Page 1 of Rebel Hawke

1

THREE MONTHS TO TITLE FIGHT

ATLAS

Mind-bending pain slices through my shoulder, sears down my arm, and radiates into the whole side of my body, before my left hook even lands on Bishop’s jaw. I grit my teeth, biting down on the mouth guard, practically tearing through it to keep myself from crying out. Bishop recoils slightly from the blow, but she almost immediately regains her balance and lands a jab against my sternum that sends me staggering back against the ropes.

“What the hell are you doing, Atlas?” Jenkins screams from directly behind me, his cracking voice heavy with concern and annoyance with my performance—or lack thereof. “Guardup. Stop pulling your punches.”

Fucking hell.

I can barely move my arm tokeepit up. And I wish Iwerepulling punches. Instead, every time I try to land one, agony envelops me, stealing all the power I usually have in my blows, along with my breath half the time.

Which means I’m always on the defensive instead of being the offensive fighter I’ve been since I stepped into the ring as a child.

Land the first punch.

Keep your opponent against the ropes.

Exactly where I am now.

Where I don’t want to be.

“You’ll never fight again.”

The surgeon’s words echo in my head, but like I have for the last several months since he said the unthinkable to me, I push them away. Ignore them. Shove them deep inside and lock them in the same place I do the pain in order to go on every day.

Focus on the fight.

“Get your shit together!”

Jenkins’ voice finally breaks through and allows me to shake off the blow and zero in on the opponent in front of me. It doesn’t matter that we’re only sparring. If I can’t keep my head in the fucking match with Bishop, I won’t be able to when it really matters.

Bishop gives me a look. One I know all too well. One I’ve seen far too much in the past few months—and not solely from her.

Her dark bourbon eyes see the truth.

She’s on to me.

Isaac circles the ring with Vivi on his hip. “Let’s go, Atlas.”

Viviana claps, her bright blue eyes that match her father’s wide as she watches us. “Get him, Bishop. Finish him!”

Of course, the little traitor.

Leave it to a five-year-old to drive home the point that I’m currently losing a “friendly” sparring session when I’m the professional and Bishop isn’t even close to my weight-class—not to mention the fact that she’s a woman.

Fucking embarrassing.

Even worse than the blows to my pride if I come out on the wrong end of this fight, if I don’t end this soon, everyone’s going to know how bad my shoulder really is. They’ll know I’ve been lying to the physical therapists, my doctor, Jenkins, and tothem.

Not to mention myself.

I can’t risk that.

With the hotel opening and Kennedy and Cass’ wedding both so close on the horizon, Satriano pulling strings and sticking his head in where it doesn’t belong, and everyone still reeling from what happened with the shooting, the last thing the Hawkes need is another problem to worry about.

As far as they’re concerned, I’m healed and doctor-cleared to get back in the ring. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.

---