Chapter 14

Mia

"Hey, guys!" I shout as I enter Shadow’s car, a large black Land Rover, with a gorgeous woman in the back. Her long black hair is styled like a movie star from the sixties. Her green dress is giving; hot wife of the villain in a James Bond movie. She rocks, and by the kind smile on her face, I can already tell we’re going to be friends.

"Mia,” says Shadow with his usual calm and unbothered tone.

"I'm Erin. It's so nice to finally meet you. We didn't really get a chance to talk at your wedding," she says, greeting me like an old friend.

"God, yes, Shadow's girl! I won't lie and say I heard a lot about you because your man is like a secret spy, but I'm delighted to meet you," I admit.

"Your dress is gorgeous. Are you trying to kill Ares before he even fights?" Her gaze follows my red dress and the black stilettos I’ve put on with my red carpet makeup look. I chose to go with a sleek hairstyle, my hair looking even longer now that I’ve straightened it. I giggle as Shadow drives us out of the gates. "Trust me, I couldn't even if I wanted to."

“Yeah, that man has more lives than cats.” She chuckles. “Shadow told me you liked fashion. If you’d like, we could go out next week together and make a day of it?”

“I’d love to. It'd be great to see the last collection for my clients as well.”

“Two birds, one stone.” She smiles, and her kindness reminds me of Kiara. Shadow seems unbothered by us yapping in the backseat, and for a moment, I forget that I’m in a new town with no friends.

“Have you seen many fights?” I ask her, curious to see if I’m the only newbie here.

“Um, let me count,” she taps each finger, “seven if I remember correctly, but Shadow and I like to go watch the big ones in Vegas when he has business there.”

I nod, reassured to see she seems to like watching men hitting on one another, but again, I doubt it’s the same experience when it’s your man fighting in it.

Your man?

As if she can sense my turmoil, her hand rests on mine for a second. “It’ll be alright. Ares is the best fighter I’ve ever seen. He’ll win, don’t worry, girl,” she reassures me.

I smile back, hoping to hide my apprehension.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright,” I mutter.

It’ll be alright.

The rest of the drive is pleasant. Erin talks about her work at a local vet and the last movies she saw. We both burst into laughter when she tries to imitate the dramatic voiceover from one of the action movies she watched last week. Her exaggerated, deep voice catches me off guard, and I can't help but double over in my seat.

"Can you imagine Shadow talking like that?" she says between laughs, trying to keep her voice steady. "I swear, if he ever did, I would lose it." Shadow shakes his head in the rearview mirror like he’d rather laugh about it too.

I giggle, picturing it. "Oh, I don’t think Ares could pull it off either. They’re both so serious most of the time."

Erin bends toward me and whispers loudly like a literal high school girl who can’t restrain her laugh.

"Right? They’re like these big, intimidating guys, but I know for a fact Shadow secretly likes rom-coms. He’d kill me if I ever told anyone." I laugh harder, putting my palm on my mouth, the tension in my chest easing just a little. "Well, your secret's safe with me."

By the time we arrive, I feel lighter, as if maybe everything will be alright. As we step out of the car and approach a tall gray warehouse with huge capital letters at the top, Raven Sons MC Club , the energy switches. There’s hundreds of men out there, all queuing to enter the club while the same amount of motorcycles are parked around the lot.

“Big crowd tonight,” says Shadow, pulling us into a spot farther than the other bikes.

“Why?” I ask.

“Always big when the boss’s fighting,” he deadpans.

Oh.

My palms are getting sweaty as we get out of the car. Ash is right beside me the moment I set my stiletto on the concrete.

“Mrs Malone,” he greets me.

I roll my eyes. “Ash, I told you to call me Mia.”

“Sorry, you’re Mrs Malone here. Can’t get too comfy with the boss’ wife.” He winks and shrugs, his youth making him look almost out of place. Ash has red hair like me. People might almost think we’re siblings. As we make our way to the main entrance, the crowds part like the sea, giving us a clear path straight to the door. They're all dressed in black, with tattoos and scars on most of them, the air crackling with eagerness and the promise of brutality.

They stare at us, especially me, which doesn’t usually bother me. I’m used to getting attention, especially when you’re a redhead who likes to dress like you’re going out to a Hollywood party, but this time’s different.

They don’t look at me with desire, admiration, or lust.

Their gaze drifts down as quickly as they set their eyes on me as if they weren't allowed to look at me. Some of them even turn their face to the side to make sure their eyes don’t fall on me. As if they know who I am. Who I’m married to.

Something in their faces is shining with fear and uneasiness.

A few members of the Raven Sons were at our wedding, but this is a much bigger crowd, and I’ve never been there before.

Do they know who I am?

“Ash,” I murmur, his hand inches behind my back, careful not to touch me but still here to protect me. “What’s going on?” As we walk to the entrance, the air shifts with each step I take. Ash doesn’t answer me, his gaze doing a one-eighty. He may look young, but there’s no doubt that this is where he belongs. Focused, determined to protect me and complete his mission for Ares. Once we enter the warehouse, I sigh with relief.

That was intense.

“Sorry ‘bout that, just wanted to bring you inside safely. Boss told everyone you’d be here tonight.” He grins as if it means something in particular. Erin and Shadow follow us and she steps next to me.

