Chapter 26 Donovan/Flexel
Chapter twenty-six
Donovan/Flexel
The brush hovered over the canvas, bristles thick with crimson and cobalt. The colors bled together, mirroring the chaos in my head.
The scene wasn’t just an abstract mess; it was the team in the thick of battle.
Bodies tangled in motion, energy crackling between them like live wires.
Mandie was at the center, of course. She always was now.
Her tattoos stood out even in paint with sharp black lines against the storm of colors around her.
I’d captured the set of her jaw when she was focused, the way her fingers curled like she was gripping something unseen.
The others were there too. Matt’s hulking form, Roger’s effortless poise, Johnny’s wild energy, Sebastian’s fluid grace. But she was the anchor.
I leaned back on the stool, wiping my forearm across my forehead.
Paint smeared there, mixing with the sweat.
The Keystone’s main room was quiet, save for the low hum of the AC and the occasional whir of a cleaning bot mapping the floor for dust. The cleaning bot that was with me happened to be the one that looked like me, and I kinda liked it.
I should’ve been exhausted. I hadn't slept last night; it was my turn for Mandie to crash in my bed.
She was insatiable, a storm that left me wrecked in the best possible way.
But I didn't feel tired. I felt wired. Alive.
My skin still buzzed from the residual energy of her laughter, the way her voice cut through the haze of pleasure.
God, she was incredible.
I dipped the brush again, dragging a streak of gold across the canvas.
Her hair, caught in some unseen wind. The way she moved.
The way she led. Even when she wasn’t saying a word, the rest of us just…
followed. And the team was better for it.
Stronger. Before her, we’d been a collection of power and ego and half-healed wounds. Now, we were something else.
I heard a door open.
I didn’t need to look to know it was her. The air in the room shifted, a current switching on. The cleaning bot let out a soft beep of acknowledgment before scuttling away, knowing better than to get in her path.
My fingers twitched around the brush, but I didn’t turn. Not yet. I wanted to savor the anticipation.
"You gonna stare at that thing all day, or you gonna finish it?"
Her voice was low, rough around the edges.
I smirked. "Depends. You offering incentives?"
A pause. Then the soft patting of bare feet crossing the floor. She didn’t stop until she was right behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her.
"Incentives," she repeated, amused. "You think you deserve ‘em?"
I finally turned, craning my neck to look up at her. She had her arms crossed, tank top sleeves riding up to expose the ink snaking around her biceps. Her hair was damp at the temples.
"Deserve?" I echoed, setting the brush down. "No. But I’d sure as hell appreciate ‘em."
Her lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but something warmer than her usual scowl. "You’re such a fucking charmer, Donovan Prince."
“I try.”
She reached out, fingers brushing the side of my neck before sliding down to my collarbone. "You got shit all over you."
"I was inspired."
"Mhm." Her thumb pressed against my pulse point, hard enough to make me swallow. "Inspired to sit here alone?"
I caught her wrist, turning my head to press my lips to the inside of her palm. She tasted like salt and something floral. "Jealous I didn’t invite you to watch?"
She huffed, but her fingers flexed against my skin. "Please. Like I’d waste my time watching you paint. There are a lot more fun things to do with you."
"You’d be surprised what I can do with a brush."
That got me a real look. Hazel eyes darkening, pupils swallowing the gold. For a second, I thought she might shove me back against the easel. But she shook her head, dispelling the thought.
"Cute." She tugged her hand free. "But we ain't got time for that. Get up."
I raised an eyebrow. "Bossy today."
"Especially with you." She grabbed the hem of my shirt, yanking me forward until I had no choice but to stand. She pulled me in and locked lips, stealing the air from my lungs.
She pulled back, staring at me with bedroom eyes before dropping the order. "Gym. Now."
I glanced at the canvas. "I’m almost done—"
Her hand cracked against my ass. Not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to make me jump.
"Didn’t ask if you were done," she said, grinning now, all teeth. "I told you to move. Now be a good boy and do what your babysitter told you."
Heat pooled low in my gut. Fuck, she knew exactly what she was doing.
"You’re enjoying this."
"Immensely." She gave my shirt another tug. "Come on, art boy. I’ve got a surprise for you."
That got my attention. I wiped the worst of the paint off my hands with a rag. "What kind of surprise?"
"The kind you gotta earn." She glanced back over her shoulder, sly. "Be a good boy, and you’ll find out."
I groaned. "You’re killing me."
"Nah." She stopped just outside the gym door, turning to face me. Her hands found my hips, thumbs hooking into my belt loops. "I’m gonna make you better."
Before I could ask what the hell that meant, she pushed the door open.
The gym was bright, overhead lights reflecting off polished floors and chrome. Matt was there, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, making the space feel smaller. Roger was stretching near the mats, back to us.
Mandie stepped inside, dragging me with her. "Alright, assholes. He’s here."
Roger turned with that easy grin. "Took you long enough, Prince."
Matt nodded, pushing off the wall. "About time."
I looked between them. "What’s going on?"
