body hadn’t been enough to kill the noise in my head.
I sat on the bench, lungs burning, and took a long, slow swig of water.
Sweat tracked through the grime on my skin.
I’d been awake since five—push-ups until my biceps screamed, painting until my fingers cramped—anything to drown out shit in my head.
Kane leaned on the wall alongside me. In a low undertone, he murmured, “Not to send you spiraling, man, but Darragh’s been sniffing around again.”
Darragh. The name tasted like ash. And like clockwork, I was hearing it more and more. He was the last man I wanted to talk to, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for whatever manipulative shit he was looking to spew today.
“The hell does he want from me?” I muttered, leaning my head back against the cold brick.
Kane sighed. “Well… I hear he’s happy that you’re still fighting in the ring.”
“And?” I snapped, cutting a sharp look his way.
He shifted, his unease with the conversation obvious. “He wants you to lose one of your upcoming fights.”
I felt my jaw lock, my eyebrows furrowing as the insult hit home. “Why the hell would he want me to do that?”
“Think he wants to see if you’ll do it… to see if he still has control over you…” Kane admitted, and I let out an annoyed sigh of my own.
Control. It always came back to that.
“I need the money, Kane, and my rank is what’s helping me. If I get back into business with Darragh, I give him complete control of my life. I’m already trying to make peace with the fact that I’m giving it to my father. I’m not dealing with him again.”
I stood up abruptly, the conversation over. I needed the weights, the burn, the distraction. I cracked my neck, reaching for the iron, but my movement stalled. Something—someone—had shifted the entire energy of the room. A flash of yellow in a sea of gray and black. A smile that didn’t belong here.
“Is Ingrid really giving these grown-ass men cookies?” Kane said, trying to hold in his laughter.
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t look away.
It was absurd. She was all pure, soft light, weaving between giants and handing out Ziploc bags as if she were in a bakery rather than a den of fighters.
The men looked shell-shocked, their calloused hands taking the treats with confused, stuttered thank-yous.
But then I saw the way their eyes lingered on her.
The way they tracked the curve of her khaki skirt and the soft fit of her yellow sweater.
My blood began to simmer. She looked like a goddamn doll, and as my mind took a sharp turn into territory that was anything but holy, I had to force myself to breathe.
I averted my eyes, trying to reclaim my composure, until I felt a small, tentative tug at my sleeve. I looked down, and the world narrowed until it was just her doe-like eyes and the way she bit her lip, looking up at me.
“H-hi, Tristian…”
I stared at her, watching her fidget, her innocence dulling every dark thought I’d ever had. Slowly, I leaned down, bringing myself to her level, and took her hand. My thumb traced her palm, a silent claim.
“Hello, doll. What are you doing here?”
Her blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks. “I made cookies so I could get to know the guys here. I wanted to make sure your friends liked me… even if they’re a little scary,” she muttered.
A heavy sigh escaped me. The girl was going to be the death of me.
“Baby… the only real friends I have are Kane and James, and you know they adore you already… As for the other men here, I don’t mind that you made them cookies… but—”
“Should I have not brought them?” she asked.
I shook my head quickly, hating the wince in her expression. “It’s not that, doll. It’s just that—”
A roar from the front of the gym cut me off.
“FUCK, THESE DAMN COOKIES ARE BETTER THAN SEX!”
I groaned as Ingrid’s eyes went wide with shock.
“The men here can get a little intense… excited if you will… about certain things—and seeing a pretty girl give them food? Well, let’s just say you achieved your goal of making them like you,” Kane chimed in, snatching a cookie for himself before disappearing into the crowd.
I led Ingrid over to the bench, guiding her to sit. My protective instincts were screaming.
“Let me clean up real quick, doll. Take a shower too, and afterward, the rest of the day is ours together, hmm?”
I turned to rack my equipment, but my ears remained tuned to her. Footsteps approached—heavy, confident ones.
“Why… hello, sugar. I assume you’re the little ray of sunshine going around giving cookies out and putting smiles on everyone’s faces?”
I went still, watching from the corner of my eye as a fighter loomed over her.
“Yes, I guess I am,” Ingrid answered.
He crossed his arms, leaning into her space. “Do you have any more?”
She peered into her basket, pouting when she saw the bottom. “I’m sorry, I think I ran out.”
The idiot actually huffed. I felt my lip curl as I started toward him.
“But…” she added quickly, “I also made banana, nut and blueberry muffins.” She pulled out a box filled with about fifteen of them.
“Fuck yes,” the man muttered, leaning in to catch the scent.