“Well, never a dull moment at the club.” She chuckles. “It’s the first time people get to see you. Hence the staring contest out there.”

“O-okay, that was, um, intense,” I tell her.

“Girl, I’ve been here for years and I never seen that many men fear a woman this way, so yeah intense is kind of the right word.”

“Fear me? Seriously?” I’m surprised by her interpretation.

“You’re the president’s old lady now. It comes with perks and, well, power.” She shrugs her shoulder with a wink. “All the men in the region, if not in the country, know that looking at you the wrong way basically equals the death penalty.”

Oh.

Yeah, I kind of forgot that since my father was a weak man, he never once defended me when men got a bit too comfy with me. I like it better here.

Don’t get used to this. This isn’t a real marriage. It won’t last forever.

I look around and take it all in. The tall ceilings, the bar, the massive shelves of cardboard carrying God knows what, dartboard, pool table, big screen and pin-up posters on each wall with expensive metallic lights hanging from the ceiling, American flags, and a leather couch making me think of westerns I once watch with Kiara when we were little. The Raven Sons emblem rises before me at the top of the wall, the skull surrounded with angel wings with their motto: Riding The Shadows. There’s pictures on the wall on the left of the club members driving together. Where I come from, everything is supposed to be concealed, secret. Even the made men of my father remained in the shadows. All I ever saw was black suits and occasional guns. Here it’s impossible to ignore the pride of the members of the club.

I notice the right corner looks more like a garage with bikes, tools, and parts. I take a step forward and look at the huge octagon set in the middle of the warehouse, something I only saw on television. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this is way larger than I thought it’d be, with a cage-like atmosphere that gives it a gladiator feel. The light above it is neon bright, almost blinding us.

Ares is going to fight in this.

“Impressive, right?” says Ash looking at the octagon, his chest setting a bit higher. Cute to see how proud he is to be a part of the club.

“Yeah, but I have a hard time picturing Ares in it,” I admit.

He grins. “Don’t worry, he’s like a fish in water.”

“Where is he, by the way?” I ask casually. Not that I want to act all giddy-wifey in front of his men, but I haven’t seen him since this morning and I kinda want to talk to him before he goes in the cage.

“Follow me,” Ash says, motioning his chin to his left. I glance at Erin, whose hand is entangled with Shadows. They look so good together.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to her and she smiles back.

“I’ll keep you a seat next to me,” she says before walking closer to the octagon, Shadows' hand lingering protectively on her back.

“Carter will be there in a sec,” Ash informs me. “Since Erin came, Ares's gave him the night, so Carter and I will be your official bodyguards tonight.”

“Is it really necessary? Isn’t one enough?” I frown.

“Nah, gotta make sure no one's bothering you or taking you away. Can’t take any risk.” His words send a shiver down my spine.

“Do you do this often?” I ask, curious.

“Protecting? Yeah, I've done it a lot since last year and kind of made it my speciality in the club. Tank calls me the bodyguard, like in the romantic movie, ya know? To piss me off, but I don't mind.” His gaze studies the crowd.

“Okay, I'll try to stay away from the bad guys then. Don’t want you to get in trouble.” Shoving my elbow gently into his ribs, he answers by dramatically resting his palm on his side as if I had hurt him badly. We move down a corridor at the back of the warehouse, each step dimming the light further as we approach the metallic door at the end

“I'll wait there for you.” He knocks two times, then one time on the door. A signal. The sound of a lock makes my finger tingle as Ash rests his back on the wall, motioning me to enter with his hand. I nod, and push open the door, discovering a large office made of wood, metal, mixing rustic style with high hand steel furniture.

Just like his house.

Our house .

Ares’ bare chest greets me and takes me out of my thoughts immediately.

Wow.

I’ve seen my husband's chest before, but in this context, with bandages on his hands, black boxing shorts and ink running all over his body, he looks more like a UFC fighter than a businessman.

Stop drooling.

I close my jaw as a wicked grin appears on his face, his dark gaze softening as he drinks in every inch of me.

“Fuck, Mia. You look—” he rubs his lower lip with his index finger, “edible.”

Edible.

That’s a first.

I’ve been told I’m pretty, beautiful, hot, and all the shebang, but edible? It kind of tops all of them. My hair on my nape rises as he meaders toward me, circling me like a vulture.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Erin and Shadow?”

“I-I wanted to see you before the fight,” I stutter. His brows furrow, his eyes searching me with concern as if he was looking for a sign of injury.

How am I supposed to keep him at arm's length when he does that?

“Just…don’t get hurt,” I manage to say in a breath, the closeness of his body crowding my brain to function properly.

“You’re worried about me, woman?” His thumb strokes my lower lip.

I let him do it for a second before reminding myself who he is and why I’m in his office right now.

A man who collected me as a payment.

A dangerous man known for having no moral compass.

Stepping back, I push his hand away, watching his jaw tick. I clear my throat and run a hand in my sleek hair. Thank God I’ve put that much effort into tonight. It makes me feel much more confident.

“No, I just wanted to make sure I’d still have a husband to run from tomorrow,” I snap.

“Mia.” He tilts his head to the side.

