Chapter Thirty-Four
Connor
S ierra's words were strong and brave. She stood there trembling, tears cutting paths down her cheeks, yet her chin stayed lifted in a defiance that I craved.
My sweet Sierra, who used to fold into herself at raised voices, who flinched at shadows, was glaring up at me with fire in her eyes, demanding answers I'd sworn to bury.
The video had cracked her open, but instead of crumbling, she'd let the light pour out. Pride flowed through me, bright and strong. She'd been able to grow her claws under my care.
“Mason, that guy, didn't die,” I started, the admission tearing free for any chance to calm the worry in her eyes. Her breath hitched, but she didn't look away. “Medics revived him. The fight… it wasn't supposed to go that far.”
It was a lie by omission. Those fights didn’t have rules.
They were raw, ugly things where survival meant destroying someone else.
But Sierra didn't need to know how the blood had sung in my veins that night, how Mason's ribs had cracked like kindling under my fists. How good it felt to prove myself.
Her breath hitched, but she didn't look away. “Why didn't you tell me?” The question wasn't a plea, it was a demand. My sweet girl, forged into something with steel at its core.
I cradled her face between my palms, my thumbs tracking the wetness on her cheeks. Her skin felt fever-hot and fragile beneath my palms.
“I didn't want that piece of shit anywhere near you, not even as a memory.”
I held her gaze steady.
“That part of me wasn't meant for your eyes.”
Her lashes fluttered, conflict warring in those soft depths.
“But I saw it anyway,” she said, her voice strong. “And I'm still here.”
Fuck. The words punched through me, a sucker punch to the ribs, clean and devastating. I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in, lavender, salt, and courage.
“You're here,” I growled, “because you're stronger than anyone gives you credit for. Including me.”
Her lower lip trembled once, the only crack in her armor, but she leaned into my touch. That small action hit me harder than any punch.
“Mason's a threat,” I murmured against her skin. “He was threatening to release that footage.”
Sierra’s eyes widened as she tried to understand. “That's why you've been so... so intense. So protective.” Her gaze searched mine, looking for confirmation. “You knew he was coming for you.”
“I found out yesterday.” I wouldn’t tell her about the note in her apartment, about Jerry's involvement, or about how I wanted to paint the walls with his blood. “He left a message with my team.”
“Why? What does he want?" Her voice was small but steady, her fingers interlacing with mine .
“Revenge.” The word came out spiteful. “He's been planning it for years. Waiting for the right moment, but I guess it leaked somewhere.”
“And the right moment is now? Why?”
Her pretty brow furrowed in confusion, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her sweet mind, trying to piece it all together.
I traced the delicate apple of her cheek, memorizing the texture of her skin. “Because of you.”
The fear that flashed across her face made my stomach clench.
"He knows what you mean to me. He knows that losing you would break me more thoroughly than any physical pain.”
“The video,” she whispered, the last piece clicking into place. “He wanted me to see what you did. To be afraid of you, and Jerry used it too.”
“Yes.” I wouldn't burden her with the rest. She could think Mason had merely leaked it, and that’s how Jerry got hold of it.
Her expression shifted, bravery settling more firmly in her gaze. “But I'm not afraid of you.” The declaration was simple and devastating. “I hate that you kept this from me. But I'm not afraid.”
The pride that swelled in my chest was almost painful, a tangible ache beneath my ribs. My sweet girl, with her spine of newfound steel and pure trust that I’d never hurt her.
“No,” I agreed, my voice rough. “You're not. You stood your ground, you yelled at me.” My lips curved despite everything. “You're fucking brave.”
The blush that crept up her neck was at odds with the determination in her eyes. “I surprised myself,” she admitted. "With Jerry, I always just..." She trailed off, but I could fill in the blanks. With Jerry, she'd folded herself into nothing and made herself invisible to avoid his wrath.
With me, she'd found her voice.
“You were so strong,” I told her, meaning every word I said. “Real and unstoppable.”
Her blush deepened, but a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “So… what exactly was that video?” Her voice sharpened, that newfound steel making it clear she wanted answers.
I guided her to the couch, my hand pressed against the small of her back like I could shield her from what was coming. She followed without hesitation, those eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin burn.
We sank into the cushions, her knees brushing mine, a point of contact that kept me sane.
For several heartbeats, I just stared at her, at this perfect girl who'd witnessed the blood on my hands and chose to stay. Who demanded honesty instead of comfortable lies.
“I was sixteen when I fought Mason,” I told her, the words falling raw from my throat.
“I did it to get out of the system.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “The system?”
“Foster care.”
The admission felt foreign in my mouth, like speaking a language I'd deliberately forgotten. “I never had anything; I had no belongings, no parents, nothing. Just a name as I became another unwanted kid in the system.”
Sierra's fingers found mine, threading between them as her soft eyes continued to peer up at me so tenderly. The simple gesture of support from her was everything.
