I wonder if Emma had been in Mac’s shoes yesterday how would she have responded to my asking her to take off her shoes. Would she be open to diving off the Stratosphere? My guess is she wouldn’t have enjoyed my pinning her face first to the door and feeling her up.

No, Emma’s a good girl.

Mac is not. She’s my own personal brand of crazy, and fuck me, but I dig it. A lot.

We say goodbye at the lot, and I hop into the truck to head to the training center. I call Darren on the way to get his advice before I fuck everything up with Mac.

He doesn’t have much to say beyond telling me he’s proud of me and that I need to listen to my gut—whatever that means.

By the time I stroll up to the training center doors, my mind is already overthinking things. She seemed to enjoy what we did yesterday, especially what I did to her before she left, but could I have read things wrong? What-ifs eat away at me, and the whisper of insecurity infiltrates my confidence.

I’m just through the lobby and at the mouth of the training center when I see a group of guys who don’t usually train here. They must be our competitors. Great.

Moving past them, I keep my eyes to the floor to avoid the uncomfortable welcome-to-town-I’ll-be-the-dude-beating-the-snot-out-of-you-tomorrow conversation.

“Woof, woof.”

They burst into hysterical laughter at their unoriginal taunt.

I stop and swing my gaze to them, lifting my chin in greeting. My opponent is surrounded by a few guys who must be from his camp, all shit-stares and sneers. “Reece.”

“Hope you’re ready for tomorrow night, puppy dog.” He takes a few steps toward me. “I don’t plan on leaving you conscious.”

What a douche. There’s no way I’m falling for his lame attempt at shit talk. “Yeah, well, I hope you do try to knock me out. That’s what we train for.” I move past them, and two steps beyond his little crew, I get shoved in the back.

There are a lot of things a man can take. Shit talk is one of them. But when a dude puts his hands on me with aggression? It’s fucking on.

I whirl around and glare. His lips curl to expose one gold tooth right up front, and I almost lose the battle against my laughter. Jackass.

“I’m ready to beat the fuck out of you tomorrow night, but if you insist on starting this now”—I hold out my arms—“take a shot.”

“You know I can’t touch you before we hit the octagon.” He jerks his head, motioning to a stocky guy with a buzzed head. “But he can.”

I turn to the bald guy, who’s bouncing on his toes looking amped for a fight. “You shove me?”

“Yeah, bitch.” He gets in my face, nose to nose. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Fuck, I’d give anything to knock this dipshit out, but I know that’s exactly what he wants. “Not a thing.”

Reece laughs. “What a pussy.”

I turn to him, taking my eyes off the twitchy fucker in my face. Probably not smart, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this guy think his threats intimidate me. “What’s your fucking problem? You should be kissing my ass for saving this fight for you.”

“My problem, dog, is that you’re sandbagging. You probably begged for this fight to save your non-existent fighting record.”

My fighting is the only thing I take seriously, and implying that I’d drop weight to fight in a lower weight class for an easy win is beyond insulting.

“I’m loyal to the UFL.” I step into his space and feel the snarl that pulls back my lips. “And I’d never turn down the opportunity to fuck you up.”

He shoves me. “What’re you waiting for?”

I move to throw my weight behind my fist.

“Stop!” Layla’s voice pulls me from my internal struggle not to hit Reece. She stomps our way, shaking her head. “Tell me you guys aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing.” Her eyes go back and forth between me and Team Dumbass.

I step back from Reece, but move toward Layla. Call me paranoid, but I’m a little nervous at the idea of her getting between us. And knowing that she’s carrying Blake’s baby ups my unease.

“It’s cool, Layla.” I don’t take my eyes off the little shit who looks as if he’s about to pop the first person who gets close enough. Damn, what is that dude on? “Why don’t you go find—”

“Now hang on there, puppy dog.” Reece puffs out his chest. “Layla, huh?” He runs his dirty eyes up and down her body, and I pray like hell Blake’s not within one hundred yards.

“Go on, Layla.” I move in front of her, facing Reece.

She moves around me and glares at him. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You heard her; she wants to stay. Stop cock-blockin’.” His pack of idiots laughs.

My muscles tense, readying to defend Layla from his advances. “I’d watch your fuckin’ mouth if I were you, Reece.”

“Back off, dog.” He licks his lips. “Damn, you’re hot.” He moves to grab her hand. I pull her behind me.

“Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you are not hitting on my woman.” Blake’s voice comes booming from behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, he’s in front of me and nose to nose with Reece. “You’re over here nutting up on my boy and disrespecting my woman? Back the hell off, asshole.”

Blake’s always been protective of Layla, but ever since they found out she was pregnant, he’s gone nuclear possessive. Come to think of it, I rarely see her anywhere in the training center without him.

“Ha! Your woman?” Reece laughs and his team of dumb asses follows along. “You tappin’ her ass doesn’t make her yours. If that were the case, half the women in Vegas would belong to you.” The group of them burst into laughter.

The fighters in my camp are the closest thing I have to family. We get each other’s backs in every situation and nothing—career fight or risk of being fired—means more than that. Blake’s shoulders are flexed to his ears. Shit’s about to go down. My muscles tense and I flex my fists.

“Layla,” I say over my shoulder. “Go. Now.”

She grips the back of my tee. “No, Rex. I’m not leaving and—”

“Mouse, baby, listen to Rex.” Blake’s low grumble gets Layla moving, and I take my first full breath, knowing that she’s safely out of the way.

I move close to get Blake’s back when I see a few guys who just walked in stop and watch. Wade, Blake’s opponent, stalks in our direction, stopping just shy of the Reece-Blake faceoff. The tension is palpable.

“I’m giving you the opportunity to walk away, Reece,” Blake says, a heavy growl rumbling his words.

“Yeah?” Reece tilts his head and sneers. “Well I don’t appreciate you standing between me and a little pre-fight head.”

Oh shit.

Blake knocks Reece back into his buddies. They advance. The short shit, finally getting the fight he wanted, throws a punch. I grab his fist and twist. He drops to the ground. Blake moves on Reece again.

Wade wraps two arms around Blake’s shoulders. “Not worth it, man.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Blake jerks out of his hold.

“Daniels,” Wade says, jumping in front of Blake and pushing him back. “Don’t do this. You’re giving him what he wants.”

Blake lunges toward Reece, barely held back by Wade. “He disrespected my—”

“What the motherfuck is going on here?”

All eyes dart toward the furious voice of Cameron, who’s barreling toward us. His fists are clenched, eyebrows dropped low, and his body looks as if it’s about go all kinds of Hulk on his corporate business get-up.

He shoves Reece and steps into his space. “You pull this shit in my house?” Another shove. He points to the training center floor. “You’re a guest in my motherfucking house, and this is the respect you show? You little fuck. I could fire you right now. You want that? No more fat paychecks to buy all those trampy bitches you pay for.”

“Cam, man.” Reece shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I didn’t do shit! Daniels attacked me.”

What a pussy. I’m really going to enjoy knocking his ass out.

“Didn’t do shit? You disrespect my assistant in front of her man and you think that’s nothing?” He jabs a meaty finger toward Blake. “He had every right to crack your skull.” He turns to make eye contact with every one of us. His furious glare would make lesser men tuck tail and run. “Those of you who collect your paychecks from this organization will obey its principles. Loyalty. Honor. Respect. Self-control. If this is a problem for you, pack your bags and get the fuck out.”

“Yeah, bitch.” Blake’s tacked on words are aimed directly at Reece.

“Blake.” Cameron gives Blake one look that he shrugs off immediately. “If this is not your home training center”—he glares at the visitors from both Reece and Wade’s camps—“when you’re in my house I fucking own you.”

The group nods and keeps their mouths shut.

“I was fighting for the UFL before you all tried on your first jockstrap. It’s an organization that demands respect, or it was once. I will bring it back to where it was before Taylor Gibbs destroyed it, and that means crushing any piss-dicks that get in my way.” The room is silent. This guy is tough as shit. He must’ve been an animal in the octagon. I make a mental note to Google some of his old fight footage. “We have a multi-million dollar fight to showcase tomorrow night. Do not fuck this up.”

With that he turns and heads back to his office. Blake and I wait the few seconds it takes for everyone to break up and go their respective ways.

He steps up to me. “I owe you, man. Thanks for looking out for Layla.” He offers his fist and I raise mine for a bump.

“No problem, man. You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah, I would.” He crosses his arms at his chest and smiles. “What’s up with you and Mac? Layla said you two are hookin’ up.”