Jase

"Shadow me?" I ask in disbelief. "As in, follow me around? Go everywhere I go?"

Lena nods, tilting her head, a cascade of dark red hair spilling over her shoulders. It's beautiful, like liquid magma. I want to glide my fingers through the silky length, wrap it around my hands and pull it so her throat is bared to me. I admit to being fascinated by necks. They're the human body's most vulnerable point, with the jugular vein running just beneath the surface of the skin. Touching someone's neck is powerful. It can bring pain, or pleasure. I should know. After all, I'm famous for choking people into submission. But when women are in my bed, pain is the last thing they experience.

"That's the general idea, yeah," she says, unaware of the dirty thoughts swirling through my mind. "If you won't talk to me, it's the best way for me to get a feel for who you are."

I snort. "What do you care who I am?"

"I care because I'm paid to."

Ouch. Kitten has claws.

I can't see how her shadowing me is going to help, and having her nearby will distract me from training, but I consider the idea anyway. She probably thinks I live it up, snort coke out of groupies' navels and have orgies in my backyard. If she sees how boring I am, perhaps she'll leave me alone and do whatever it is she needs to tick off her bullshit boxes.

Really, there isn't much to know about me. I train, eat, sleep, and hang with my brothers. When I need to let loose, I call one of my casual hook-ups for a quick fuck. The girls I spend time with know the drill. Fighting comes first. We can be friends, but we're not ever going to be more. That suits them nicely, too. Who'd want to be the girlfriend of a professional MMA fighter? We're never around, have no time for anyone, and women throw themselves at us whenever we go out in public.

"Fine," I agree, and her brows hike up. "You can follow me back to the gym." As soon as she gets a load of the grungy, über-masculine place where I train, she'll want out. And if she doesn't, at least she'll provide some entertainment for the guys.

She stands. "Thanks."

I stand too, and the top of her head only reaches my chin. "You won't be thanking me soon. You're gonna be bored out of your mind."

For the first time today, she gives me a genuine smile. "Don't talk like you know me, fighter boy. I might surprise you."

"I hope you do." But I doubt it. "I'm parked out front. Is your ride nearby?"

She shakes her head. "I shouldn't be surprised you managed to get a prime park. Someone probably cleared it especially for you. Perks of the job, huh?"

Palms on the table, I lean forward. "I'm just that scary. All it takes is one look and everyone gets out of my way."

Her lips twitch. If I didn't know better, I'd think I amused her.

"I'm in a building nearby," she says. "I'll meet you there."

"You have the address?"

"Google. Duh."

Here I was thinking she'd looked me up. As if. She can't make her disdain any clearer. I gesture for her to precede me into the hall, then glance at her ass as she walks two steps ahead of me. It's heart-shaped and perky. Exactly the kind of ass I like. If only it didn't come attached to such a smart-mouthed package.

* * *

The parking lot at the gym is nearly empty this time of day, and though I hear music and thuds inside, no one else is around out here. Nick has left, having better things to do than babysit me, and I lean on the hood of my Camaro, ankles crossed, arms folded over my chest to combat the chill in the air.

Finally, a tiny electric Nissan pulls onto the asphalt and crawls to a halt beside me. Pushing off from the Camaro, I pace a circle around the Nissan while Lena messes with something in the glove compartment. Her car is shiny, as if it's just been washed, and it's well-kept. A sticker on the front windshield shows it was serviced this month, and when I peer through the window, the interior is immaculate too.

Is this girl human? My Camaro smells like used gym gear and has protein bar wrappers stuffed under the seats. That's how it should be. Lena's Nissan has no personality.

"Took you long enough," I say when she thrusts the door open and slides out, her heeled shoes clacking on the asphalt.

She swings a bag over her shoulder, nearly taking me out, and starts toward the gym entrance. "Not everyone gets special treatment. It took me fifteen minutes to get to my car."

"Hold up." I jog to catch her—she moves surprisingly fast in those shoes. When I touch her arm, she flinches and I drop my hand instantly. What's with that? I didn't take her for the jumpy type. Sassy and feisty, yes. Nervy, no. "Before you go in, we need to lay some ground rules."

She cocks her head and tries to smirk, but I can tell my touch has shaken her. "Go ahead. Lay down the law."

She's fishing for a reaction and I want to bite, but I resist. The less she gets from me, the sooner she'll be gone. Besides, I'm intrigued by her strange reaction. "Don't ask any questions. Don't distract the other guys. Their training time is precious. Keep off the mats, I don't want you getting hurt."

"So I should sit in the corner and not talk to anyone?" She wishes she could hit me. I can read the blood lust in her eyes and pray none of my brothers see fit to hand her a pair of gloves.

"Now you're getting it."

"I'll do my best not to mess up your training." She speaks through gritted teeth. "But I reserve the right to talk to people before they begin and after they're done."

"Fair." Probably as much as I can ask for. "Just so you know, it's nothing fancy."

"Jase." She meets my eyes. Holds the contact. Her earlier hesitation is gone. "I have been in a martial arts gym before. This isn't new to me."

"Oh, right. Go on, then."

