Page 55 of Lies Like Love

At least if I’m pissing Sage off about the fact that Téa quit when he told her he’s over fucking her, I won’t have to deal with him focusing on my shit.

“Fuck you.” Sage tosses a towel at me, but at least it shuts him up, and I can prep for my fight in peace.

Crew thumbs through his phone while I wrap my hands, and we do what I prefer we always do in the locker room—sit in silence.

Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and focus on anything to take my mind off Fel. I think about the fight and hope beating the shit out of someone is enough to make me feel better. I flex my fingers, imagining my knuckles slamming into bone. My hand stings at the thought, while adrenaline heats my blood.

I’m going to break someone’s face if it means erasing thoughts of Fel from my brain. Especially after last night.

She pushed my buttons like she’s ready to handle what comes when I push back. She isn’t, and I was tempted to remind her why.

But looking down at Felicity Alcott offering herself to me sent my brain tumbling off a fucking cliff. It can’t happen like that—not with her.

“Jude, you’re up next.”

Some guy waves his clipboard through the doorway, but he doesn’t bother walking in.

“Fucking finally,” I snort, standing and facing Crew, who’s wrapping his tatted hands, which are already bruised. “You gonna take it easy tonight? Keep this up and you’re not going to be able to ink.”

“I’ll be fine.” He shakes his head and smirks like he finds the suggestion hilarious.

Honestly, I’m not sure how much pain it would take to slow Crew down. As much as I’m willing to throw it all out there in the ring, his tolerance for taking a beating is next level. It’s why he’s one of the best fighters. You can’t win against someone who barely feels pain.

I wipe my face a final time before making my way out of the locker room.

Sage doesn’t say any of his regular pre-fight motivational shit like he normally does, which means I pissed him off.

Good. My mood is foul enough without him trying to dig into my shit.

Stepping out of the changing area, I’m met with chaos. These fights aren’t technically legal, but no one is going to stop them either. Half the fighters are cops or powerful rich pricks blowing off steam. If they blew the whistle, they’d lose their outlet.

I push through the crowd, and it’s rowdy for this early in the night. Booze is flowing and the air is thick with people smoking. Sliding through the mess, I try to clear my head, ignoring the imminent bad feeling creeping up my chest.

Tonight’s fight should be easy since I’m up against Axel. He’s a big guy, but he expects his size to do all the work for him. He doesn’t have any real technique—and he doesn’t have any rage.

Fighters who do well here are angry and fucked up. Because when you’re in a battle with no rules, there aren’t limits to what kind of message you can inflict.

Passing a group of ring girls, I spot Fel’s best friend, and my jaw clenches. I swear if she shows up here just to piss me off, I’m going to lose my shit. I’m already hanging on by a thread, so the girl needs to stop trying to break me.

“Maren,” I call as she passes me.

She spins to a stop, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

Apparently, Fel isn’t the only one with an attitude because her friend’s frowning at me and ready for battle.

“Tell me she isn’t here.”

“She isn’t here,” Maren says flatly.

I breathe a sigh of relief because I need a clear head tonight.

“Not that I agree with her decision,” Maren continues, not reading the fuck-off expression on my face. “I told her she should show up just to rub it in your face because you don’t get to tell her what to do.”

“That so?”

It’s cute this girl thinks she can scare me. At least Fel knows better.

“Yep,that’s so.” Maren narrows her gaze. “But she had other plans, so you lucked out.”

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