“I’m gonna go now.” I clear my throat. “Have fun.” I turn my back on him like I’m not completely petrified of the idea of him being hurt in that cage. A possessive hand grips my hips, his chest touching my back and towering over me, making my heart skip a bit.

“I know what you’re doing, princess,” he murmurs to me.

“And?” I whisper, my mouth dryer than the Sahara.

“It’ll only make me more feral,” he says in a low tone, inhaling my hair behind my ear and sending millions of sparks in my belly. “You just sit tight in your pretty little dress and watch me destroy that guy. Okay, princess?” I nod twice, wishing I could crawl under his skin and run away from him at the same time.

“Good girl,” he whispers in my ear, then opens the door and lets me walk out of his office, my back still turned to him.

Ares Malone, what are you doing to me?

Ares

Distractions aren’t good before a fight. I need to be sharp, focused, and ready to strike. But all I can think of is my wife and her mouth and her voice and the way she gets under my skin like she was born to do this. Thank fuck I got a workout in before tonight. Otherwise, I’d be jumping off the walls right now.

Her red dress and the way she looked at me, fuck, I may not own her heart yet, but her body is already mine. Reacting to me like fucking fireworks each time I get close to her. Even when we’re just in the same room, there’s an energy in the air, something so thick I’m sure it’s palpable. But owning her desires isn’t enough. Not in the least. Anyone can get a woman lusting over muscles and good looks. It takes much more to entangle someone else's mind with yours.

Body and soul, or nothing.

I’ll break her and rebuild her into a new fucking woman, and then, that’s where she will finally be mine. Destroy the things holding on from her past. Show her we can become more. That our home can be hers forever if she wants too. Not because I will claim her but because she will accept this claim with eagerness, becoming a vital need for her.

Focus, you can think about that later.

I have a lot on my plate. The club, the threats, the expansion, and Mia. But the club comes first, always. I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Business before women.

“Boss, it’s time,” I hear Tank’s voice outside the door. He’ll be cornering me since Vox is in Seattle this week. We’re used to working together. Even when I fight, he’s the one icing my face and giving me his thoughts on the opponent's moves, but Tank will do. He was in the military, had his fair share of violence on the field, a great fighter too. He knows his way around a cage.

Fight nights are always done the same way. Two fights lead up to a bigger one. The first two are usually from guys settling debt and folks betting over them. They have less stakes. People watch them to entertain themselves, grab a beer, and do not care if they miss a punch here and there.

But the last fight is much different. First, because it’s always with one of our brothers from the club. And second, because there are no rules, no limits, no referee to stop one of us from killing his opponent.

I fight most of them, but here and then, Carter, Shadow, Blade, and some of the toughest guys from our club fight in there too. Mostly when they have steam to let off or when they’re having a feud with another guy and want to settle it in the cage. The guy volunteers to get in there. It’s more about ego than anything else.

Those fights are harder to watch.

Raw, bloody, unforgiving.

‘Cause you never know how it's gonna end.

The last one was a month ago, and Carter broke a guy’s jaw with his fists, so much we had to stop him from turning the guy’s face into fucking pudding. Didn’t want to change the floor again. I can tell you one thing, when the guys are fighting, the crowds go fucking wild, but toward the end, when you know who won, you just sit there and watch a guy fucking die or get paralysed for life in front of ya, and I gotta say, you could hear a pin drop.

I walk out of my office, the air still filled with cinnamon and a hint of hairspray.

Don’t think about her.

Not now.

Tank in front of me, I advance from the corridor to the main hall, hearing shouts, hard-rock, and men's voices echoing all around me. They part as if they're burned by the sight of me and my fists, as if they were afraid I'd grab one of them on my way. I crack my neck on both sides, getting closer to the cage as the ceiling lights blind me for a second, the intensity of the energy pulsing in me, preparing me for the kill.

Shadow found a guy who’s been in debt from the club. Brendan McHallor, Canadian, in his thirties I would say, tall but thinner than me, with sleek muscles and a face trying to display confidence. But I know it's just for show. He’s already up there, bouncing on his feet as if his footwork could scare me. Technique isn’t what’s going to save you up there. Nor training or the amount of fucking boxing classes you took in your life.

It’s the adrenaline that’ll make you win.

The intense surge in you as if a beast was tracking you down, ready to snap your neck. This guy is scared as shit. Probably thinks he’s gonna win the club’s favor in his fight, that I’ll give him mercy for his six-month pay due of his rent and protection fees. Gotta be at least three hundred grand late. No wonder he’s here. The guy’s desperate, but he does have the musculature of a fighter, so we’ll see how long he lasts.

The roars of the crowd grow louder as I enter the cage, ignoring on purpose the stunning creature sitting first rank a few feet away from me. She’s got the best seat in the whole place to see me destroy that guy.

I’m here to show strength in front of my men. Why do I want to impress her so much?

McHallor jumps on his feet, punching his fists with one another. He should know that fifty percent of fighting is about mentally destroying your opponent, and mind games just happened to be my thing. So I meander to him slowly, as if I’m ordering coffee or something, and lower my face to him for a second.

“My men already dug your grave up in the valley. Was nice meetin’ ya, pal.” Patting his shoulder with a grin, I step back into my corner. The guy turns fucking livid.

