Page 17 of Knuckles & Knives
Dom.
He’s shirtless, and even in the dim lighting I can see the play of muscles across his back as he delivers a series of brutal combinations to the bag. Each strike is precise, controlled, and devastating. This isn’t someone working out their aggression. This is a master craftsman perfecting his art.
I watch for a moment longer than I should, mesmerized by the fluid way he moves. There’s something almost meditative about his routine, like he’s found peace in the violence. The scars that map his torso tell stories I want to read with my fingertips, but I push that dangerous thought away even though I notice he’s added a few since I was much younger and first wanted to reach out and touch those lines.
“You’re early,” he says without turning around, somehow sensing my presence.
“So are you.” I drop my gym bag near the mats and start unwrapping my hands. “I thought I’d have the place to himself.”
“I don’t sleep much.” He finally turns to face me, and I have to work to keep my expression neutral. Up close, the damage to his body is even more apparent, not just scars but the kind of wear that comes from years of absorbing punishment. “You shouldn’t be down here alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Against most people, yeah. Against the kind of fighters who compete at the higher levels?” He shakes his head, reaching for a towel. “You’re good, Raven, but good enough to survive what Marcus is planning for you? That’s different.”
The conversation I had with Marcus three nights ago echoes in my mind. The alliance, the information, the promise of resources in exchange for trust… But it all means nothing if I can’t hold my own in the ring against opponents like Ghost and anyone else thrown my way. This isn’t child’s play.
Good thing I’m not a child anymore.
“Marcus says you’ve seen some of my fights,” I say carefully. “And you saw the match against Ghost. What’s your assessment?”
Dom’s expression grows guarded. “You want the truth or the version that won’t hurt your feelings?”
“The truth. Always.”
“You fight angry, which makes you sloppy. You rely too much on speed and not enough on strategy, and you have tells that any experienced fighter will exploit within the first thirty seconds.” He crosses his arms, studying me with clinical detachment. “Against the caliber of opponents Marcus is considering, you’d last maybe two rounds before getting seriously hurt.”
“Even against Ghost?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “You fought him differently than most of your opponents, yes. You were more strategic, and you were slippery enough to evade most of his strikes, but…”
“I already know he held back.”
“Yes, but anyone else who faces you now won’t. They’ll want to knock you out and keep you down. Maybe even permanently. Do you understand? They won’t care if they paralyze you. Fuck, they might even be slipped some dough to kill you on the mat. Anyone and everyone is going to come gunning for you, even if you’re known as Sally and not Raven.”
I trust his assessment even if I thought I was a much better and stronger fighter than he thinks I am.
I force myself to remain steady. “Then teach me.”
Dom goes very still, his dark eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes my pulse spike. “Train you?”
“Why not? You know these fighters better than anyone. You’ve been in the ring with most of them.” I cross my arms, hoping I look more confident than I feel. “Unless you don’t think I’m worth the effort.”
“That’s not—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Raven, training you for higher-level fights isn’t just about technique. These aren’t street thugs or drunk college kids looking to blow off steam. These are killers who happen to fight for sport.”
“I know what I’m asking. I know he held back, but Ghost?—”
“But nothing. Do you really know what you’re asking?” His voice drops dangerously low. “Because training for that level means I’d have to push you past every limit you think you have. It means bruises, blood, and nights when you’ll hate me for what I put you through. It means getting intimate with pain in ways that?—”
“I’m already intimate with pain,” I interrupt sharply. “I’ve been living with it for five years. The only question is whether I’m going to let it destroy me or use it to destroy my enemies.”
Recognition, maybe, or respect flash in his eyes, but he shakes his head. “This isn’t about revenge, Raven. In the ring, emotion gets you killed.”
“Then teach me to fight without it.”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. When he does speak, his voice is rougher than usual. “Training someone means breaking them down completely before building them back up. It means getting inside their head, under their skin, knowing every weakness and fear.” His gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “You sure you want me that close, princess?”
The nickname should irritate me. Instead, it sends heat sliding down my spine. “I’m not that sheltered girl anymore.”
