CHAPTER FOUR

I peeled myself off the mat and grabbed my phone. The three recruits, both in their third year, looked up from where they were practicing grappling. I lifted a hand, waving at them to continue. My phone beeped, letting me know I’d missed a call.

My father’s name appeared. Two missed calls from Merrick.

I worked my jaw. Sometimes, I struggled with working so closely with him. I was a fully grown adult when I met my estranged father, already shaped by the world and resentful of what it had done to me.

Then, along came Merrick, the head of the Welsh organization and my biological father. He was charismatic and successful. If I’d had the chance to grow up with him instead of my mother, I’d be a different person. I wouldn’t have tasted fear and pain so early or so thoroughly.

I couldn’t even blame him. Merrick had no idea I existed until I walked into his office, dropped my backpack on the ground, and let him know I was his son.

My phone rang again, and I answered it.

“Hey, I’m teaching a class,” I said, running a hand over my forehead to clear the sweat.

“I have three new soldiers coming in this afternoon,” Merrick said.

“From where?”

“They’re graduates.”

“So they’re eighteen, done with school. What’s the goal here? Ship them out to Wyoming for security training?”

There was a short pause, and Merrick cleared his throat. “I’d like you to evaluate them.”

I frowned, stepping further from the grappling mat. “For what?”

“For the arena.”

I stopped in my tracks. The Welsh organization liked to pretend they were so much more civilized than other mafia groups, but when it came down to picking a new king, a Brenin, we were right back in ancient Rome, fighting each other to the death in an underground arena for the throne.

My father had done it. He’d trained as a teenager and taken down twelve men in hand-to-hand combat in the arena before his twentieth birthday. He’d proved his worth.

A little part of me envied how simple that must have been. I’d fought for every ounce of respect, sometimes to blows and blood. Merrick had walked into the arena a boy and came out a man, all his suffering finished in one day.

We weren’t all so lucky.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, when are they coming?”

“Yale’s supposed to bring them in about an hour,” he said. “We’ve got three more years before I announce I’m retiring. There’s one recruit in there I think has a shot.”

“A real shot?” I didn’t believe it.

“Yes, he’s good,” Merrick said. “You call me when you’re done evaluating them and let me know what you think.”

“What’s his name?”

“You’ll know who I’m talking about,” he said. “And if you don’t, he’s probably not the one. Call me later. Thanks.”

He hung up, and I shoved my phone in my bag and clapped my hands once. The soldiers on the floor jumped to their feet, falling into a line with their hands tucked behind their backs and eyes straight ahead.

“That was good. We’re cutting it short today,” I said. “Next Thursday, I want to see some improvement, so make sure you’re working hard. Yes?

“Yes, sir,” they echoed.

“Alright, at ease. Get the fuck out,” I said, waving at the door. “The rest of the day is yours.”

They fell out of stance, talking amongst themselves as they headed for the showers. I cleaned the room up and left for the locker room, hoping for a hot shower before the evaluation.

The locker room was empty, so I tossed my things in the office and pulled my shirt off. I laid my phone on the desk and paused. The memory of when she’d texted me over lunch flooded back, this time with a hint of regret.

I’d been a dick, but maybe she deserved it. If I’d known who she was, I never would have taken her home. Pulling off this deal successfully would make or break my career. It was about proving my worth, because I’d missed the boat, and I was too old to fight in the arena.

I worked my jaw.

Fuck, last night had been so good.

My head fell back, and arousal sparked, running down my spine and making my dick wake up. It felt like it had a hair trigger on it. After being celibate for the last year, it was getting harder to control myself. I needed to jerk off a lot more to keep from getting hard in awkward places.

I’d come off a little aggressive, telling her to get her ass over to my apartment. While I’d waited, I’d flip-flopped between fucking her until she apologized for lying or telling her to go to hell.

I was proud of myself for not caving, especially when my bedroom was so close—and especially because now I knew that between those long legs was the prettiest pussy I’d ever had my mouth on. She’d tasted like pure desire, like being starving and eating my fill at the same time.

My mind wandered as I stripped down and went into the shower stall. The hot water rained down, washing the sweat away, but I could still taste her on my tongue.

She wasn’t my type. I liked women at least fifteen years older, liked dominating women a lot more powerful than myself. She only checked one of those boxes. Maybe it was because I knew none of those women wanted me for longer than a night.

That kept me safe.

She was complicated, with so much to prove. I could taste that on her words. Maybe we were too alike in that aspect.

Maybe I resented her so much because she was who I could have been if I’d known Merrick from the beginning. I could have grown up with a rich father to protect me. Instead, I was covered in ink I”d never wanted because it was better than the scars underneath.

She was out of my league. No scars, no shitty tattoos like I had. Body supple, waxed, and soft from flowery lotion. No flaws, just that little purple butterfly tattooed on her glittering finger. Clear, trusting eyes framed by lashes worth more than my rent. Jewelry hanging off her body that definitely cost twice my paycheck.

Maybe a selfish part of me wanted to make her dirty.

Maybe I was jealous.

Or maybe I just wanted to ruin something beautiful because I was chronically destructive. Maybe all my work on myself in the last few years meant nothing.

I winced. Between fantasizing about her body or beating myself up over my failures, I picked fantasizing about her and beating myself off instead. The locker room was empty, and I was in a private shower, so my hand slid down and wrapped around my cock.

It thickened, my mind going back to last night, back to her slender legs wrapped around my head. Her glittering fingers in my hair as she rode my face. The memory of her pussy dripping down my neck until it soaked my shirt.

My head fell back.

My jaw tightened until it hurt.

My hand slid over my cock, palming the head until the silver ring there cut into my skin. She had pretty hands, and I wanted them on my dick, stroking me, running the pad of her thumb over the tip of my cock. I wanted her big, dark eyes looking up at me as she licked all the way up my length.