Good, a frightened opponent gets desperate, messy, thinks he’s about to die, and forgets his chances to win. The crowds keep shouting, folks move to get a better view, the music echoes louder in my ears, but I shut it all down. Inhaling deeply once, I turn the chaos into white noise pulsing through me and leaving me in my own space, watching McHallor’s every move as if they’re in slow motion ‘cause I’m that fucking focused. The bell rings and I step forward, ready to show my wife what her husband is made of.

Mia

This is the worst. Literally.

I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, surrounded by men shouting and roaring, the air thick with sweat and tension. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a social gal, but this isn’t like a cute coffee shop with floral scents and pop music in the background. The only bright side is that I got to eat with Erin in Shadow’s office before the fights, and Larry’s healthy casserole made my day.

The first two fights were brutal, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Two guys beat each other senselessly until some guy with a whistle and a white shirt decided it was over. There was blood, sure, but nothing too bad. Kind of like watching a boxing movie—except here, the sounds of bones cracking and flesh smacking are way too real and way too close.

“ Phew , boring, huh? I can’t wait for the last fight,” Erin says, glancing at me with a smile. She seems way too excited about this. More people are gathering around the cage now, and it only makes my hands more sweaty.

This is what they’ve been waiting for.

Ares’s fight.

“Ash?” I call out hesitantly, turning to my right, where he’s been sitting quietly all night. His friend Carter is on the opposite side of the room, a tall blond guy with short hair and a face that looks more like a robot than a human, watching everything like some kind of hawk. He hasn’t even come to say hi to me. So weird.

“Do you know who he’s fighting?” I raise my voice over the growing noise, peeling off my nail polish as my nerves spike.

“Canadian guy. Bulky. Saw him fight once. The guy can manage,” he declares.

“Do you think—” But Ash interrupts me, his eyes flicking to the side.

“Watch. It’s starting.” He points to the right of the room. I follow his gaze to a tall, muscular guy stepping out of the shadows. The crowd erupts in cheers as he enters the cage, pumping his fists in the air like some kind of gladiator. He runs a few laps inside the octagon, pounding his chest like he already won. Testosterone-fueled nonsense.

“That’s Brendan McHallor, crooked with debt to the club. He’s gonna try to ask for Ares’s mercy,” says Ash, rubbing his palms before resting his elbows on his thighs.

So that’s how they settle things here? In cages?

“On your left, Mrs Malone,” Ash says, and I turn just in time to see Ares stepping into the hall. The crowd parts for him, their cheers growing louder, almost frantic. My heart skips a beat as I see him—his strong, imposing figure cutting through the sea of people like a force of nature, wearing only his bandages and black shorts. He walks to the octagon barefoot and this is the most stunning man I’ve ever seen. His naked tattooed chest shining with a thin layer of sweat, his short brown hair disheveled, making him look so attractive I wish I could get closer just to run my hand on his light stubble and feel his musky, manly scent intoxicate me.

Kiara was right. Hot as hell, indeed.

The ground beneath is trembling with the intensity of the crowd’s chants. “ARES! ARES! ARES!” It’s deafening, and my pulse quickens. I glance at Ash and notice a proud grin on his face. Ares walks toward the cage with a calm, almost too casual demeanor, his gaze locked onto the Canadian guy. His attitude is dark, focused, and more animal than man.

So focused that he doesn’t even look at me.

Why would he even bother?

“Girl, your man is in the zone! Look at him,” Erin says as she squeezes my hand quickly. The bell rings, and my breath catches.

Don’t get hurt.

Don’t get hurt.

Don’t get hurt.

Ares moves faster than I expected. His fists fly with brutal precision, and before I know it, he’s landing hit after hit. The other guy stumbles, clearly caught off guard by Ares’ speed. The crowd erupts in cheers, and a wave of relief wash over me. I don’t know a lot about fighting, but that must be good, right? Ares has this under control, just like Ash and Erin promised.

“In the pocket, get in the fuckin’ pocket!” shouts a guy in Ares’ corner, his cut enhanced with the name Tank . I glance at Ash, but his smile has disappeared for a deep frown. Looking back at the cage with Ares and the other guy circling around each other, something shifts.

Ares sends a few hits in the guy's ribs, but the guy recovers, his movements becoming more calculated, more deliberate. He starts landing punches, each one harder than the last. Ares blocks a few, but I can see the impact in the way his body jolts, the way he takes a split second longer to counter. Sweat drips down his face, mixing with the blood from a cut above his eye.

Come on. You got this. Don’t let him get to you.

My palms join instinctively under my chin as I stare at my husband, bleeding in front of me. Ares throws a punch, but the Canadian dodges it, coming back with a brutal fist that sends Ares staggering back.

My heart stops.

The crowd roars, but it’s different now, lower, more hesitant. As if the momentum was turning. And I suddenly get it. Ares isn’t fighting to offer the guy to settle his debt. He’s fighting to show his men and all the others here tonight why he’s the boss and why he’s the only one made for that position. This is so much more than just a fight.

He needs to win.

Not out of pride but out of necessity. If I learned anything from being the daughter of the boss of the Irish Mafia, it’s that your men on the ground won’t move a finger or take a bullet for you if they don’t respect you. I know because my father used to have a hard time getting proper results with his chain of command.

