“What the hell?” Layla flips through page after page, handing them to me.

The photos are from Flesh. All at different times, but each one is of me with the busty brunette in various stages of our brief encounter. The headlines all speculate that we’re a couple. Annoying, but nothing new. Making something out of nothing to sell a story is what they do.

“Oh my God.” Layla’s face pales, and the paper in her hand trembles.

I look over her shoulder and read the headline: “Desperate Woman Tempts ‘The Snake’ With More Than a Flute”.

Snagging the page from her hand, I stare at the accompanying photo. It shows Layla and I in our standoff, right before she—oh shit. How they managed to snap a picture in the split second that Layla removed her top is a fucking miracle. They pixelated her bare breasts, but still.

“This is bullshit,” I growl and ball the offending paper in my hand.

“Mr. Gibbs—Taylor, I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembles with emotion. “I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry? Are you kidding? This is publicity gold.” He laughs hard and slams a pointer finger to an identical picture on the table. “You can’t pay for this kind of attention. I’ve made sure these photos stay viral—”

“You did what?” My snarled question makes Layla jump.

“It’s good business. And it’ll get a hell of a showing for your fight.” He claps slowly, still grinning, and my palms itch to wrap around his neck.

“Is this legal? I mean, how can they print a picture of me without my permission?” The panic in her voice escalates with each word, along with my anger.

Gibbs drops back into a chair and props his feet up. “Public place. The moment you walked in, you gave us the right to photo ops.”

I swallow the roar that’s clogging my throat. “Get the lawyers on it. Take the pictures of Layla down. She’s got a teenage daughter. The pictures of me should be enough.” My teeth grind down hard.

“No way. Her blurred chest is the money shot.”

I clench my fists and glare at Gibbs. The pounding of my pulse hammers in my ears. “Taylor—”

A warm hand rests against my forearm. “Blake, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Axelle. She’ll understand.” Her caress glides down my arm, forcing me to loosen my hand. She interweaves her fingers with mine. “Relax. She’ll never see these. I mean, maybe high school kids don’t read gossip magazines.”

Gibbs muffles a chuckle. He’s thinking the same thing I am. That every high school boy out there would absolutely be interested in this kind of gossip. Fuck.

“This one’s my favorite.” Gibbs tosses a sheet of paper across his desk.

It’s from the national gossip website In the Loop. The picture is of me leaning away from the topless brunette, pulling my hand from hers. The headline reads, “‘The Snake’ Slithers Away From Pregnant Girlfriend”. And Gibbs says this is his favorite.

“No fucking way.” My nostrils flare, and I suck in deep breaths. “I’ve never seen that girl before.”

“Doesn’t matter. This shot makes you two look familiar.”

“This is so wrong. So, so wrong,” Layla mumbles from my side. “She gave these people an interview saying that she’s pregnant with your baby.” Her gaze swings up to me. “What kind of person would make up a story like that?”

“Desperate.” I spit the word through my locked jaw. Fucking bitch.

“This is great stuff. I don’t see what you’re both so worked up about. As soon as the fight’s over, these rumors will disappear. Until then, we’re about to sell out UFL 94.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I jerk away from his touch.

He doesn’t pick up on my hostility and strolls out of the room like a man who just found out he owns China.

Layla spins to me, her eyes wide.

I bring her in for a hug, not only to hold her close, but because I don’t want her to see the violence raging behind my eyes. “It’ll be cool. I’ll take care of this.” I’m a lying bastard, and I know it. I have no idea how to fix this. What I want to do is pound Taylor’s ass, but that doesn’t guarantee anything except that we both lose our jobs.

I pinch my eyes closed and push back the fury, trying to think. Think, dammit. Foggy visions of a bloody beating and the satisfaction of squeezing the breath from Gibbs’s piece-of-shit body flood my thoughts. I try to shake it off. My bones feel hot, searing my veins and fueling my irritation.

“Blake, you’re… I can’t breathe.”

“Shit.” I release my death grip. “Sorry.”

Fuck. I’ve got to get a handle on this. Exercise the acid from my thoughts so I can think clearly and figure this out.

“I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get back to training.” I pity the poor bastard that’ll be on the receiving end. “Tonight. We’ll figure this out tonight. I’ll, uh…” My head is a tumble of nonsense. “Your place.”

