37 TOBIAS
T he rumble of my bike dies as we pull into the driveway. Rhea's arms loosen from around my waist, and the loss of her warmth against my back hits harder than expected. The porch light flickers on automatically, casting shadows across the front yard.
"I need a shower," she mutters, sliding off the bike. Her hair's a mess from the helmet, and she won't meet my eyes.
The front door opens before we reach it. Corey stands there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I grunt, watching Rhea slip past him without a word. Her footsteps thunder up the stairs, followed by the sharp slam of the bathroom door.
"What happened?" Corey asks, but I just shake my head and head for the kitchen. My hands are still trembling from what happened at her apartment. From the way she felt against me. From knowing I crossed a line I can't uncross.
The refrigerator light pierces the darkness as I grab a beer. The bottle cap pings against the counter when I pop it off.
"Tobi." Corey's voice carries that tone - the one that demands answers.
"Don't," I warn, taking a long pull from the bottle. "Just... don't."
Water pipes groan overhead as the shower starts running. I close my eyes, trying not to picture her up there, trying to wash away what happened between us. What I let happen.
"You know this complicates things," Corey says quietly.
The beer bottle clinks as I set it down harder than necessary. "You think I don't know that?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "You think I planned this?"
The shower continues running upstairs, a constant reminder of her presence, of her absence, of everything that's changed in the span of a few hours.
"They were ready for us tonight," Corey says, pulling out his phone. "Those shots weren't random."
I drain half my beer in one go. "No shit. That was a coordinated hit."
"Titus texted. He's following a lead on who tipped them off."
Corey's thumbs tap rapidly across his screen. "We need to draw them out. Set a trap."
The shower stops running upstairs. My skin prickles with awareness.
"Cancel this weekends fight," I suggest, focusing on the beer label instead of the soft footsteps overhead. "Spread word that we've got some high-roller coming in next week. The kind of money that'd make them stupid."
"Could work." Corey leans against the counter. "We'll need better security. Can't risk another shootout."
"I know a guy. Ex-military. Discreet."
"Call him." Corey's eyes flick to the ceiling. "We need to keep her safe."
The words hit like a punch to the gut. "I know."
"Do you?" His voice carries an edge. "Because what happened tonight?—"
"Won't happen again," I cut him off. Even as I say it, I know it's a lie. The memory of her skin, her taste, burns through me like whiskey.
"It better not." Corey pushes off the counter. "I'm calling Donovan. See what intel he's got on our friends from tonight."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Soft footsteps on the stairs draw my attention. Rhea appears, hair damp and wearing one of my old Marines t-shirts that hangs to her thighs. The sight of her in my clothes sends heat coursing through my veins.
Julian bursts through the back door, breaking the tension. "Got it all set up. Fight's Got competitors for next week. Word's already spreading."
"Good." Corey nods, pulling up something on his phone.
Rhea freezes halfway to the coffee pot. "Wait, what fight?"
“The one I’m fighting in.” Julian interjects. My blood turns to ice.
“What the fuck do you mean you’re fighting in?” I ask, advancing on him.
“No fucking way Julian,” Corey shouts. “Shit is too deep as it is.
This could go fucking south. There’s too much on the line.” Meanwhile Rhea is yelling but I can’t make out what past the haze of rage that I’m sure Corey is feeling too.
“Stop and fucking think about it,” Julian shouts.
“This is exactly what they want, to take down our ring and what better way than one of the ring leaders himself? It’s the perfect fucking plan. I have the advantage.”
I shake my head, knowing there’s no reasoning with him in this state.
I look over my shoulder to see a fuming Rhea that Corey is holding back.
I nod, and he releases the beast. Maybe she can get some sense into him.
"Are you insane?" She whirls on Julian. "After what happened tonight? They tried to kill us!"
I have to hide my smile. Not what I had in mind, but efficient I suppose.
"Exactly why we need to end this," Julian says, rolling his shoulders. "Draw them out on our terms."
"There has to be another way." Rhea's hands clench into fists at her sides. "What if something goes wrong?"
"We'll have extra security," Corey interjects. "Controlled environment. We'll be ready this time."
"Ready for what? More gunfire? More people getting hurt?" Her voice cracks. "I've seen what happens in those fights. What if?—"
"Hey." I step closer, fighting the urge to pull her against me.
"Julian knows what he’s doing."
She looks up at me, green eyes blazing. "Does he? Do you?
Because from where I'm standing, this looks like suicide."
"Trust us," Julian says softly. "Please."
Rhea's shoulders slump. "I don't fucking like this."
"None of us do," Corey admits. "But it's our best shot at ending this."
The kitchen falls silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Rhea wraps her arms around herself, making the oversized shirt pull across her curves. I grip my beer bottle tighter, trying to focus on the plan instead of how badly I want to touch her again.
"You know what, fuck this. If you all want to be put your lives on the line for some testosterone fueled bullshit, go ahead.” Rhea snaps, shoving past me. “But I won’t be there to see it.” The stairs creak under her angry footsteps, followed by the sharp crack of her bedroom door slamming shut.
I take another long pull from my beer, trying to ignore how the shirt rode up her thighs as she stormed off. The memory of her skin under my hands is still too fresh.
Julian rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck. "Need to start training tonight. Can't afford to be rusty for this fight."
"Noted," Corey says, typing something on his phone. "I'll have the ring set up by morning."
"You good to spot me?" Julian asks, eyeing me. "Need to work on my ground game."
I nod, finishing my beer. Physical activity might help clear my head. "Give me five to change."
"Meet you down there." Julian heads for the basement door, but pauses. "She'll come around, you know. Once she sees we know what we're doing."
"Or she'll bail," I mutter, setting the empty bottle in the recycling.
"Can't blame her after tonight."
"She's tougher than you think," Corey says without looking up from his phone. "Just needs time to process."
Another door slams upstairs, followed by music blasting through the walls - some angry female singer screaming about men being trash.
Julian snorts. "Sounds like she's processing just fine."
I grab my gym clothes from the laundry room, trying not to think about how perfectly Rhea fit against me on that motorcycle. About how right she felt in her apartment. About how royally fucked up everything's become.
"Coming?" Julian calls from the basement.
"Yeah," I reply, heading down to beat the shit out of something until my head clears. "Let's do this."