Come on, Ares, show them.

The round ends, with only the ring of the bell and they separate, breathing heavily, eyes locked on each other. Ares is bleeding from one brow, and his chest rises and falls rapidly. The guy from his corner, Tank, is giving him a pack of ice to shove on his forehead.

“Where’s the referee?” I urge Ash. “Why isn’t he there?”

Ash shakes his head. “It’s not a rules type of fight, Mrs Malone. Only two rounds.”

“But—but how do they know when it ends?”

“It’s—” he glances at me, his jaw clenching, “it ends when it ends.”

“What—”

I’m interrupted by the bell of the ring, turning my face to my husband like a magnet. He charges forward, sending two hard hits into the guts of the guy whose face is twisting with pain.

Good, take the upper hand. You got this.

But the Canadian guys seem to handle pain better than I thought and absorbs the blows before hitting Ares in the face, blood dripping from his eyebrows like a faucet. Ares throws a kick, but the guy catches his leg and slams him to the ground.

No, no, no, no.

Erin’s hand grabs mine as if she can feel my fear, all of us staring at the cage before us while I hear Ash muttering curse words. Before I can even process what’s happening, the Canadian guy is on top of Ares, pinning him down, his massive arms wrapping around Ares' neck. He’s choking him. My heart races, panic clawing at my throat, and my fingers start to tingle. I bite my lower lip so hard it hurts. Just as I’m about to stand up and shout at him to stop the fight, Erin’s hand stops me, pushing my thigh down and whispering to me.

“I know, girl, but if you do, he will appear weak.” Her eyes narrow on me with a genuine sad smile. I know she’s right, but…it’s unbearable to watch. He’s struggling, trying to pry the guy’s arms off, but it’s not enough. The guy's arms squeeze him tighter, his skin color turning a darker shade of red. The noise of the crowd fades, and all I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

He’s going to die. Right here. In front of me.

When we barely had enough time to argue and spend time together.

Then, just when I think it’s over, Ares' eyes flash open and stare at me for half a second. His gaze turns wild and lethal, his emerald pupils burning into me with intensity. Wild, raw, and unforgiving.

The gaze of a man who has lived a hundred lives and battled a thousand wars.

The eye of a fighter who never gives up.

Turning his body to the guy, Ares slams his elbow into his ribs over and over again until the grip loosens. He bends his body, forcing his way out from under him. And the crowd erupts as Ares gets back to his feet, his face twisted in a mix of rage and determination. Hopping on his feet with an unhinged look at his opponent, like a mad man with no limits. I don’t know if I should be scared of him, of his mind, and the way he seems eager to end the guy in front of him. I feel like I should be scared of him, but…

“Fuck yeah!” shouts Ash, his palms around his mouth like a speaker phone.

Ares’s gaze is locked on the guy on the ground, his fists raining down in a brutal, unrelenting assault. Each punch lands with a sickening thud, and even from where I’m standing, it’s clear the man won’t be getting up again. He’s barely conscious, and Ares seems driven by something primal, something beyond reason. His face is contorted with a fierce, almost feral intensity.

The crowd’s roar is a thunderous backdrop, their chants merging into a chaotic symphony of “ARES! ARES! ARES!” It’s loud, but it feels distant, muffled by the force of the scene unfolding before me. I can barely think. The blood, the crumpled body, Ares’s relentless fury.

Stop, please, just look at me and stop.

Without thinking twice about it, I stand up like I’ve been pulled by an invisible string, stepping toward the cage, the noise disappearing until I’m in my own bubble of silence. My legs tremble, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I reach the cage, and I grab the metal walls with a grip so tight my fingers dig into the cold, unyielding metallic surface. I don’t make a sound, but I stare through the bars, my eyes locked on him.

Look at me.

It’s as if, at that moment, the entire world narrows down to just the two of us. I can’t explain it, but I’m certain he’s aware of me, even through the haze of adrenaline and violence. Like my presence has wrapped around him, an invisible thread pulling at his consciousness.

Look at me. I’m right here.

Ares’s punches slow down, the ferocity in his eyes dimming as if he’s suddenly aware of a different kind of pressure. He glances up, and I can see the moment he feels my gaze on him. His eyes meet mine, and for the briefest of seconds, the wildness in them falters, softens, sparking with something vulnerable, almost intimate.

His lips part and I see him say, “Mia.”

He stops hitting, his fists bleeding over the chest of the other man, his focus shifting to me as he stands up, towering over the unmoving body. The noise of the crowd shouting his name fades back in, but it’s distant now, almost irrelevant. Because Ares stares at me with a ferocity that sends goosebumps all over me before inclining his face to the left.

I should know better and not follow him.

But I do because this man is like an oasis after days of thirst.

He doesn’t even lift his fist in the air like the two first winners of the night. Just gets out of the cage and heads right into the direction of his office, men patting his back and clapping their hands around us. Hard rock is back blasting in the hall but I’ve tuned it out, already following his steps as I feel the rest of the crowd already back into party mode, some of them heading to the bar and others leaving the warehouse.

I follow him as he opens the office door, holding it ajar for me to step inside. There’s no one else in this area. It’s just the two of us. My heart pumps harder, and I swallow hard.

