Page 17 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

He studies me with those too-perceptive eyes. “You carry his burdens as your own.”

“Someone has to.” I use my broom to attack a pile of dust with more force than necessary. “He’s family.”

“Family obligations can become chains.” His voice carries old pain. “Or wings, depending on how we choose to bear them.”

I stop sweeping, turning to face him. “Getting philosophical on me?”

“Merely observing.” He takes the broom from my hands, our fingers brushing. “As I observe many things.”

The air thickens between us. He’s close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the pulse beating in his throat. One step and I could…

The front door chimes—Tony’s thugs arriving for their evening check-in, right on schedule. Victor and I spring apart like guilty teenagers. The gladiator drops into his submissive pose, eyes down as he sweeps, while I paste on my professional trainer face.

But later, after the mobsters leave and we’re upstairs in my apartment, I catch him watching me with that same intensity. “Sleep well,Domina,” he murmurs, voice pitched so low I can barely hear it.

“Maya,” I correct automatically, but assume his years of training won’t let him use such an informal form of address. Just like we both know this attraction between us is dangerous and impossible—wrong on so many levels.

Still, I lie awake listening to him breathe in the next room, wondering if he’s as aware of me as I am of him. Wondering how long we can maintain this delicate balance of truth and lies, duty and desire.

Tomorrow brings more training, more pretense, more carefully maintained distance. But for now, I let myself remember the way his eyes darken when they meet mine, the ghost of a smile that appears more often now, the quiet strength that draws me like gravity.

Our remaining weeks suddenly feel both too long and not nearly long enough.

Chapter Thirteen

Maya

“He needs competition.” Tony’s words echo through my empty gym. He’s arrived in person for the evening visit, disrupting our usual training routine. “Real fighters, not just easy sparring matches against your regulars who are too scared to go hard against the gym owner’s pet.” He pauses as he looks me up and down in a way that makes me feel dirty. “Or sparring with you, agirl.”

It’s amazing how much disdain and disrespect he crammed into that last word. He all but said, “Not good enough to fight, but good enough to fuck.”

Victor maintains his careful pose of submission, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. We’ve had over two weeks of controlled training, building his strength while hiding his true capabilities. Now Tony wants to change the game.

“My fighters are plenty tough,” I argue, though I know it’s useless. When Tony wants something, he gets it.

“Not as tough or skilled, or…bloodthirstyas Rico’s crew over at Empire.” Tony’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re hosting some unofficial matches this weekend. Perfect chance to see what our investment can really do.”

The mention of Empire Gym makes my stomach clench. Rico Martinez runs the biggest underground fighting operation in Vegas outside of Tony’s control. His gym is technically legitimate, but everyone knows about the real money that flows through his backrooms.

“He’s not ready,” I say, trying to sound concerned rather than protective. “He’s still building back his strength after—”

“After what?” Tony’s eyes narrow. “Something you want to tell me about where he came from?”

I force my features to stay neutral. “After being inactive for so long. You want him at his best for the tournament, right?”

Tony circles Victor slowly, studying him like a prized horse. “He fights in three days. Marco will drive you both to Empire. No excuses.” He pauses, then adds with cold amusement, “Unless you’d prefer I send him alone?”

“He needs proper clothes first.” The words come out before I can stop them. “Look at him—he’s in clothes I dredged out of the lost and found. You want Rico’s fighters asking questions about why my new prospect looks like he raided a donation bin?”

Tony studies the ragged clothes we’ve cobbled together. Even standing perfectly still, Victor’s massive frame makes the fabric strain at every seam.

“Fine.” Tony gestures to Marco, who’s been lurking by the door. “Tomorrow morning. Marco drives you both to get what he needs. One hour. Then straight back here.” His gaze hardens. “Any deviation from the route, any unexpected stops, any calls… well, you know how I feel about complications.”

After they leave, I wait until I’m sure we’re alone before approaching Victor. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped to have more time before—”

“Before testing me against real fighters?” His Latin comes through the translation device with surprising calm. “It was inevitable.”

“Rico’s guys are different from my fighters. They’re not just training for sport. They—”

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