Chapter One

LIAM

W arrior’s Den Facility

Sunridge, Illinois

Fight Night. I lived only for this night.

The roar of the crowd pressed in like a high tide, surging with each hit that I landed on my opponent. Sweat slicked my skin. The muscles in my legs coiled and released as I danced around the octagon, evading the next punch.

My opponent Wyatt, some cocky twenty-two-year-old kid, closed in. If he ran his feet like he ran his mouth, he might get somewhere. He should’ve used his energy to practice his footwork instead of telling the media how he was gonna kick my ass.

I used to be like him. Hell, I still could be at times, but at least I could back it up. He was going to learn today. I’m Liam O’Connor, the Phoenix of Fury Combat. I’ve sunk to the bottom and clawed my way back up both in and out of the ring.

Life made me reinvent myself more than once, but I refuse to give up. Not in the past, and not in this moment.

I felt the springboard of the mat through the rough white canvas under my feet. I feinted left, then struck right in a combo that sent Wyatt staggering back.

"Stay on him, Liam," my friend and fellow MMA fighter Ryder McKenzie shouted from my corner of the ring.

I nodded as instincts took over. I was in the zone.

Yet beneath the adrenaline, I fought another battle. Its name was Jack Thornton. My former friend and partner in petty crime got out of jail last week. He was free to go anywhere in the state, so long as he didn’t violate his parole.

Years ago, I tipped the cops to his next break-in, and they got him for robbery. I wasn’t sure if he ever figured out I was the one who turned him in. If he did, he would come looking for me. I had to protect myself and the new life I built.

Jack stole part of my life before. No way in hell was I going to let him do it again.

"Keep your guard up!" Cody Stone, my other friend and cornerman, yelled.

I bobbed, weaved, and let loose strikes that would make any heavy bag proud. This was where I belonged, where the past couldn't reach me.

"Nice combo!" I heard someone yell from the stands, but their praise was muffled by the blood pounding in my ears.

I watched Wyatt in case he tried to counter my hits. At the same time, I shook off old memories. The possibility of Jack returning for revenge never left my mind. I couldn't let the thoughts get to me—not here, not now.

I forced my mind to the present, to the proud kid circling me with clenched fists and hungry eyes. Each kick and punch I unleashed was all a big middle finger to the old life I'd left behind. Fury Combat was far from the streets that knew too much of me, from the prison bars I almost got locked behind.

"Stay sharp, Liam. He's looking tired." Cody’s voice pulled me forward.

"Yeah," I grunted under my breath, acknowledging the strategy without breaking stride. "Gonna end this."

And maybe when it was over, my win would give me something good to think about before Jack came back to prowl the edges of my brain.

My breath came in ragged gusts. My muscles screamed, but this chorus was familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

Wyatt’s body coiled like a spring. His fist arced toward me as time thinned to a razor's edge.

Instinct kicked in as I pivoted. I threw my counter-punch, a right hook that should've been textbook perfect. But my wrist buckled under an unnatural angle. White-hot pain blew up from my hand straight to my shoulder.

"Damn." Agony splintered my focus. My guard broke. Wyatt got his chance to clock me in the temple.

"O'Connor's hurt!" The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, carrying with it the gasp of the crowd.

I had to shake it off. I made a useless attempt to ignore the throbbing in my wrist and pounding in my head. The fight had shifted. Wyatt smelled blood, and he charged.

"Time!" The ref stepped in just as the world began to tilt. My vision blurred at the edges. “KO.”

I didn't need to see the big monitor above the ring to know defeat was marked across my face. That image would make every sports website and news show before the night ended. I groaned. The word would get out: Liam O’Connor lost by technical knockout to a rookie.

My team got me out of the octagon and the arena. The locker room was a cold slap of reality. My injured wrist swelled as I removed my glove.

“I got this.” I used my good hand to shoo everyone off. Cody and Ryder gave me doubtful looks.

“You’re not serious,” said Ryder. “A doctor should look at you. You might have a concussion.”

“Your head’s scrambled and your wrist is shot.” Cody was a man of few words, but when he spoke, his words were as hard-hitting and blunt as a brick.

“I told you, I got this.” I grabbed an ice pack from the small fridge near the entrance and stuck it on my wrist. “You can go.” When they remained standing, I grumbled and looked at them through narrowed eyes. “What else?”

Ryder’s disapproval remained stuck on his face. “You got a new team member. We were going to introduce you after the match.”

“I don’t have time tonight.”

Ryder and Cody exchanged glances before they filed out, leaving me alone in the locker room.

Stinging disappointment clung to me, heavier than any sweat-drenched gear I peeled from my body. This was supposed to be an easy win tonight against a newcomer. Instead, I was left cradling a possibly broken wrist.

"Shoulda seen it coming," I mumbled, words slurred with pain as I sank onto a bench.