Why am I here?

What happened to pushing him away?

I close the door and look at his modern, sleek office, turning my face to the left door of his bathroom, the sound of the shower making my knees weaken. But I don’t turn and step back into the main hall to find Erin and get back to our house.

Be reasonable.

Get out of here.

Nothing good will come out of this.

I should leave.

I should know better.

I really should.

Inhaling slowly, I bite my lips and step into the room where I find my husband standing, blood dripping all over him as his back rests on the wall, gawking at me shamelessly from head to toe. My belly clenches at the sight.

“Did you come to give me my reward, princess ?” A sly grin lifts the corner of his lips. My breath fastens, and at that moment, I know that I’m in trouble.

Ares

I couldn’t watch her when I entered the cage. Couldn’t stand looking at her because she would have seen through whatever bullshit I was trying to shield myself from and cut straight to the truth. The fight wasn’t for my men. It was for her. All of it. And fuck me for underestimating that fucking guy and letting the bastard choke me in front of her. Pissed me off so much, it turned me into a beast afterward.

I needed her to see that side of me.

I needed her to see all of me.

‘Cause I’ve been led on in my past and I only want the truth now.

No bullshit, no hiding behind masks, no fucking trying to act like someone you’re not.

I want her to be raw and brutally honest, and in return, she will have the same.

“So, still think it was that simple?” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my flesh cut open at my lower lip and bleeding on my chin.

She shakes her head, all sass and confidence gone, my little Mia shining in the depth of her brown chocolate eyes, threatening me to drown in them. In a mindless movement, she tangles her fingers.

What’s wrong?

I push myself from the wall with the back of my foot and get closer to her still standing in the doorway as if she’s scared to get in. The shower I turn on fills the place with steam. Her eyes turn all watery, and I’m taken off guard. Thought she’d be happy. I didn’t expect a warm congratulations, but fuck, I did almost choke to death to show her I had the guts to win.

“Mia, what’s wrong?” I take her chin in my bloody fingers, marking the most beautiful painting with a crimson stain. She inhales deeply and then, to my surprise, slaps my chest. Hard. I don’t even step back, her little hand barely strong enough to make a mountain like me move an inch.

“You said—” her voice breaks, “you wouldn’t get hurt.” Her empty eyes stare at my chest like she’s already drifting away at the beginning of an episode.

“You said it’d be easy,” her little voice whispers, and it takes everything in me not to pull her in my arms and tell her I’m not hurt, that it was just for show.

No woman ever showed me that much concern.

Could it be genuine?

“Mia, it’s fine,” I lower my tone to reassure her, “really, just a couple of scratches, nothing serious,” I assure her, lifting her chin to make her look at me and try to find an ounce of pretend in her gaze. But I don’t find any.

“You—you got almost choked by the man, Ares. You could barely breathe and—” A thick tear falls from her eye and my rib cage contracts.

Was she really that worried about me?

The woman before her used to laugh at my fights, said they weren’t entertaining enough. That watching reality TV was less boring.

“Fuck, Mia, don’t cry.” Getting closer to her, I pull her in my arms because I can’t stand not touching her, and I’m fucking relieved she doesn’t push me away.

She’s not Iris.

Don’t let her down by comparing her.

Don’t let your mind spiral.

It’s Mia.

You can trust her.

I sigh and stroke her face as my other hand lands on her lower back, keeping her close despite my body aching from the fight. I pull back, and our noses brush.

“Now and then, I need to show my men why I’m the one leading the club. And cracking skulls is a part of it. Whether you liked it or not, I wanted you to see me when I’m not in my black suits making calls and going to meetings. I need you to see me get my hands dirty. ‘Cause I don’t want a wife who shuts her eyes at what I do,” I tell her, the words slipping away from me before I can lock them inside my chest.

“You’ve let me see you,” I tell her, reminding her of her episode. The day she let her mask break in front of me.

The day that changed it all for me.

The day that made four years of bitterness come to the surface and punch me in the guts, daring me to ignore the helpless woman I had in front of me.

“I needed you to see me too,” I admit, the truth hitting me hard in the guts as I inhale the cinnamon scent of my wife and hope she won’t try to run away from me again. Her little hands run to my chest, and she rests her palms on it, making me wince as one of her fingers dig into an open wound.

“Sorry, sorry, I, we need to get you cleaned up.” Shaking her head back to reality, she steps to the bottom of the sink, where she finds an emergency kit.

“We?” I tell her as I grab her arm and pull her toward me again, our faces so close I can inhale her breath and feel her body coming alive at my touch. I’ve just fought a man who almost choked me to death and haven’t got scared from it, but watching Mia moving around, her trembling hands and her little body fidgeting like she doesn’t know where to start, fuck, it makes my heart clench like I’m on the edge of having a stroke.

Can she tell I’m as scared as her?

Scared to let her in and open my dark heart once again for someone to rip it apart?

“Here,” I tell her, showing my hands, “you can start by removing the bandages.” I guide her and watch her focus on the task, careful not to hurt my fingers, and damn, it does something to me.

“What d’ya think of it? The fight, did you like it?” I ask casually while I’m burning to know if she actually liked it. A light shade of pink colors her cheek as she shakes her head, disappointment hitting me like a truck.

