Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(2)

Apparently my words weren’t quiet enough because Con’s head snapped up and he glared at me with disgust, as if I needed to be put down like a rabid animal. “This ain’t a f*ckin’ duel, you piece of shit.”

“It sure isn’t a friendly competition either.”

“Paid a million to get that cheap shot in, didn’t you?”

My lips twisted into a mocking smile. “I sure didn’t pay a million to have you show me up.”

Con dropped his hands and shook his head. “Just when I thought you weren’t a complete f*cking *.”

“You were wrong,” I replied, turning for the ropes.

Con’s fists lifted and before I could react, one connected with my cheekbone. The instantaneous gush of blood told me I’d have a scar to match his, but it didn’t matter. One more scar wouldn’t hurt my banged-up face.

I roared as I charged, but I didn’t get the chance to retaliate. Shouts filled the room, and beefy arms wrapped around my body, holding me back.

“You’re not half bad when you’re not being a shady rich prick,” Lord’s voice said in my ear.

I lunged toward Con, but Lord’s grip only tightened. “Get your goddamn hands off me,” I growled at him.

Leaning closer to my ear, he lowered his voice. “When you calm the hell down and realize you’re making an ass of yourself in front of a bunch of kids and women.”

I glanced out to the crowd and read disgust on so many faces, including Vanessa’s. Like it mattered what a single goddamn person in this gym thought of me. I could buy and sell them all.

Lord was still holding me back when Con came toward us. He yanked his gloves off and wiped at the blood still dripping from the gash on his face.

“You’re also not half bad when you’re paying attention—and when you’re not throwing a knee into my nuts. But I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

I jerked at the arms trapping me. “Call off your dog, and I’m gone.”

“You ever want another round, it’s gonna cost you two million next time,” Con said.

“For another chance to make you bleed? I’d pay even more.”

Con nodded to his brother, and Lord let me go. The crowd had already started to disperse. The only person in the building who probably didn’t want to run me down in the parking lot was my COO, and arguably my friend, Ryder Colson. And he was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of Colson, I saw a group of women moving toward the door—Vanessa Frost in her white cotton dress, Elle Snyder in her yellow retro number, and two others I didn’t know. One looked familiar with tanned skin the color of honey, her hair in dark waves, and a curvy body displayed by a funky teal dress with hot-pink polka dots. She hooked her hands on her hips, and that husky laugh echoed through the room again. Apparently she was the one who had distracted me in the ring. My eyes didn’t move from her to take in the fourth woman.

Colson came up beside me. “Who knew there’d be so many hot pieces of ass in this shit warehouse?”

I turned toward him. “Give any of them a shot, and you’ll probably find yourself bleeding on the floor.”

Ryder shrugged off my comment. “Go get your shit. I’ll wait.”

He was gone before I could tell him he didn’t need to wait around for me. But then again, he was my only ally in a building full of people who undoubtedly would have preferred to see me KO’d on the floor of the ring. Just one more place I’d never be welcome.

Good thing I didn’t give a f*ck.

I’d showed up, gone toe-to-toe with Con, and had taken back a piece of my pride. That was enough.

For today.

I was already thinking of hiring a trainer as I went for my bag.




“Not interested. Save your breath.”

“Come on, baby. You have a better offer tonight?”

“Do I look like a whore to you? And a desperate one at that? Because I’m not.”

I followed the voices as I strode across the black-and-white checkered floor that started at the door to the gym and led down the hallway to the building exit. The conversation was coming from a doorway on the right, a giant commercial kitchen with a huge prep table and stainless steel appliances.

The woman in teal and pink was standing in front of a cupboard, stretching as one hand reached high inside. Ryder Colson stood nearby, leaning against the prep table in front of the fridge.

“Sweetheart, you don’t look like a whore to me, but—”

“Colson.” My friend’s name came out sharp on my tongue, and I didn’t take any time to assess why that might be—or why irritation and possessiveness spread through my veins. I’d just watched Vanessa fuss over Con’s bloody face, and it was another reminder that I’d missed my shot with her.

Both Colson and the woman turned their attention to me.

“You ready to go?” I asked him, and he shrugged.

“Ms. Santos and I were getting acquainted.”

“Is that what we were doing?” the woman snapped. “Because I thought you were being a dick who didn’t understand I’m not interested.”

Her name jogged my memory. Yve Santos. I remembered her from the charity auction. She’d modeled a piece of jewelry; a necklace, I think. But I hadn’t even looked at it, too caught up in the way her red dress had clung to every curve of her killer body. I’d wanted to f*ck her then, even though my eyes had spent ninety-nine percent of the night on Vanessa.