Page 71 of Under Pressure

I glance at Tyler, his eyes flashing. “Don’t talk to her. Shoot your shit all day long to me, but leave Mia out of it.”

Erickson smiles gleefully. He got exactly what he wanted—a rise out of Tyler.

And because of me.

My heartbeat picks up, suddenly aware I’m a very small person in between two very large guys, and I try to communicate with my eyes to Tyler that I can take whatever Erickson says. It holds no importance to me.

“What, afraid she’ll like me more?” he taunts, moving to put his arm around me. His beefy hand only brushes my shoulder before Tyler steps in, knocking it out of the way.

“Don’t fucking touch her.” I’ve never seen him so darkly serious as he crowds Erickson back, the two of them evenly matched in height, but not in weight. Erickson’s got Tyler beat by a good thirty pounds at least.

I quickly retreat, making it out of the danger zone before running into another muscled body. I spring away, glancing back, and Ethan’s hands settle on my arms briefly to steady me before he drops them, his attention on the two men in each other’s faces. “What’s going on?”

I undo the Velcro straps of my boxing gloves, ripping them off. “Erickson touched me—”

“Shit,” Ethan swears, scrubbing a hand down his face, then sighing. “Well, it was bound to happen.”

“What? What was bound to happen?” I look toward them, both of them breathing heavy, tension running rampant through the area. Other guys circle around as Erickson taunts something else, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, but I’m too far away now to make out what he said.

Tyler’s livid at whatever it was and I try to push through the forming crowd, to get to him and tell him it doesn’t matter. Whatever he’s saying is unimportant, not worth any of this.

Ethan grabs my arm, shaking his head. “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way. Erickson’s on the warpath now. He’s finally found the chink in Tyler’s armor.”

Me? I’m his weakness? The thought sends a rush of gooey warmth through me, even though I abhor the idea. I want to be his strength, lift him up. The way I’ve seen him following along with the biofeedback, the way he accepted my embrace in the lab.

I don’t want to bring him down, make him lose his famed control, his pride, to this lunk of a man.

But I fear it’s too late. A loud crack echoes in the air, but I can’t see over the heads of the guys surrounding them, nearly everyone in the gym now watching the brewing fight.

I grab Ethan’s arm, using him as leverage to put myself up on my tiptoes, but it doesn’t make a difference. “What happened?” Is that my voice that sounds that terrified?

“Tyler punched him.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Erickson wanted it. He didn’t even attempt a block. Now he can justify hitting him back.”

Heavy blows sound, the crowd reacting after each hit. I can only catch glimpses of the two of them, Tyler looking like he’s gained back some of his control, despite the rage still there, Erickson’s eyes full of savage exhilaration, blood dripping down his face.

“Who will win?”

“Tyler has technical skill on his side, but Erickson has more experience actually punching people. And he’s the type with nothing to lose. He lives to fight.”

“What did he mean when he said Tyler got special permission for me to be here?”

I glance up at Ethan’s face, an uncomfortable expression crossing it. “Girlfriends aren’t allowed here. Not that you’re his girlfriend,” he rushes to add. “But it’s the same principle. He had to clear bringing you here with Marty, be responsible for you.”

“So, could he be kicked out of the gym because of this?”

Ethan stares ahead at the two of them, fists raining down upon each other. He’s tall enough to see what’s going on, and by the wince on his face, it can’t be good. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Erickson provoked him, but he threw the first punch.”

“Enough,” a booming voice sounds, the same man from my first night here coming up behind us. The crowd parts for him and even the fighting stops, both men panting heavily. Blood is flowing freely from Erickson’s nose, a wild grin on his face, but I only have eyes for Tyler. He has the beginnings of a bruise around his left eye, lip swollen, and he’s teetering unsteadily, but he’s in control again, whatever set him off initially under wraps now.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Marty demands, sizing the two of them up.

“Jenkins attacked me, sir,” Erickson tells him gleefully. “Outside of the ring with no protective equipment. I was just trying to defend myself.”

The owner of the club makes a sound of disbelief. “Is that true?” he asks Tyler quietly.

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