Page 75 of Wicked

“But you can continue to avoid telling me what you were doing in Chicago?”

“It’s for your safety.”

“My safety or were you making a deal with Sam behind my back? I don’t find it a coincidence that my father was murdered after you went home again.”

His eyes darken with an emotion I know well—fear—before he blinks.

“What did you do, Shephard?” I step toward him. An audience is gathering around us.

“It’s no business of yours.” His voice is low, lethal.

He wants me to back off. I refuse.

“Everything to do with home andhimis always my business. Always.”

He glares. Opens his mouth. Not giving him the chance to speak more empty words, I stomp over to my phone and push play. My playlist blasts loud and proud on the speakers mounted on the walls. We pop in our mouthguards and don our gloves.

“Take What You Want” by Post Malone, Ozzy Osbourne, and Travis Scott flows through me.

Inhaling deep breaths, I close my eyes and center myself. Centering myself is thinking of Ryker. I imagine him running the pad of his finger over my brows. Reassuring. Calming.

Picture him dropping kisses on my freckles. Acceptance. Tenderness. Remember how hot I got when his tongue tasted and teased the corners of my mouth. A smile spans my face. I’m ready to take on Shephard.

I open my eyes and skitter back. Jump up and down. Pound my boxing gloves together. Crane my neck side to side and roll my shoulders. Shephard gestures for me to come and get him. I focus on his eyes. They tend to give him away. His gaze darts to the left of my head before he swings. I block his blow. Bend at the knees. Go low and slam my glove into his gut.

Grunting, he backs up. I tsk. Distance is not his friend. Uh-huh. I close the gap.

“Last Resort” by Papa Roach plays. The lyrics speak to me. I lost my mother to my father’s gun. Lost my father to his jealousy and obsession with my mother. I push forward. Shephard and I dance around one another. His height not giving him an advantage, I lurch forward and aim for his side.

My glove connects with his body. I dart to my right. Punch. Slam. Pound. Over and over, I hit his right flank, over his kidney. He doubles over.

This is my chance; Shephard recovers fast. Clasping his head between my gloves, I knee him in the stomach. Bam. Bam. Bam. I let go.

He raises his head. I clobber him with a right hook. His head whips to the side. Spittle flies from his mouth, giving me a glimpse of his mouthguard. Left hook. Right hook. Right. Left. He teeters. This is it.This is it.

Out of breath, my heartbeats loud in my ears, I kick his legs out from beneath him. He lands on his stomach with a resounding thud.

I drop on his body, and shoving my knee between his shoulder blades, I yank his arms back. More.More. Putting my weight on my knee, I pull. He slaps his palm onto the mat, tapping out.

I let go and roll off him.

He’s not done with me. His body slides over mine. Large hands near my head. He takes off his gloves, headguard and mouthguard. Strips me of mine. Thick fingers swipe at the sweat beading along my hairline. His blue-eyed gaze touches mine. Drops to my mouth.

We’re breathing hard for a different reason other than going at each other with our gloves. His attention hangs on my mouth and dips to the swells of my breasts beneath my tank top. The intensity in Shephard’s eyes, the way he’s licking his lips, adrenaline rushes through my veins and I need . . . I need Ryker.

Shephard sees the truth on my face. Cursing, he pushes off me and onto his feet. I take the hand he offers. My heartbeat slows. I walk over and shut off the music. Masculine murmurs in the room.

I face the crowd. Except there are guys other than the gym regulars.

“What do we have here?” Shephard’s arm curves over my lower back, and I’m anchored against his side.

“I’m giving the guys the option to pick a different gym other than the one on campus.”

“What you did is badass, little miss.” Thumbs hooked on the pockets of his jeans, Joey tips his head and studies me as though seeing me for the first time.

The football guys echo their agreement.

“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks heating.

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