Page 154 of Rebel Hawke

Gulping, I watch the way the challenge ignites that fire in his gaze. “No, no, you have not. But you just did a cut for weigh-in tonight. You’re dehydrated and—”

Atlas crushes his mouth to mine, silencing me with a strangled groan that vibrates through his chest and mine. “Trust me and hold on tight, Wren. This is going to be hard and fast, but I promise you’re going to come at least twice before I do.”

ATLAS

“Introducing the challenger,with an undefeated professional record of 25-0, Atlas ‘The Hurricane’ Hawke…”

Camera flashes blind me the moment I step into the media room. The buzz of movement and indistinct chatter fills my ears, immediately drawing me into work mode even when I’d much rather allow myself to linger in the post-orgasmic haze.

What I told Wren that first day is true.

When I enter that ring, when I become “The Hurricane,” Iama different person.

A brutal machine. Unfeeling. Uncaring. Completely focused on one single goal. A mission nothing can get in the way of. Not fatigue. Not pain. Not even love.

It’s a role I have to play, and it starts today with this weigh-in and press conference. Normally, it’s an easy switch to flip. I’ve done it so many times that it’s like second nature.

But today is different.

Even the taste of Wren lingering on my tongue and my body tingling from our quickie in the changing room hasn’t been enough to erase the unfamiliar sense of dread sitting like a rock in the center of my chest.

I thought I had time—to figure out what to do. Maybe a way out of it.

Not anymore.

Dozens of reporters line the seats in front of the stage, all focused on me as I make my way up the short flight of stairs and onto the dais where Bobby Barrens stands at the podium.

One of the biggest promoters in the country, he was always good to Jenkins and me, and he’ll be added to the long list of disappointed people if this fight doesn’t live up to the hype.

IfIdon’t.

Though, he’s the last of my concerns as I blink away the blinding lights and scan the crowd, looking for Wren.

I only left her moments ago, but the closer the clock ticks to the fight, the closer I wanther.

It feels like a countdown to something much bigger. Something that will change everything—and not in the way we all thought it would.

She stands against the wall just inside the door, with Mom and Dad on one side of her, Luca on the other, just inside the jamb, watching the hallway and everyone’s backs. The rest of thefamily mills around near them, dipping their heads to whisper to each other and offering smiles in my direction.

Everyone except Jude and Coen.

Not that I expected Jude to be here. He’ll be watching on television from his condo, like he does with every fight.

But Coen, that motherfucker…

He still hasn’t popped his head back up from whatever hole he’s been hiding in. Continuing to ignore my calls and texts. Responding to Isaac with a single message that relayed he’s fine and will be back before the opening.

Just in time for me to kill him before I go into the ring…

I clench my fists at my sides and move to stand behind the scale set up in the center of the stage.

Isaac, Bishop, and Saint surround me—my corner team.

It feels wrong to have anyone but Jenkins at my back, but so much of what’s happening is wrong.

I’m finally ready for Gordon physically.

In the best shape I’ve ever been going into a fight.

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