Page 10 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

The crack of my knuckles against my palm brings me back. The gladiator pauses mid-movement, head tilted slightly. “Domina?”

“Keep going,” I say, but something in my voice must betray my emotions. He completes the squat but stays down, one knee bent in that oddly graceful way of his.

“You are troubled.”

It’s not a question. His insight catches me off guard, along with the genuine concern in his tone. Not the practiced sympathy of someone trying to please their “owner,” but real empathy.

“I never asked your name,” I say, realizing how rude I’ve been.

“Victor.” The name rolls off his tongue with quiet dignity, yet a tiny muscle leaps in his jaw.

“That needed no translation,” I observe. “It means victory?”

Something flickers in his eyes—a shadow of old pain quickly masked. “Si,Domina.”

Since I obviously hit a nerve, I say, “Focus on your exercises,” more sharply than intended. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cower like someone accustomed to abuse. Instead, he holds my gaze for a moment longer, something like understanding passing between us before he returns to his squats.

“Your form is good,” I say, though I’ve been studiously avoiding staring at his perfect body. “But you’re favoring your left leg slightly. Here—” Without thinking, I place my hand on his thigh to adjust his stance.

The muscle tenses under my palm. Heat radiates through the thin fabric of the sweats. Our gazes meet, and for a moment the air seems to crackle between us.

I step back quickly, nearly tripping over my own feet. “That’s enough for now. You should rest.”

“As you wish,Domina.” But there’s something in his voice, something that makes my skin tingle. When I dare to look at him again, I catch the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment of… whatever this is between us.

“I’ll bring you some water,” I say, fleeing to the kitchen before I can do something stupid like touch him again.

My hands shake as I fill a glass from the tap. This is so wrong. He thinks Iownhim. He’s been stolen from his time, his world. He’s being lied to and manipulated. My attraction to him isn’t just inappropriate—it’s taking advantage.

But when I return to the bedroom, he’s sitting on his bed, back straight as a yardstick while reading through his writings with such focused intensity it makes my chest ache. There’s a nobility to him that no amount of deception can diminish. An intelligence that shines through despite the language barrier and strange circumstances.

He accepts the water with that same grave courtesy, but his fingers brush mine as he takes the glass. The contact sends electricity dancing up my arm.

“Gratias,”he says softly. Even without the translation device, I understand perfectly.

I need to tell him the truth. Need to find a way to fix this mess that doesn’t end with everyone in prison… or worse. I also need to stop noticing how his damp shirt clings to his chest or the way his eyes, now more green than gray, seem to see right through my defenses.

But for now, all I can do is nod and retreat to a safe distance, adding one more thing to the growing list of ways I’m failing both him and myself.

Chapter Nine

Maya

The next day is a repeat of the last until about an hour after supper when three black SUVs crunch up the gravel driveway. My stomach drops. From what I’ve heard, only one person in Vegas travels with that kind of entourage.

“Dad!” I hiss, shaking his shoulder where he’s passed out on the couch. “Tony’s here.”

He jerks awake, face going ashen. “What? No, he can’t—I told him I’d have the money next—”

The front door splinters inward before he can finish. Tony Esposito, looking just like he does on the evening news, strolls in like he owns the place. Knowing my father, he probably owes him far more than what this borrowed cabin is worth. Two hulking guards take up positions by the door while a third circles toward the back of the cabin.

“Franky, Franky, Franky.” Tony straightens his thousand-dollar suit cuffs. “You missed our appointment yesterday. And the day before. I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

Dad scrambles to his feet, hands raised. “Tony, I can explain—”

“One hundred thousand, Franky. Not counting the vig—interest that grows daily.” Tony’s voice stays conversational, which somehow makes it worse. “You said you had a sure thing. A game-changer. Instead, I hear from Jimmy that you’re hiding out in his cabin in the woods with some new fighter nobody’s ever heard of.”

Why did I think we were safe out here? I should have known Dad would mess this up somehow.

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