When we enter, our eyes take a moment to adjust because the gym only has a few windows, located high enough on the walls that no one can break in. At least, not without some serious forethought. With the exception of a strip of concrete immediately inside the door, the entire floor is covered by alternating gray and black mats nearly an inch thick. At the far end is the octagon we practice in, and heavy black bags line the wall opposite the entry—some reaching the ground, some only for boxing, and a couple of speed bags for stamina and endurance.

I breathe in the scent of leather, liniment and sweat. It's so familiar to me. So welcoming. This place is home. Much more so than the fancy house I sleep in every night.

How does my favorite place look through Lena's eyes? Does she understand the pain and hard work that happens here? Does she appreciate the motivational quotes and words of wisdom scrawled on the walls by the fighters who train here, and the ones who came before us?

"All of these places smell the same," she remarks, dropping her bag and bending to remove those sexy shoes.

I kick off my sneakers and pad onto the mats. "Been in a few, have you?" I struggle to picture it.

"Enough."

It's a non-answer. I don't like that, but given how forthcoming I've been, I can't blame her. "Sit on one of those chairs over there." I wave my hand at them. "Hope you brought something to do."

"I'll keep myself occupied."

Grabbing my wraps from where they're airing out, I watch my brothers Gabe Mendoza and Devon Green sparring in the octagon as Seth stands below and shouts instructions. As usual, Devon is going a million miles an hour with a seemingly endless tank of gas, and Gabe is quietly countering and letting him wear himself out. A timer beeps and they slap each other on the back and leap out for a drink break.

I see the exact moment Devon looks up and spots Lena. A grin spreads over his face and he changes direction, his water bottle forgotten. He slings a towel around his neck, wipes the sweat off his face, then heads right for us.

"Hey, Jase," he calls. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm Lena," she says, before I have a chance to tell him to butt out. "Jase's new public relations rep."

Devon gives me a shit-eating grin. "Oh, really?" He offers her a hand. "I'm—"

"Devon Green," she interrupts, shaking his hand but looking unimpressed.

"Are you an MMA fan?" he asks, not deterred by the arctic chill she's sending his way.

"No."

"Then how—?"

"It's my job to know who's who in sports, Mr. Green."

Devon hoots with laughter. "Mr. Green!" He looks like she's made his day. "Can you believe that? I've never been called mister in my life." He yells to Gabe, "Get over here, asshole. Meet Jase's new PR woman." He turns his most charming smile on her, all flashing white teeth against mahogany skin. "Are you here to watch?"

She shifts in a way that makes me think she's uncomfortable and glances over his shoulder at Gabe, who's approaching with his usual expression. That is to say, stoic and difficult to read. "Yeah, that's the plan. I didn't mean to interrupt your session."

"Don't worry," I tell her, wrapping my hands with deft movements. "This isn't on you, it's on these nosy fuckers."

"Hey," Gabe grunts, watching her with those weirdly intense eyes of his. He's the brother of my soul, but if I didn't love the guy so much, he'd come across as a bit of a creeper. "You're the one who's going to fix this thing with Erin?"

Lena lifts her chin. "I'm going to try."

"Good." Gabe sticks his fist out and—to my complete astonishment—she bumps it. "That's all we can ask for. You need anything, sing out, okay? Dev and I will help in any way we can."

She shoots me a hard-edged look, as if to say, 'Hey, they're willing to help.' Of course they don't mind talking to her. It's not their livelihoods and years of work at risk. "Thanks, Gabriel."

Gabe cringes, his shoulders coming up to his ears. "Just Gabe, please. Gabriel was an angel. You won't find any of them around here."

"Noted."

"You want to join in?" This brilliant question comes from Devon. He's always the first to make nice with a pretty girl. Gabe is too focused to flirt, and me... well, frankly, I don't bother. It's usually unnecessary.

She scoffs and glances down at herself, drawing all of our attention to her tight skirt. "Do I look like I'm dressed to grapple?"

Devon's mouth hitches higher on one side. "You look just fine, Lena, but point taken. Don't rush off, we'll talk to you after."

She nods and sits in one of the chairs, primly crossing her legs and balancing a notepad on her knee.

"She is hot," Devon murmurs when we're halfway across the mats. "But you lucked out, bro, she doesn't like you. What'd you do?"

"Hit a girl," I mutter. "Supposedly."

"Ah, right."

"Yeah, she thinks I'm guilty."

Devon thumps my shoulder. The punch is solid, but I'm used to it and it barely rocks me. "Guess it's up to me and Gabe to scrap over her then."

"Go for your life." I don't think Lena is looking for a fighter boyfriend, and even if she is, the thought of Gabe fighting over a girl is laughable. His temper is so level, it's a miracle he can muster enough aggression to take his opponents down in the ring. Probably the only thing that would set him off is if someone messed with his best friend, Sydney.

Gabe ignores our exchange, hauling himself into the octagon. "It's king of the ring."

Seth, who's been pounding a bag, comes over, chest heaving. Our coach is a big dude, and like Gabe, he's not much for small talk. "Each time someone taps out, they swap with the third person. Jase, I want you shadowboxing in the corner until you're warm."

"Got it." I get out of the others' way and start skipping on the spot, flexing my calves, getting my blood flowing. Once the muscles are starting to burn, I raise my fists and throw a jab-cross at an invisible opponent, pivoting out of the way as I imagine them returning the blows. I stay light on my feet. Uppercut, hook, move.

And then I'm in the zone.