Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(35)

I desperately needed to find a way to unscramble those thoughts so I could get over this bullshit and get back to where we should be.

Just friends.

Best friends.

Maybe friends who get off together?

Damn it!

With that, I decided it was time to throw etiquette out the window and make my escape.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to check on my date.”

Then check myself into a sexual rehabilitation facility.

Several handshakes later, I was free. While scanning the large ballroom for Liv, I caught sight of Eliza dragging Till out of another circle of loaded fogies.

No sign of Liv.

A sudden pain in my ear made me wince. God, I wanted to go home. My new hearing aids had been calibrated for the noisy environment of the fundraiser, but they were uncomfortable as f*ck. I headed to the bathroom to check them out or, hell, maybe save myself from being caught in another Circle of Bengay and take them off altogether.

Ignoring a different group of guests trying to catch my attention, I hurried toward the bathroom.

All thoughts of my discomfort disappeared when I heard the sharp cry of Liv’s voice. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but only the tone of her voice soured my gut. I sprinted in her direction, not slowing until her long, brown hair came into view.

Then my vision turned red as it zeroed in on a man holding her around the waist as she kicked and screamed in his arms.

“Get him out of here!” Liv shouted. “You don’t get to do this! Not again!”

A small crowd blocked my view of who she was screaming at. Liv was definitely spunky—and slightly crazy. But she wasn’t hot-tempered. If she was mad about something, chances were I was going to be livid.

“Hey!” I shouted, jogging over to the man restraining her. “Get your f*cking hands off her.” I possessively claimed her from his arms and then breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed the Guardian Protection Agency pin on his lapel.

That’s when the proverbial record stopped.

Liv froze.

Dozens of eyes swung my way.

The crowd parted.

And Garrett f*cking Davenport stepped in my direction.

Son.

Of.

A.

Motherf*cking.

Whore.

“Quarry ‘The Stone Fist’ Page, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced with a slow clap that grated down my spine.

As much as my fist ached to greet his face, I didn’t respond. Not this time.

“Can someone go get Till? Or Slate? Or Flint? Or hell…anyone else? Please,” Liv begged as she stepped in front of me. “Walk away, Q. He’s only here to get a rise and you know it. Do not give that to him. Lock it down.”

I gritted my teeth but remained silent—my eyes trained on the coward in the fitted, black tux looking every bit as pompous and arrogant as I knew him to be.

“I heard there was a fundraiser going on to benefit youth boxing.” Davenport puffed his chest and then grinned. “Coincidence. I have funds and love boxing. What are the odds?” He laughed.

“We don’t want your f*cking money,” Liv spat without ever turning to face him. “Walk away, Q.”

My jaw clenched as my hands flexed opened and closed at my sides. His appearance had absolutely nothing to do with the fundraiser and everything to do with the fact that the boxing commissioner had emailed over the contracts on his next title fight. I hadn’t shared with Liv yet, but I’d found out that morning that my name was finally back on the bottom line. His reign in the ring had been over the minute those contracts had landed on his agent’s desk. I knew it. And it gave me great pleasure that he knew it too. This whole confrontation was nothing more than attempt to get in my head. Little did he know that my head had been f*cked years earlier. He was only adding fuel to my fire.

That title belonged to me.

I wouldn’t let him take this opportunity from me. Not again.

“Are you here to beg me to take it easy on you?” I asked stoically.

He barked a humorless laugh.

Liv squeezed my bicep. “Let’s go home.”

I ignored her and continued talking to Davenport. “No? Then what? You need my belt size? Routing number for my bank account?”

He took a threatening step forward, but I held my ground.

Liv blew out a loud breath of relief when Slate’s meaty paw landed on my shoulder.

“That’s enough,” Slate said. “Not here, Garrett. This is neither the time nor the place for you to stir up something. You want to make a donation? Mail it to the gym. The kids would be appreciative of your generosity. Besides that, you have no business here.”

Fucking Slate. All PC and shit.

“With all due respect, Slate.” He paused and smiled condescendingly. “Fuck. You.”

“You’re not really my type, son,” Slate replied with a chuckle, but his hand clenched painfully tight on my shoulder—his fist no doubt aching as well.

Flint’s voice came from somewhere behind me. “Get Leo’s ass over here. This is over, Garrett. Either you leave now or security will be escorting you out.”

Till stepped to my side. Bumping his shoulder with mine, he gritted out, “Do not react. Hold on to this moment for when you have him in the ring. You have your shot. Do not blow it by giving in to this prick.”