Ingrid let out a small giggle. “You’re welcome… just make sure to share some with the other guys, please.”
“Those idiots don’t deserve this—” the man started, but another voice cut him off as the smell of fresh baking drew more of the wolves in.
“Hey! Cookie said you have to share, so you better fucking share!”
I didn’t wait for the brawl to start. I grabbed Ingrid’s hand and hauled her toward the locker room, leaving the chaos behind. Once inside, I pointed to the bench. She sat, watching me with those wide eyes as I twisted the lock on my locker.
“Sugar? Cookie? If I’m being honest, doll, I’m starting to get a little jealous…”
I walked over, crouching until I was eye-level, trapping her in my gaze. “Were you going to at least let me have a taste?”
Her blush went nuclear. She reached into her bag and pulled out a glass container. My name was written on the top in her neat, swirling script. Inside were cookies, muffins, and cupcakes. All made to perfection. All mine.
“I didn’t want to lie and say I didn’t have cookies… but I didn’t want that guy to have yours…” she said softly.
The tightness in my chest eased, replaced by a warmth I wasn’t used to. I set the container aside. “Thank you, baby… I appreciate you setting aside some specifically for me.”
She nodded, but her silence was heavy. Her eyes kept dropping to my lips, then snapping back to mine, her desire transparent.
She beat me to the punch, making my heart kick against my ribs.
“Kiss me?”
It wasn’t a timid request.
It was hungry—in the softest, bravest way I’d ever heard from her.
I sat on the bench and pulled her onto my lap.
She straddled my thighs, with a needy little gasp.
Her skirt riding up, her arms locking around my neck as if she were afraid I’d disappear.
When our lips met, she let out a soft moan that nearly broke my resolve.
Her small hands fought to pull me closer, desperate for more, and I felt a dark sense of pride—her hips shifting instinctively, searching for more pressure, more closeness, more of me.
She was so fucking adorable.
I ran my hands up the soft skin of her thighs, playfully nipping at her bottom lip. She gasped again, eyes flying open, curious, and filled with a heat she didn’t fully understand.
I chuckled, my hand moving to her chin to steady her.
“Someone’s excited, hmm?”
She nodded, completely oblivious to my teasing.
I went to lean in again, but the light hit her neck just right. My blood went cold. There, against the cream of her skin, were bruises.
“What’s all this, doll?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous low.
She went rigid. A look of panic replaced the heady look of desire just written across her features. “N-nothing,” she said, quickly, looking away.
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t like liars, baby… You’re not lying, are you?”
She didn’t answer.
My grip tightened reflexively on her chin and thigh. She jumped, and I immediately forced myself to loosen my hold, though the rage was already clawing at my throat.
“Are you going to tell me, doll?”
She bit her lip. For a moment, I thought she would come clean—tell me who had put them there: her father. But instead she tugged at her sweater, covering the dark marks I’d seen. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “It’s nothing.”
The rage that hit me was lethal.
I lifted her off my lap, set her back on the bench, grabbed my towel, my anger simmering into a cold, hard knot.
“Where are you going?” she asked worriedly.
“I need to take a shower.”
I needed the cold water. I needed to not look at those marks before I marched out of here to find her father and kill him.
Ingrid hesitated. “Do you want me to stay?”
I stopped. Turned. Marched right back to her, and crouched again so I was at eye-level.
“Of course I want you to stay,” I said. “I just…” My gaze flickered to her neck again. “I want to protect you. That’s all.”
She gripped the edges of her sleeves and looked down. “I don’t need protection,” she murmured. But there was no conviction in it, and I suspected she was trying to convince herself of that more than me.
“Ingrid,” I began—
“It’s nothing,” she said again, softer this time. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, eyes growing glassy. “Can—Can we just have a nice day? I-I made cookies.”
I didn’t say anything for a short while, my mind trying to think of a way to answer.
I made cookies. Like that was her reason, her proof that the day deserved to be okay even after I’d seen the marks on her skin.
“We can,” I said. I wanted to push—and then I wanted to deal some damage to the man who’d laid hands on her.
But there was a nervousness to Ingrid. I thought of how she hadn’t reached out to me for days when I first gave her my number, and again how she hadn’t after that jackass spilled the drink on her after my last fight.
If Ingrid got scared, she was liable to run, even if it meant running from the man who could protect her from the world.
So, begrudgingly, I relented. “I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.”
“Thank you.”
I nodded as I rose, headed to the showers.
But at the door, I stopped. “For now.”