My cock jerked.

That was fast.

I was clean and in my fatigues, waiting in the arena, when the hour struck three. We didn’t usually use the arena for recruits, but I wanted to see this group out here and gauge if it intimidated them. I walked the wide oval, my boots making tracks in the sand. The stone walls stood over ten feet tall, and beyond them were the stands.

Merrick had fought here. His blood had stained the sand.

Guilt stirred. I would never do that.

I’d never be the Welsh Prince.

If I’d been less stubborn, maybe I could have started training the minute I got to Providence, but I hadn’t. I’d let myself steep in resentment and drugs and sex with strangers. I was so angry with the world that I rejected my birthright.

And now, it was too late. Twenty was the cut off to join the training program.

Maybe that was the real reason I didn’t want anyone to know Merrick was my father. Not because I worried about nepotism accusations, but because everyone would know I’d rejected who I was and missed out. Merrick was descended from Welsh kings; his ancestry could be traced back to the earliest memories of our ancestral leaders.

I had that blood in my veins.

And I’d chosen to silence it.

Maybe, despite how good of a soldier I was, deep down, I wasn’t worth following in his footsteps.

The door on the far side made of steel bars swung open, and Yale walked through, three figures at his heels as I waited at the center of the arena.

“Line up,” Yale said.

I glanced at him as they obeyed, and he nodded, stepping back to give me space. They were all eighteen, still practically children. The first was broadly built, with pale beige skin and dark gray eyes. I studied him as he kept his eyes ahead, arms tucked at his side.

He was nothing exceptional.

I moved on, studying the boy beside him. He was thin with a gaunt frame, like he’d hit puberty, and it stretched him without filling him out. His eyes were lowered. I circled him slowly. He looked scrappy, like he’d had to fight to keep his head above water.

That was a bonus. Maybe he was who Merrick was talking about.

“What’s your name?” I asked in Welsh.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Sean, sir,” he responded in English.

I moved back around. “When I speak to any of you, you’ll answer in kind.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, going pale.

I frowned, dragging my eyes from head to foot. “You don’t speak Welsh?”

“Not well, sir, but I can, sir,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Then speak it,” I said, looking him in the eye.

He was shaking. I glanced over my shoulder at Yale, and he shrugged. I wasn’t trying to be a dick to this kid, but I needed to know what they were made of. Apparently, this one wasn’t as scrappy as I’d initially thought. Not wanting to push him further, I moved on.

The last young man in the line had his chin lifted, his eyes straight ahead, focused on the far arena wall. I scanned him, picking over his appearance. He was slender and lean, but he looked strong. His dark hair was shaggy, falling over his startling blue eyes. His complexion was pale beige, and down his right cheek ran a jagged, silver scar.

I circled him. He stayed completely still.

When I paused before him, his stare broke, and he glanced at me, just for asecond, but I saw something flicker in his gaze.

Blue fire. My scalp prickled.

“Where are you from?” I asked in English.

“Providence, sir,” he said.

I frowned. “I’ve never seen you before. The others, I think I’ve seen around town. What’s that accent?”

“Welsh, sir,” he said.

“I got that,” I said impatiently. “Is that Neath?”

He nodded once.

“Where did you get that scar?” I asked, switching to Welsh.

“There was an incident at my school the other year, here in the States. I got jumped by some classmates, and they cut me up,” he said, answering me in the cleanest Welsh I’d heard from anyone other than Merrick.

“Why?”

He lifted his eyes to mine, and I saw simmering anger behind them. Fuck, he reminded me a lot of myself.

“They were fucking with me, sir, so I beat the shit out of them, and they came back for me with a knife.”

“Did you beat the shit out of them again?”

“I did, sir.”

“Good,” I said. “Who are your parents?”

“They’re dead, sir.”

“And your name?”

He cleared his throat, like he was proud of it. “Maelon Boaughan.”

“That’s a good name.”

“Yes, it is, sir.”

I raised a brow, impressed. He was holding his own, showing a little teeth but keeping it respectful. I glanced back at Yale, and he nodded, his brows lifted. I needed a moment to confer with him before I set up a meeting with Merrick to talk over the next steps.

“Alright, you three, head back to the barracks,” I said. “Training starts at seven sharp tomorrow.”

They nodded, and Yale pointed them back through the door. The gate clanged shut, and I turned to him.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He shrugged. “He’s got a lot of spirit, but we need to see if he’s got any raw talent.”

I ran a hand over my face. I’d slept like shit last night because Circe had left at three, and I’d had to jerk off twice before my dick calmed down enough to let me rest. Even after that, I’d laid awake thinking about her for an hour.

“Why was he in Wales?”

Yale’s mouth thinned. “His mother took him back to live with her distant family.”

“And his father?”

Yale cleared his throat, his voice dropping. “He lied about his parents. His mother is still alive; she lives outside Providence. She was an assault victim.”

My stomach turned. “So she doesn’t know the man who attacked her?”

He shook his head. “He was American, that’s all we have. I read the report. I think she wanted to run away after that, so she fled to Wales when he was about eight, and he finished school there.”

“Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe money.” He shrugged, glancing at his watch. “Listen, I have to go. I have a class, but I’ll send Maelon to you tomorrow for his paperwork.”

I felt sick as we split in the hallway and headed back to the locker room to grab my things. My scalp prickled. The back of my neck was cold. Every part of me wanted to recoil, because this boy was like looking in a mirror, and I wanted to turn and run so I didn’t have to face myself all those years ago and admit I’d failed. That so many people had failed me.

But I couldn’t. This was my chance to go back and save the boy no one had bothered to save all those years ago.