“It’s not—” she shakes her head, “I liked watching you, but—”

“But what, princess?” I search in her doll face the answer.

“It was hard to see you get hurt,” she says, taking my breath away.

Iris would have laughed at my face, called me a sissy for taking so long to knock out the guy. But Mia couldn’t stand watching me get hurt, and still, she stayed. She supported me, standing by my side.

The bandages fall on the floor. “I gotta take a shower, then we can rub alcohol where it’s needed.” I turn and step into the shower, the water burning my flesh as I enter it, still wearing my black shorts. I keep them on, letting her questioning gaze fade ‘cause there’s no way I’m taking us into uncharted territory when we’re barely swimming above water.

I rest my back on the shower wall, watching her in her red dress and black heels, her long hair curling back into its natural shape as the steam covers them. She’d put on more makeup tonight, and even though she’s the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen, I’d still prefer her face bare. It makes it easier to see her blush.

My wife is the most beautiful woman I ever got to lay my eyes on. And if I play my cards right and don’t let my past fuck it all up, I may keep her forever.

“Come here.” I lift my hand for her to join me.

“Ares, the water—”

“Who cares? I have clean shirts in the office.” She bites her lip, her chest heaving as she looks at me with something hot burning inside her deep brown eyes. Pulling her feet up, she removes her heels one by one and then steps inside the shower, the water dripping over her dress and hair, creating darker shades of red all over her and turning her into a masterpiece as Venus herself comes out of the water.

“Stunning,” I murmur, our fingers naturally interlacing. She’s close, so fucking close I could grab her and give her a bruising kiss. But I don’t because I’m treading on thin ice right now.

I know it.

She knows it.

And yet, here we fucking are, after months of marriage, after watching each other break in front of the other, we’re still here, together, standing in my office shower and fully aware that we’re about to head to a point of no return. She lifts her hands and, with her index, traces the contour of my tattoos on my chest and shoulders. Her touch ignites a fire in me, spreading into each cell and bone of my broken body.

“I-I’m scared,” she whispers with trembling lips.

I sigh deeply. I’ve never admitted to anyone being scared of anything. Can’t do that when you’re the head of one of the biggest Motorcycle Club in the country. You gotta be tough and strong to inspire your men and have enough guts to lead.

Weakness can’t exist in my world. And yet, she has become the biggest of all. My weakness. My Achilles' heel. The one person that can bring me to my knees. The only one I know I can’t bear to lose or be taken away from me.

I let out a breath; the steam swirls around us, but it’s not the heat of the water that’s making my heart race—it’s her. The way she looks at me, so vulnerable, so terrified and yet with a hint of something warm, something foreign I never got to experience. I’m scared too, is what I want to tell her. But the words catch in my throat, the words too dangerous to let loose. Old habits getting back to me. I’m the one who’s supposed to have it all together, to never let anyone see me flinch, but with her, that armor always feels too thin.

“You don’t have to be scared,” I say, my voice rough, low, trying to convince her, trying to convince myself. “Not of this. Not of us.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one standing at the edge of a cliff,” she murmurs with a sad smile, her voice breathy, light, as if she was talking to herself. If only she knew how much danger she’s putting me in. That I’m right there with her, about to jump on the precipice, holding her hand and not knowing if I’ll ever get up after the fall.

“Don’t fight it, Mia,” I murmur, pulling her close as the blood fades in the water, her dress sticking dangerously to her stunning body, every curve looking more plumped as the water falls on the fabric. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stay fucking focused and ignore the goddess standing before me.

“We’re too different—” Her words are going against her body pulling closer to mine, almost skin to skin, the thin fabric of her dress as the only barrier between us.

“Give us time, Mia. Give us a shot,” I plead, begging a woman for the first time in my life. Cupping her face with my bleeding hand, my thumb brushes against her trembling lips. She leans into my touch, the points of our noses touching, her lips a breath away from me. It’s just us, standing on the edge of something neither of us can take back.

“You think you like me,” she shakes her head, “but I’m just a pretty package, Ares. The inside is empty, rotten, like a disease no one wants to touch.” Tears fall from her eyes. “You’ll see it one day when you get tired of my episodes, when you’ll finally see that I’m just a stupid girl who can’t even eat out like a normal person.”

My black, rusty, barely working heart aches for her. Her words stab through me, and I can see the pain she’s trying to bury beneath that sad smile. She’s carrying this weight, thinking she’s not enough, that her struggles make her less. But I know better. I know that what she’s facing is a war with herself that she has to fight in silence every fucking meal of her life.

I know her battles.

I’ve seen her fight them for months now.

And I’m ready to fight it with her every fucking step of the way.

I clench my jaw, thinking about her neglectful parents and all the shit they’ve put her through to make her think she’s not enough, that her battles make her less. Only now I’m standing by her side, whether she knows it or not, Mia sears into my skin, lighting fires I’ve tried to keep buried for too long.

Iris played me, fooled me into thinking I could become a father to a loveless woman, and made me think that’s how I’d be fulfilled. But I was wrong, so fucking wrong I could laugh out loud if it wasn’t for the tears of my girl in my arms right now. I thought I had it all, but I had nothing until I met Mia.