Mandie released my jeans, giving me a shove toward the center of the room. "They’re gonna train you."
I blinked. "Train me?"
"To fight." Roger tossed a roll of black tape onto the mat at my feet. "You’re not just the pretty face of the group anymore, kid. Time to pull your weight."
My pulse spiked, adrenaline cutting through the haze. "You’re serious?"
Matt’s blue eyes locked onto mine. "Dead serious."
Mandie crossed her arms, watching me with a predatory gleam. "You in, or you gonna stand there with your dick in your hand?"
I let out a sharp exhale, then a laugh. "Fuck yes, I’m in."
Roger clapped his hands. "Good. Strip."
I froze. "What?"
"You heard me." He gestured to my clothes. "Can’t train in that paint-covered shit. You’ll ruin the mats."
Mandie’s smirk returned. "Unless you’d rather I do it for you."
I shot her a look, but my fingers were already moving, yanking my shirt over my head. Roger tossed me a pair of gym shorts.
"Put those on. Then we start."
I changed quickly, mind racing. This was actually happening. They weren't just letting me tag along anymore. They were making me one of them.
"Wrap your hands, pretty boy," Mandie said, leaning against the wall. "Unless you want to break something before we even start."
I peeled the backing off the tape, winding it around my knuckles. My fingers were still stained with cobalt and crimson, but no one mentioned it.
Matt moved to the center of the mat. "First rule," he rumbled. "You’re gonna get hit. Doesn’t matter how fast you are or how pretty your footwork is. You will take a shot. Question is, can you take it and keep moving?"
I swallowed, pulling the tape tight. "Guess we’re about to find out."
Roger stepped up. "Let’s keep it simple. Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut. You know the words?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Now do it."
The first punch was sloppy. Roger sidestepped with a laugh. "Again. And this time, commit."
Mandie’s voice cut through the air. "He’s pulling his punches. Donovan, you hit like you’re asking permission."
Heat crawled up my neck. I reset, tightened my fist, and threw the jab again. I put my weight behind it.
"There we go," Roger said.
We fell into a rhythm. Roger called out combinations, and I threw them, breath coming harder, muscles burning. Mandie was a live wire at the edge of my vision.
Then Roger’s demeanor shifted. The easy grin vanished. "Alright. Now you block."
I barely had time to register the change before his fist came at my face.
I jerked back, but not fast enough. His knuckles grazed my cheekbone. Pain flared, sharp and bright.
Matt’s voice was steady. "Again."
Roger didn’t wait. He came at me, aiming for the ribs. I twisted, but his fist connected. The breath whooshed out of me. I hit the mat on one knee.
"You’re dropping your guard when you exhale," Mandie said coolly. "Fix it."
I spat blood onto the mat. Roger offered a hand. "You alright?"
"Yeah." I let him pull me up.
Matt moved in front of me, blocking out the light. "You’re done with the basics. Now you learn what it means to take a hit."
He didn’t wait. His fist slammed into my stomach like a wrecking ball.
The air left me in a rush. My knees buckled. I would’ve gone down if Roger hadn’t caught me.
"Breathe," Roger ordered. "Diaphragm. Not your chest."
I gasped, lungs burning. Mandie appeared, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. "You good?"
I nodded, throat too tight to speak.
She stepped back. "Then get up."
I forced myself upright. Matt came at me again. A feint, followed by a hook to the ribs that sent me sprawling. I hit the mat hard, vision white-hot.
"You staying down?" Mandie asked.
Something inside me snapped. I rolled onto my hands and knees, then pushed up.
Matt watched me. "Again."
This time, when he threw the punch, I moved. My body remembered. My guard tightened. His fist glanced off my shoulder instead of my jaw. It still hurt like hell, but I stayed standing.
Roger whooped. "There he is!"
Mandie’s lips curved. Just slightly.
Matt didn’t stop. He came at me again and again. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My knuckles were split. But I kept moving.
Then Matt changed tactics. He grabbed me—one massive hand around my throat, lifting me off the ground. My vision tunneled.
"What’s the move?" he growled.
I kicked, heel connecting with his thigh. He grunted but held on.
"Elbow strike," Roger shouted. "Now."
I drove my elbow into Matt’s ribs. He exhaled hard, grip loosening. I dropped, hitting the mat, coughing rawly.
Mandie’s fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. Her eyes were dark, intense. "You tap out?"
I shook my head, gasping.
She released me. "Then get up."
I did.
Roger clapped my shoulder. "Damn, pretty boy. You’ve got more in you than I thought."
Matt nodded, wiping blood from his knuckles. "I always knew he was tough as hell. Keep practicing, and we'll have a real fighter."
"Yes!" Mandie’s voice carried. "You guys are getting better!"
The air shifted. Roger’s smile faltered. Matt’s jaw tightened.
She crossed her arms, looking at me. "Donovan. You want that second surprise?"
My pulse spiked. "Yeah."
"Good. Come with me. We got a bottle of wine to open."
She took my hand, and I followed her, leaving the blood and sweat on the mat where it belonged.