Chapter 14
FIVE DAYS LATER
GAGE
Ducking to the right, I barely avoid Atlas’s jab that probably would’ve hit me straight in the face and knocked me the fuck out if I hadn’t been so quick.
He is no fucking joke.
And I know better than to get into the ring with him when I’m not one hundred percent in it.
Which means I probably shouldn’t be here now.
God knows, I’m distracted by the same thing I have been for days…the same person.
She isn’t even here, but I can’t keep my mind from drifting to her when it should be focused on the man in front of me.
I circle around him, bouncing on my toes, trying to stay light on my feet because the only way to beat Atlas “The Hurricane” Hawke is to never give him a fucking millimeter.
One slight misstep, one too-slow response is all he needs to land a punch that could kill some people.
He didn’t win that title belt by being anything but aggressive and deadly.
While this was just supposed to be a friendly sparring match as he gets back into shape to start preparing for his next fight, neither Atlas nor I are good at keeping things casual.
We both have that driving hunger, that desire to win, that need to come out on top, and it’s playing out this morning here at the gym. Even without an audience, we both push. We both take any opening we see and exploit it.
It’s what I was always taught—not just in the ring but in life. To find your enemies’ weaknesses. To use them to your advantage. And apparently so was Atlas, because he’s going much harder today than he did our previous times in the ring.
He can tell I’m distracted, and he’s making me pay for it.
I try to surprise him with a quick jab to his chest, hoping that moving fast and unexpectedly will allow me to sneak in a few good shots. It lands, but I inadvertently open myself up to his right hook.
His glove slams into my jaw, snapping my head back and making little bright lights explode in my vision. My ears ring. My jaw aches.
Fuck.
That one fucking hurt.
The room spins slightly, my vision switching between black spots and ones so bright they almost hurt to look at, but somehow, I manage to stay on my feet.
Barely.
He mumbles an apology he doesn’t mean, grinning around his mouthguard. That should be the signal to stop for the day, but all it does is add fuel to the fire burning in my chest.
The second I feel like I’m not going to fall over, I lunge at him with an aggressive combination, but he manages to pull me into the clinch, stopping me from doing any real harm.
He shoves me back, and I circle around, ensuring I never put my back to the corner because that’s where Atlas is at his best, where he can pummel you and put you in a place you have no means of escape from.
I’ve watched enough of his fights to know that, even if I’m still relatively new to sparring with him.
But being prepared does nothing against a man like Atlas—a lesson I am learning this morning along with the fact that I may have been a decent fighter in WCAP but facing a world middleweight champ, I feel like a novice.
The man is a machine.
Lightning fast.
Strong.
Determined.
With a literal chip on his shoulder.
Desperate to prove his impossible comeback win after being shot when he wasn’t expected to ever fight again wasn’t just a fluke.
It absolutely wasn’t. Even now, when he’s spent months only doing light training and mostly spending time with Wren, he’s still a powerhouse.
His ego and willpower fuel him.
My frustration fuels me.
After almost a week of working for the Hawkes and having Bishop avoid me in every way, shape, and form possible, including handing me off to any other member of the family or security teams she can find to help me get my bearings, my aggravation has only grown.
With her. With the situation. With the fact that what I want may be out of reach no matter what I do.
Bishop has buried her head in her work rather than face what happened between us.
It’s not that she doesn’t have a legitimate excuse. The situation with Satriano and the family is tenuous, at best, and knowing that someone is out there shooting Satriano’s men means there’s another player, too. Someone the Hawkes haven’t been able to pinpoint yet.
And unknowns are something the Hawkes—and especially Bishop—aren’t fans of, with good reason.
But it doesn’t make what she’s doing any less frustrating.
Pushing me away. Leaving rooms when I walk in. Ensuring we’re never truly alone so I can’t say or do what I really want to—talk to her and force her to admit what we both felt that night.
She hasn’t even been back to her condo, instead spending the nights at one of her cousins’ places with the excuse of them needing “extra” security when it was really about her needing somewhere to hide—from me.
If she knew how I’ve sat outside on my bike waiting for her to come back out each night, she would throw that “stalking” word at me again.