I hold her face gently, my thumb brushing away the tears that streak her cheeks. Her words hang in the air, bitter and sharp, cutting into the space between us. It hurts to see her like this, to hear her talk about herself like she’s broken, like she’s not worth fighting for.

She’s worth every fight.

She’s the fight that ends all fights.

She’s the ultimate prize.

A small sob escapes her, and I tighten my hold. This could be a trigger for her, to talk about her eating disorder, but I’m not letting her slip away. Not this time.

"Mia," I murmur, my voice rough, strained with the weight of everything I want to say but don’t know how to. "You’re none of those fucking words. None of it. You’re…hurting, that’s what it is.” I’m no shrink, but anyone with a brain cell should see that, right? She looks up at me, her hazelnut eyes shimmering with uncertainty.

“You think I don’t see you?” I continue, our foreheads touching until there’s barely any space left between us. “I see all of you, Mia. The way you like to get your morning green thingy every day, the way you smile at Maria ‘cause you like having her around, the millions of clothes you put on the floor of our bedroom because it helps you to surround yourself with things you love, the sad face you make when your mother doesn’t answer your calls, the discipline you got with your sleep schedule and your weird dancing workout—”

“Pilates, it’s Pilates.” A chuckle escapes her while a tear forms on her jaw.

“Yeah, right, Pilates. See? I see you and all your quirks and thousand hobbies you like to do before sleep and all the knitting projects you’re working on in the living room and the way you twirl when you feel good about your clothes,” I tell her, hoping she’ll get it.

That every day, I learn more about her.

That every day, she amazes me more.

“I see you, princess, all of you. Even the parts you try to hide. Especially those parts. And I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she just stares at me as if she’s trying to make sense of my words. Her fingers clutch at my arms, holding on like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispers, her voice small and fragile.

“You just gotta be you, Mia. That’s enough for me. That’s more than enough.”

She lets out a soft, broken laugh as if she doesn’t believe me, but there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes—hope, maybe, or the tiniest sliver of trust. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

Her lips are inches from mine, her sweet breath mingling with me in the steamy air of the shower. My cuts and bruises fade away as my mind focuses on the only thing that matters.

“You said I’d be the one begging for you,” a murmur of provocation escapes her delicious lips, taking me off guard and switching the energy around us.

Yeah, that’s my woman right there.

“I did say that.” A smile tugs at my lips, ‘cause damn, her trying to take charge is pleasing me more than I should admit.

“Well…if you want to kiss me, Ares, I think you’re gonna have to get down on your knees.” I know this isn’t about ego or pride anymore. That ship sailed the day I held her during her panic attack. This is about making sure I’m jumping off the cliff with her.

“I’ve never begged anyone in my life, princess,” I rasp, my hands slowly falling off her hips.

“I know,” she murmurs, knowing the weight of what she’s asking me.

“What makes you think I’d go on my knees for you?” I push her more, wanting her to lead, to witness my girl get her confidence back.

“Because a king knows when to bow for his queen,” she whispers, and her words strike me.

“Mia—fuck.” I fall on my knees, my ribs pulsing with pain and my head getting dizzy from how much blood I lost. I stare at her widening eyes. Both of us are silent while I watch her lips part, as if she didn’t think I would do this.

If only she could see that I would fall on my knees every day of my life for her. I’ll show her she’s enough every fucking day of my existence. That her essence stained my heart in an irreversible way, slowly erasing the betrayal from my past with her sweet and fiery nature.

“Let me kiss you, princess,” I command. She shakes her head, her bronze gaze staring at me with lust and a spark of fear mixed together.

“I think you can do better,” she challenges me.

“Mia...” I shut my eyes for a second and push on my last thread of patience.

“I know you can do better.”

I sigh, wanting to punch a wall for having to wait a second longer to touch her lips, but then again, nothing in my life worth living ever came easy.

“My little tornado, light of my world, darkness of my heart, will you let me bruise your lips and make you crave a fire only I can ignite?”

Yeah, I can be a fucking poet when I try.

Her lips part as I squeeze her hips harder, her chest facing me because that’s how small my girl is. Her dangerous gaze drifts to my mouth as she licks her lower lips, sending waves of electricity through me.

Come on, Mia. Let me in.

Then, she nods, ever so slightly, as if my words had cut through her walls. I pull her hips down and make her straddle me as I sit on the floor, droplets of hot water falling on us as my palm reaches the side of her face, watching for a second the masterpiece in my hands, her dress soaked and her hair sticking to her shoulders, making her look like a vision coming out of a dream.

“Mia,” I rasp before closing the gap between us, pressing my lips to hers in a soft and hard kiss, her mouth responding immediately to me as if she’s made for this, for us. Her hand drifts to my shoulders, pulling her body closer to mine as the heat pumps through us, our gasps swallowed by the sound of water dripping on us. Resting my hands on her back and nape, I kiss her deeply, her sweet cinnamon scent invading my every thought, her soft skin my every dream, her small moans my every desire. She tastes like candies and blood. When we finally pull apart, she rests her head instinctively on my chest, out of breath, tracing circles on my shoulder with her index.

I kiss her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. “Let’s go home now.”