“I bounced around for years,” I continued, my voice deliberately flattened. I'd cauterized these memories long ago, burned them closed so they couldn't bleed.
“Some homes were decent. Most weren't.” The understatement of the fucking century.
“The last one, when I was thirteen, the father liked using his fists when he drank. Which were most nights.”
Her grip tightened on my hand, but she didn't interrupt. She just listened intently, her eyes showing a world of compassion.
“I ran away at fourteen. Lived on the streets for a few months before I found the underground fights. They didn't care how old I was, just that I could take a punch and keep coming.”
“Connor,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.
“I was good at it,” I continued, wrapping my arm around her waist, needing to feel her warmth against me as the chill of the past seeped into my bones.
"Fighting. I had a lot of rage to burn. I made enough to get a shitty apartment by fifteen, a fake ID by sixteen. The system never came looking; I was one less problem kid to deal with.”
Sierra shifted closer until she was practically in my lap, her free hand coming up to rest against my cheek. I pressed into her touch like a starving animal, eyes closing against the unwanted burn behind them that only my girl could bring out.
“Mason was my first big opponent. Twenty to my sixteen, undefeated champion of the circuit. He'd heard about the kid from the slums and wanted to teach me a lesson.”
I could still see his face, twisted with contempt as he'd looked me over before the fight, like I was garbage he was about to dispose of.
“But you won,” she said softly, those warm eyes peering up into mine as if she could unbury the truth from their depths.
“I survived,” I corrected gently. “That's what those fights were about. Survival. Just staying alive and making enough to eat another day.”
Her thumb brushed across my cheekbone, and the gesture was so gentle, so accepting, a feeling I’d longed for my entire life.
“That's why I work with my sponsors to fund youth centers now. So maybe some kid like me has a chance that doesn't involve getting their face caved in for cash.”
Sierra's eyes glistened with tears, but they weren't tears of fear or disgust; they were tears of understanding, of connection.
“Does anyone else know?”
I shook my head, a muscle jumping in my jaw as I fought for control. Only four people, including Sierra, knew the whole truth. Not the press who'd tried to dig into my background or the fans who wore my name on their backs. Only Jax, his father, and Adrian .
Jax’s father had found me loitering outside the old WBC gym at sixteen and given me a family. A family now complete with my Sierra.
“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning forward to press her face into the hollow of my throat, her breath warm against my skin. “For trusting me with this.”
Something inside me fractured, cracks spreading through carefully constructed walls. I crushed her against my chest, burying my face in her. She held me just as fiercely, her small hands moving in soothing circles on my back, offering comfort I'd never allowed myself to need.
When I finally pulled back, her face was wet with tears, but her eyes held nothing but love.
“I'm still here,” she said again, echoing her earlier words with new weight.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
A laugh rumbled in my chest, unexpected and raw. Fuck, she was perfect.
“Mason isn't a problem anymore,” I promised, the decision finalizing as I spoke. Fuck his terms. Fuck the deal. Jerry had broken their terms, and Sierra knew the truth now.
And she hadn't run. That changed everything.
Pulling out my phone, I sent the text to the group chat that would seal Mason's fate:
Connor
Deal’s off.
Jerry ratted and sent it to her. Handle Mason?
Adrian
FINALLY.
Jax
Keep her safe, Killer.
They'd been itching for this. Mason's screams would be their love language tonight .
Sierra's gaze dropped to the screen, then back to me. “What does that mean?”
“It means I'm staying.”
I crowded her against the couch cushions, breathing in the lavender and salt scent of her delicious bravery and dried tears. “Mason's their problem now."
She opened her mouth to question, but I silenced her with a kiss—hard, claiming, and desperate. She melted against me, her fingers fisting in my shirt, and the world narrowed to the heat of her mouth, the trust in her touch.
When we pulled back, her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. “You should have told me,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip, her acceptance still settling deep inside of me.
She cared. Even after seeing the worst of me, she still cared. My arms locked around her, keeping her pressed to my chest as if I could weld our bodies together.
“Nothing's taking you from me,” I vowed against her hair. “No one. Not the past. Not anything.”
The weight of her trust pressed against my chest, heavier than her physical presence. She knew what I was now, had glimpsed the feral, desperate creature that lurked beneath, and still chose to remain vulnerable in my arms. The reality of it threatened to crack me wide open.
I yanked the throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over us one-handed, cocooning her against me as her breathing deepened into the familiar rhythm of sleep, the emotions of the morning exhausting both of us.
The world could fucking explode outside our door, and I wouldn't move an inch. Mason, Jerry, the footage, all of it could wait. Sierra was safe against my heart, her tears drying on my shirt, and that was all I needed.
As my own eyes grew heavy, I pressed my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the lavender scent that had become synonymous with home. “You're mine,” I whispered into her hair, though she was already too far asleep to hear. “You always will be.”
Sleep claimed me moments later, my arms locked around her like steel bands, now having learned Sierra was stronger than I ever thought possible.