Page 18 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

Xav shrugs. “Not particularly. If you want him, you can have him.”

“Generous of you,” I mutter.

“Keep me updated on it,” Lorenzo says. “And take some goons with you for muscle if you need to. Don’t be a hero.”

I’m more than capable of handling this myself, but I nod anyway to placate him. I don’t need to drag any of my soldiers around town to sniff out whatever’s rotten at The Starlight. But maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to have a little backup.

The memory of Orion holding my gaze with an intense look in his eyes before he set the roll of bills down on my coffee table flickers through my mind, and a slow grin spreads over my lips. If he’s so eager to repay the debt I took care of, maybe I can convince him to do it this way instead.

ORION

My muscles burn with exertion, the feeling so deeply satisfying that I push myself even harder, leaning into the ache of it, drawing strength from the pain the way I learned to do long before I ever threw my first punch.

“Come on, kid,” I rumble, dancing out of the way of his flying fist. “Spit out the blood and bare your teeth. Find your inner savage and go down swinging. Every fight is life or death.” I land a body blow, and Fitz—the ‘kid’ in question—grunts before taking my advice and coming back even more fiercely.

“That’s it,” I say, ducking another attempted blow just before it can connect. He’s ready for my dodge this time though, coming back with a second swing in the other direction that catches me off guard and manages to knock me back.

I grin proudly, then take him out at the knees, knocking him onto his back and towering over him. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wild with the same adrenaline I’m sure is shining in mine.

“You’re getting there.” I shake off my glove and offer my hand to help him up.

“You knocked me on my ass,” Fitz points out, letting me haul him to his feet.

“But you managed to clock me for the first time. That’s a huge improvement.” I grab the towel I left draped in my corner of the boxing ring and uncap my water bottle to guzzle half of it down. Fitz does the same on the other side of the mat, blotting the sweat off his face and rehydrating.

The rhythmic sound of another fighter going a round with the speed bag in the corner is oddly soothing, creating a familiar soundtrack alongside the grunts and chatter coming from others who are sparring, the metallic clangs from the weight training corner, and the low rock music that seems to hold all the other sounds together in a neat little bow.

I’ve been training Fitz for the past two years, watching him go from a scrawny teenager who couldn’t knock over an old lady if he tried, to a half-decent fighter who’s nearly ready to climb in the ring against a real opponent. My stomach twists with the chronic guilt that’s lived there since the day Fitz walked in here. It’s a sick feeling that’s constantly warring with the pride that surfaces every time I see an improvement in him. Am I just raising this poor kid like a lamb to the slaughter? Am I feeding him into the same inescapable system of violence that pulled me in too young? One way or another, violence seems to be the only way to survive in Wildcliff. Does that justify the cycle?

“Do some weight training before you call it a night,” I call over to him when he starts to climb out of the ring.

“You got it, coach,” he says, and annoyingly, it reminds me of the breathless way Elio said “Yes, Boss,” the other night.

The muscles in the back of my neck twitch and heat unfurls in the pit of my stomach. I have half a mind to go over to his place and spank him again for daring to take up so much of my thoughts this week. Memories of his keening moans and the way his ass jiggled and bounced with every slap have been living rent free in my head. I growl under my breath, ignoring the way my cock tries to swell behind my cup.

“Hey, O’Malley.” I saunter over to the edge of the ring and lean over the ropes to call out to the guy who’s still pounding away at the speed bag. He doesn’t stop, but he does turn his head towards me. “Want to spar?”

If I don’t wear myself out, I actually might end up at Elio’s apartment again after I leave here, and there isn’t any good that can come from that. A flicker of fear crosses O’Malley’s face and he loses his rhythm, missing the bag, then stopping all together.

“Uh, not tonight. I’m, uh…” He trails off without offering an actual excuse, instead just grabbing his towel and water bottle, then making a beeline for the changing room. He throws one more nervous glance over his shoulder at me before he disappears through the door.

“That was fucking weird,” I murmur to myself. Maybe I’ve been bringing too much fight to the training spars here. I definitely don’t go easy on anyone, even during practice, but no one has ever complained before.

I sweep my gaze across the gym, looking for anyone else I might be able to coax into a friendly bout or two, but everyone is either already engaged or avoiding eye contact like they’re as afraid of getting their ass kicked by me as O’Malley was. I huff out a breath and jerk my head towards the entrance when the chime sounds to announce a new arrival. Maybe it’ll be someone who isn’t afraid of a few bruises.

My eyes land on the newcomer, my veins instantly searing with heat. He’s definitely not going to shy away from bruises, but he’s also not likely to climb into the ring with me.

Elio’s dark eyes meet mine, and he grins slowly, his eyes smoldering as he looks me over like a piece of meat. A few guys glance in his direction before quickly focusing back on their workouts, trying to pretend the underboss of the Moretti family didn’t just walk into our gym like he belongs here.

I duck under the ropes, my heart hammering, awareness crackling in the air around me as I cross the gym towards him. The fluorescent lights suddenly feel harsher than usual, the stale smell of sweat and blood choking me with every breath, my footsteps loud in my ears, bringing me closer and closer to Elio with every step.

“Hey, Boss,” he greets me in a low voice, that word seeping into my chest and wrapping itself around my insides all over again. The memory of it was bad enough, but hearing it on his lips makes me want to press him up against the nearest wall and either choke him or kiss him. The fact that I can’t tell which pisses me off more than anything.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, darting a pointed look towards all the other fighters still pretending not to notice Elio. “Are you looking to start a rumor that I’m taking money to throw fights?”

He barks out a laugh, slipping his hands casually into his pockets. “You’d have to actually lose a fight for anyone to believe gossip like that.”

I unclench my jaw and grunt. Fine, he makes a good point.

---