"Looks like you could've used better intel out there."

A woman’s voice cut through my self-pity, sharp and unexpected. I looked up. She stood eight feet away, her unapologetic stance in the doorway of the men's locker room. She had dark brown wavy hair that framed her oval face and skimmed her shoulders. Her light brown skin glowed under the fluorescent lights, and her deep whisky-colored eyes locked into mine like a challenge.

"Who are you?" I managed to ask.

"Sophie Brooks," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her full lips. "You and I have a lot to talk about, Liam."

She already knew my name, but of course, it wasn’t a big secret since my fight with Wyatt had been plastered all over the screens and posters in this small town. I got a good look at Ms. Brooks as she entered the locker room like her name was on the building. Sophie was about five-six, but her confidence made her appear taller. She wore a red Warriors Den gym t-shirt that hugged her slim figure and a pair of jeans that accentuated her curves. I couldn’t look away.

"This is the guy’s locker room. Who said you could come in?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes steady and assessing like she was used to dealing with anyone who stood in her way. "Don't worry, I'm not here to gawk at your bruised ego. Or anything else."

This woman had boldness by the barrel. "Great. I get to be lectured by a stranger now?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Her cool gaze flicked down to my beat-up wrist. "That needs attention, whether your pride likes it or not."

"Thanks for the concern, but I've had worse." I shrugged to show the injury was minor, though even the small movement made me wince.

"Sure." Skepticism laced Sophie’s voice. "I'm sure you'll handle it just as well as you handled that last punch."

"Look, I don't need—" I started to protest, but she held up a hand.

"Save it. I'm not here to play your nurse, and I’m not about to let you throw away your spot in Fury Combat because you're too stubborn."

The words felt like another blow, this one landing squarely on my already wounded pride. What game was the league playing with me?

"You’re surprised.” She read me without me saying a word. Her left brow arched elegantly.

"Confused more like," I admitted. "The league usually tells me when they're shaking things up."

"Consider this your heads up then," she replied, no hint of apology in her tone. "Starting tomorrow, we work on what went wrong tonight. We’re going to get you ready to represent Fury Combat at Heartland Fight Fest in a few weeks. The first order of business is getting that wrist looked at."

She knew all these things about the business and the upcoming tournament. How? Who was she? My wrist was a throbbing mass of pain beneath the ice pack I stuck on in place of proper medical attention. The locker room's sharp smell of bleach clung to my nostrils as I tried to focus on anything but the dull ache radiating up my arm.

When it came to matching me with comebacks, Sophie was no lightweight. I scoffed, attempting to establish dominance in the conversation. "It's just a sprain, nothing a little ice and rest can't handle." My words were more for myself than her. Admitting more felt like handing over the last shreds of control I thought I had.

"Really, just a sprain? Because from where I'm standing, it doesn’t look good.”

"I don't know who you think you are, walking in here like this."

She didn’t flinch. "I already told you my name. I’m your new trainer and physical therapist.”

Was she kidding? I let out a bitter chuckle. "What makes the league think I need someone like you? No offense, but your little pink and white trainers still seem pretty shiny from here."

She laughed once. “Oh, no, not another man underestimating a woman because she likes the color pink.” She took several steps into the locker room. “These ‘shiny’ shoes have seen more grit than you can imagine."

"Is that right?"

"Listen, I've handled worse from guys than a bruised ego and a busted wrist," she said, a flicker of anger or determination, I couldn’t figure out which, flaring in her eyes.

"Guess we'll see about that."

"Trust me, we will.” She motioned for me to stand. “We're going to the hospital."

"Like hell we are." I flexed my fingers to prove I was fine. The sharp twinge that shot up my arm punched down my bravado. "I don't need a hospital. Just get Cody or the cutman from my team down here. They know how to patch me up."

"You’re stuck with me, and I'm telling you, you need more than patching up." Her voice was steel, but underneath it, I heard what sounded like true concern.

I just wasn’t used to it. Or anything about her. I pushed myself off the bench, avoiding putting weight on my injured wrist. "Why should I listen to you? Because Fury Combat says so?"

“Well.” She pretended to be deep in thought. "Keeping your job seems like a very good reason for most fighters.” She stepped closer, her gaze never leaving my face. I caught a whiff of her soft scent. Like strawberries left on a sunny windowsill. "Your well-being is now my responsibility, Liam. If you want to keep fighting in this league, you’ll work with me."

Her words were a splash of cold water. I glanced down at her. "You turn up out of nowhere, and suddenly you're calling the shots?"

"Exactly." Her delicate chin lifted with more defiance than a fighter in the third round. "Starting with getting your wrist scanned."

My annoyance flared. I brushed past her, heading for the door. "Fine. But after the scan, we do things my way."

"That’s the first sensible thing you've said all night." Sophie following close behind, her presence a constant reminder of the changes I hadn't signed up for.