I hope today will be different, but I’m not holding my breath. Just like I’m not holding out any hope whatsoever that I’m actually going to beat Atlas.
My ears are still ringing, my head still spinning from his blow and the flurry of activity after it when I sense her enter the gym.
Hellcat…
Even with my back to the door, it’s unmistakable the way my skin heats and my body starts to prime. Her jasmine scent somehow trickles to me, even over the smells of sweat and leather that permeate the air in the gym.
God, she smells good.
I’ve been living with that scent for days, unwilling to wash it away from my sheets in case she never comes back. I don’t want to lose those memories. I’m not ready to give up on her or us. Not yet.
Somewhere, deep down, in a place she’s not ready to face yet, she wants what I’m offering her. She needs it to survive what’s going on around her. The weight of it all will crush her without it. And eventually, she’ll realize I’m right about that.
It might not be now. It might not be tomorrow. It might not even be anytime soon. But one day, Bishop will see what she’s doing to herself and what she can have with me.
I don’t dare look behind me at her now, though.
I can’t look away from Atlas for a second, not if I want to keep my head on and my ribs intact, along with all the vital organs beneath them.
We dance around each other a little more, and as I move to the left, I catch a glimpse of Bishop out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the wall, watching us with a mix of something in her gaze I can’t determine without pulling my attention away from the threat in front of me.
And good God, he moves fast.
So fast it makes the men I fought in the WCAP look like sloths moving across the ring.
He lands a blow to my rib cage that feels like getting hit by a truck and I double over slightly, attempting to retreat further out of his reach. Trying to slip away without conceding defeat when I know he will keep coming.
Bishop’s voice cuts through the air before either of us can call an end to it. “I think he’s had enough, Atlas.”
When it comes to her…never.
When it comes to Atlas…probably.
Her cousin continues to bounce on his feet but holds back the eruption of finishing shots I know he had already loaded up and ready to fly. He glances over at her and mutters, “Who the hell are you, his mother?” around his mouthguard.
I snort a laugh that makes my ribs ache and push up to stand fully with a wince I try to hide before I finally look over at her.
She wears a smug smile that tells me she enjoys watching me get hit, enjoys watching my pain.
Maybe a little too much.
I was right about her—Bishop Clarke has sadistic tendencies. At least where I’m concerned. Perhaps she sees it as payback for tying her to the headboard and ensuring her loss of control the other night.
She pushes off the wall and wanders over to the ring, resting her arms on the ropes as she looks in at us.
In a thin tank top and sports bra and adorable athletic shorts that show off her beautiful legs, her braids pulled back in a ponytail, she looks ready for a workout…
and cute as fuck. “How long have you two been going at it?”
Atlas spits out his mouthguard and glances at me. “I don’t know. An hour?”
Her brows rise. “You’ve been going that hard for an hour?”
I shake my head. “No, he toyed with me for a while first.”
She snorts and nods, her own experience in the ring with Atlas enough that she knows precisely what I mean by that. “I’m surprised you can keep up with him.”
Did she really just say that to me?
I narrow my gaze on her.
The blow to my ego almost hurts more than Atlas’ did, until I see the smug tilt of her lips. I’m not the type to stand by and take it when I know she’s egging me on.
I spit out my mouthguard, locking my eyes with hers. “I would think that I’ve given you no reason to question my stamina.”
Atlas’ gaze drifts between the two of us and then narrows on me. “What the hell does that mean?”
Oops.
Apparently, my defensiveness may have inadvertently outed my—whatever the fuck this is—with Bishop. That hadn’t been my intention, but the glower she throws my way is enough to make me wish I hadn’t said it loud enough for him to hear.
Coupled with the comments Astrid made at The Grind the other day and the looks the family gave me at the meeting that night, he surely suspected something far before I made the verbal slip.
But still, I won’t delve into my personal situation with Bishop if she doesn’t want him knowing about it.
“Just that I’ve been working for your family for several days now, and she’s seen me and what I’m capable of.”
He nods slowly, the partial smirk revealing he clearly isn’t buying my explanation. “Suuure.”
Shit.
Maybe if Bishop weren’t standing right there, I could bring myself to care more and make an attempt to convince him it’s nothing, but it’s impossible when I’m looking at the woman.