Page 46 of Fool Me Twice

“Yes, I fucking am,” Cane said. Hart didn’t understand the buttons he was pushing right now. Especially when it came to him. “I’m not leaving you alone with a guy who just fucking shanked someone. Cursed or not.”

“You just blew up, and nobody needs that right now,” Hart said, trying to free his arm.

“Hart,” Cane said in a low growl, “don’t push me.”

Hart scowled at him and spat, “You don’t trust me to handle myself.”

“You can handle yourself just fine,” Cane growled back, putting them nose to nose. “But I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

Hart startled visibly and stopped trying to escape. He looked between Cane’s eyes slowly, like he was trying to figure him out.

Cane let out a huff of angry air. Hart still didn’t fucking get it.

The sound of rolling sirens getting closer interrupted the moment and Cane swore violently. He let go of Hart’s arm and stepped back, running a hand over his tattooed head. Hart stared at him for a second more, his eyes swimming with something before he blinked it away and hurried around Cane to the fighter on the floor.

He spoke to him in a hushed voice, soothing and low, making Cane’s insides twist at hearing it directed at anyone who wasn’t him. The fighter nodded at whatever Hart said to him and stood up with Hart’s help. His knees buckled beneath him, but he managed to stay upright.

“I’m taking him up to your office for diagnostics while you deal with all of this,” Hart said, his expression daring Cane to challenge him again.

Cane ground his teeth, everything in him fighting against it but having no other choice. “ARES!” he boomed.

Ares came running over, looking harried. “Boss, the paramedics and cops—”

“Escort Hart to my office. Make sure this asshole doesn’t get any more sharp ideas. And clean the place up. It’s a mess. Got it?” Everything else was left unsaid, but Ares got it loud and clear. Clear the office of anything incriminating. Protect Hart. Cane would deal with the cops.

“Yes, Boss,” Ares said quietly, taking the fighter’s other arm.

Cane saw Hart’s pulse in the barely visible vein throbbing on the side of his neck. He knew he was pushing him, but he didn’t give a fuck. Hart wasn’t risking his safety to solve the mess Cane had pulled him into.

Hart held his gaze for a second, looking for an out, but Cane wouldn’t give him one. Hart realized it.

“Fine,” he said finally.

Cane watched Hart guiding the fighter out of the ring and upstairs toward his office, a soft hand on his sweaty shoulder. He wanted to rush after them and rip it off, wash the foreign sweat off Hart’s palm and keep him far away from the fighter.

Hart was his.

“Pretty nice mess you made here,” someone said before he could make a move, and Cane groaned at the sound of that fucking voice.

He turned around on his heel slowly and came face to face with someone he had no desire to talk to.

Cyrus hadn’t changed much since Cane had last seen him on the other side of a jail cell.

The hardass had the same hairstyle, shaved sensibly short on the sides and messy on top like every other average law drone here. He still had a five-o’clock shadow that never went away and circles under his eyes that offset his tanned complexion and spoke of endless overtime.

You could always spot his type a mile away. The ‘heroes.’ Cane had pegged Cyrus from the first disappointed look in his flinty eyes. The ‘son, you could have done something else with your life,’ even though Cyrus was only a few years older than him.

Cane had wanted to punch him right in his perfectly square jaw.

He found the instinct hadn’t dissipated with time.

“Cyrus,” he said, making sure his voice revealed just how unwelcome the other man was.

“Long time.” Cyrus looked around himself casually with his hands in his pockets as the paramedics and other police officers swarmed behind him.

“Funny how that happens when you learn to keep your nose out of shit that doesn’t concern you,” Cane said, keeping an eye on where everyone was in the room.

Cyrus chuckled, flicking a hand at the mayhem behind them.

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