Emmett, for his part, nodded, accepting the advice even though it was clear that he didn’t want it. It was always like that with us, even though we hadn’t really grown up together until high school, when both of our moms had decided it was time to stop being a parent and start partying. Hard.
“You hear from Dad lately?”
I shook my head, gaze fixed on Ravager’s wide-open face, just waiting for a night-night punch. “No. I’ve been too busy working and dealing with my own shit to worry about our old man. What about you, are things all right?”
Barely two years had passed since Emmett had been honorably discharged from the Army where he caught a severe case of PTSD.
“Things are fine, Terry.” He spit out the words, clearly annoyed, which I could deal with, as long as I knew he was all right.
“You sure? There’s no harm in needing more time.”
He wouldn’t talk about what happened over there, not to me and not to any type of mental health professional. He put all his energy into fighting inside the ring and then turned to coaching because he refused to deal with his shit and Sadie wouldn’t stand for an unstable player. At least that that type of unstable.
“I said I’m fine, man. Damn.”
“Yeah, I heard you. But your anger says otherwise.” He glared at me, and I raised my arms defensively. “Excuse me for giving a shit.”
Finally, his blue gaze, identical to my own, left Ravager and landed on me. It was the only trait we shared, both of us inherited it from our old man, but I got my mom’s blonde hair and Emmett’s was the same deep brown as his mother’s. We couldn’t be more different in demeanor and temperament, but with matching shitty childhoods, we were more alike in the ways that counted.
“I need to talk to Ravager,” he said and walked away calmly, broad shoulders leaving no doubt that he could and would kick ass if he needed to, despite his soft-spoken words and almost shy personality.
I watched Emmett go, hoping he really was all right because, as shitty as it sounded, I really didn’t have the time to worry about him, too. Savannah Rhymer was in the wind, and Lance’s death was on her fucking head as far as I was concerned.
The front door opened to the testosterone-fueled training center for up and coming fighters, and in walked Kat Ashby. She acted as though she was completely unaware of the effect she had on people as she strode across the floor finishing up a phone call. Her gaze was focused on some spot in front of her, but she was oblivious to the stares her fitted black dress caused, or the dicks rising at the sight of those fire engine red, fuck-me heels.
I was convinced she knew exactly the effect she had on men, but as I watched Kat walk toward the practice ring where Emmett and Rob spoke on hushed tones, I could admit there was no extra swing in her hips, no pouty lips to tease the boys. Or the girls.
Nope, that was Kat’s style. Instead, she managed to sidestep or skip over every fighter and trainer she encountered, as if oblivious to them at the same time. It was quite a talent, one only someone like the Ashby Princess could master so easily. With her phone call finished, she began to swipe across the screen. Always working.
I watched, amused as her steps slowed about five feet from me, her eyes still focused on her phone screen until she practically ran me over.
“Whoa sweetheart, if you want a piece all you have to do is ask.”
I regretted the move instantly because putting my hands on her shoulders, her bare shoulders, sent a thunderbolt of want right through me, and that was something I couldn’t afford. Not now.
Not ever.
My words or maybe it was my proximity, brought those sexy red heels to a screeching halt. She looked up slowly until her gaze met mine. “Terry. Fancy running into you here.”
“Stopped by to have coffee with Emmett. Good morning.”
“Busy morning is more like it,” she said on a sigh that seemed a mix of annoyed and enthused. I could never tell if she was irritated by me or if that was simply her default setting.
“How are you, Terry?” she asked in a tone that sent a chill up my spine and a flash of heat to my dick.
I blinked, surprised at her words though I shouldn’t be. Kat was nothing if not nice to everyone. Sure, she gave me shit but it was all good natured. “Good, I suppose, still fucking pissed off about Lance.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I’ll sleep a lot easier when that Rhymer cunt is no longer breathing.”
Kat’s words shouldn’t have shocked me, but they did. She wasn’t the foul-mouthed little girl she’d pretended to be when we were younger, and she didn’t seem to have the same bloodlust that drove Jasper and Virgil.
“No shit,” was all I could manage in reply before Emmett joined us, wariness swimming in his eyes.
“Hey Kat, how’s it going?” he said with a smile finally breaking out.
I envied the easy way Emmett and Kat could talk to each other, without the snark and the sarcasm and the bickering. Or maybe I didn’t. Getting Kat riled up was one of my guilty pleasures, and she always made it worth it. Always.
“It’s nonstop busy until after this fight, which brings me to why I’m here,” she said around a sheepish smile. “I mean, I’m good, Emmett. How are you?”
His lips twitched, and I outright laughed, earning me a sapphire-colored glare that widened my smile. “I’m good, Kat. What brings you by?”
Kat smiled and shook her head. “I need you to do some press leading into fight night. I know you don’t like to do it, but the people of Glitz and Vegas love you and your story,” she said with a smile.
