Page 14 of Seizing Control: Part One

“No one said you had to come,” Diablo interjects as he stomps into the room. He points a sausage sized finger at me, then gestures toward the main gym where Gabbi is grappling with his nephew, Kaleb. “You keep up with the comments about old men and you won’t be fit to ride anywhere.”

“You’re only named after the Devil,’ I tell him. Stripping off my MMA gloves, I hold my hands out for Jep to unwind the wraps. “I am the Devil... you don’t wanna threaten a man with nothin’ left to lose.”

“Nothin’ to lose?” Diablo snarks. His blue eyes flash and, for the dozenth time, I wonder how I missed the signs that’ve been right in front of me for three decades. “Pretty fuckin’ sure that gorgeous blonde who used to wear your ring would beg to differ.”

The rage that’s bubbled within me for as long as I can remember erupts. Unravelled wraps dangling from my wrists, I lunge at him, tightening my arm around his throat as I sweep his legs out from underneath him. He hits the floor with a thud. I kick him in the thigh when he tries to punch me in the balls. My chest heaves. My body shakes. My vision wobbles. I’m on the verge of stomping him when I realise that Diablo’s laughing up at me from the floor of the change room.

I stiffen, caught in two minds as to how I should react.

“Back the fuck up.” He smacks my leg out of his way and launches himself back to his feet with a perfectly performed kip-up that a man his size shouldn’t be capable of executing. “Where was that intensity when you were grapplin’ in the ring just now?”

“I’m not gonna come at Gabbi like that.”

“She can take it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Knowing that I’m coming close to wearing out my welcome with the Sydney chapter of our support club, the Blackards SMC, I refrain from telling Diablo what I truly think of his statement. Gabbi has become a good friend. She’s managed to get as close to me as anyone has in the months that I’ve spent on the East Coast shoring up our alliances so we can take down Brutus and the Maddison clan. I like her. She’s smart. Sassy. Filled with raw grit and a hunger to be more that I’m intimately acquainted with.

She’s as close as I’m ever going to get to a little sister.

And that’s why I’m annoyed that Diablo is doing everything he can to scare her out of his MMA gym so he can continue to live in perpetual mourning over his dead wife and son instead of acknowledging his feelings for his student.

I understand his guilt.

I’m wilting under a shit-tonne of my own.

That doesn’t mean I find his tactics palatable.

He keeps throwing his best fighters at the determined seventeen-year-old, and she keeps beating them. At this point, Gabbi’s covered in bruises. She’s more than proven herself, yet Diablo refuses to let up. If it wasn’t for my chat with the rest of the fighters training at Blackards MMA, the one where I threatened to put a bullet in them if they didn’t ease up on her, Gabbi would be in hospital by now.

The girl has no quit in her.

Unfortunately, Micah Kennedy doesn’t either.

“That girl needs to learn, and it pains the fuck outta me to admit this, but you’re a natural fighter and a good teacher. She could do worse than havin’ you for a mentor.”

“Butterin’ me up won’t make me change my bloody mind. I ain’t gonna come at her like she’s a grown man.” The door to my locker clangs as I slam it shut and swing my backpack over my shoulder. “She’s here to be trained, not beaten to a fuckin’ pulp.” I smack my shoulder into his as I head for the exit. “Sort ya dick out before you get her killed.”

I make it to the main doors in the time it takes for him to come up with a retort. “Fuckin’ glad we’re ditchin’ your arse in Perth… ain’t gonna be sorry to see the back of you.”

“You and me both.”

Diablo doesn’t hear my muttered agreement as I walk out into the parking lot.

It’s not for him anyway.

The reminder is for me.

A promise.

I left Lily six months ago.

It was the wrong move.

I’m man enough to acknowledge that.

The taste I stole of her on the penthouse balcony after the Apologies to Medusa concert was an unwanted reminder of the cost of my screw-up. My text message afterward telling her to move on was a way to force space between us. It was for her good—I’ve needed every day of the past three months to cement the multiple layers of protection we require to stop Brutus from using his daughter against us again.

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