I kiss her forehead and leave the room before I start tossing chairs and ripping doors from their frames. Heading back to the octagon, I shove past a group of guys, not taking the time to identify them. I see my team in a huddle around the heavy bags.

My feet move me closer. They stop talking and face me.

Jonah steps between the boys and me. “What the fuck? You okay?”

“Need to spar.”

“Shit, Blake. You look like you’re gonna fuck someone up.”

I nod. He’s right.

His narrowed eyes move from my face to my fists. “Shit.”

“Step aside.”

“Shit.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Fine. Gear up and I’ll meet you in the octagon.”

“Not you. Rex. He doesn’t have a baby on the way.” I know what’s about to happen. I don’t want to hurt Jonah. Rex likes the pain.

“Fuck no. I owe you.” Our eyes meet in a non-verbal tell. He’s referring to the cabin.

I shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it.” He thinks that because I let Raven go back into that cabin, I saved his life. No matter how many times I tell him it was Raven who’s the hero, not me, he won’t let up.

For the first time since my little pow-wow with Gibbs, my heart rate slows. He wants to return the favor. He doesn’t owe me a thing. But if I was standing in his shoes, I know he’d do it for me.

“Fine. Let’s do this.” I turn and head for the octagon, reminding myself that Layla and Axelle are my priority.

Jonah’s wounds will heal, but the scars my woman carries never will. And the scandalous crap out there is a jagged scalpel that cuts deep.

They can’t take any more. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure they don’t have to.

* * *

Five minutes later, Jonah and I stand face-to-face in the octagon. Headgear, mouth-guard, and gloves in place, we bump fists. It’s on.

This isn’t about training. This is about burning shit off. Rex hangs nearby, probably to jump in if this gets ugly. And the way I’m feeling right now, shit’s definitely going to get ugly.

My eyes fix on Jonah’s, and my fists burn to make contact. Right now, he’s not my friend. He’s the answer to finding some fucking peace.

We circle around each other, and he waits for me to make the first move. Muscles clenched tight, my mind goes back to the conference room. The headlines. Layla’s body exposed. The UFL’s plan to capitalize on her embarrassment.

I throw my left fist. He dodges. I balance my weight. Flashes of Layla, her big brown eyes shining with tears, fill my mind’s eye. He moves. His arms wrap around my waist. My back hits the mat. I push with my leg, rage fueling my body.

He positions to lock my shoulders. “Fucking shit, man.” His grunted words sound strangled against the force of my hold.

Visions of a faceless man taking Layla against her will flood my range of view.

I flip on him. He’s down. I take full mount and rain punches to his headgear. A tiny voice whispers that this is dangerous. That Jonah can’t hold back once he gets pushed too far. And that’s exactly what I want.

I picture Layla alone at sixteen. Scared. Pregnant. Abandoned.

Anger, frustration, and helplessness swirl behind my chest. I swing my arms, kick my legs, and lock down on limbs. Our movements are a blur. Nothing is coherent, only the sound of our pained grunts filling the silence.

Someone calls to me. I ignore the interruption and push my body harder. More hits. Tighter holds. Another yell. My fists fly. Power infuses every cell. I’m lost in a fog that feels so fucking good.

Left-right-left-right

I’m on fire. Flying high and nowhere close to being finished. The violence rips through my body, doling out punishment. No one will fuck with her again.

I lose my breath. My throat constricts. The voice yells, but it’s distant. My arms are immobile. I’m pinned down. I thrash, fighting to get free.

And then it happens.

I’m fifteen again. Knocked from my bed and kidnapped. Blindfolded and thrown into a car. And all with the permission of the one person who’s supposed to protect me.

The fear is so real. A guttural roar rips from my throat. I throw my body forward, breaking free and swinging hard.

Another voice. Shut the fuck up. I throw a punch. Then another. I hit the floor, face down. Legs, arms, neck, stomach. I can’t move.

“Get off.” I buck against my captors.

The voice repeats until the words break through the haze. “Breathe, brother. Breathe.”

I push and arch my back. The alien rage thrives in search of release.

“This is fucked, Jonah.” Rex’s voice is close, but muffled.

“Shut the fuck up, Rex. Give him some time.”

My muscles kick and tremble. I take a deep breath. Blinking, I remember where I am.