Time to go home. To return to my normal life. And your dying daughter.
The thought fisted my heart. Shit, would the memory never stop sucker-punching me?
I turned to leave. I needed to be away from this all-consuming madness.
The crowd dispersed, and I made my way slowly toward the Muay Thai ring.
Four steps, five steps, before strong fingers bit into my upper arm, spinning me around.
I looked up, a curse on my lips, but all words evaporated into shocked muteness.
I was prepared for a small shock at having a stranger touch me—a hint of newness and uncertainty, but I wasn’t prepared for the electric bolt that whizzed from his flesh to mine, resonating like an epicentre in my chest.
My eyes widened, and I swallowed, trying to get my brain to work.
Fox made a sound in the back of his throat, tightening his fingers. He glared, looking ready to murder me. “Who are you?”
When I didn’t respond, he swiped his face with his other hand. His forehead furrowed while his expression turned pissed and stormy. “You think I didn’t see you watching? You had your eyes all over me. Answer me. Who the f**k are you?” His deep, accented voice stiffened my ni**les even as the thrill of fear jolted through me.
My temper gave me false courage. “I’m not in the habit of answering such rude questions.”
His jaw clenched; fingers bit deeper into my arm.
All I could think was: run. His eyes looked almost white. His face sheened with sweat, and the small smear of blood from his nose smelled metallic. The scar on his cheek screamed that he wasn’t a nice man. This was a man who lived with no rules or laws. This was a man to fear.
“I’m not in the habit of touching women, and yet, I am.” He shook me to emphasize his point. “Answer me. Who the f**k are you and where did you come from?”
I couldn’t move as he leaned closer, eyes delving deep, deeper than anyone had gone. I felt exposed, defenceless, and completely trapped.
Raising my jaw, I glared. “Let me go.”
Shaking his head, sending strands of bronze everywhere, he demanded, “What are you doing so close to the rings? Girls are meant to be either flat on their f**king backs in the private rooms, or mingling in the crowd.” Fox’s eyes left mine to trail down my body. “Unless you’re not an employee but a spy. My patience is on a very thin leash; I suggest you answer my question.”
Every fear and hardship in my life seemed inconsequential as he jerked me closer. His body heat filled me with need and loathing. This wasn’t a man. This was a stone-cold killer.
Twisting my arm, I rolled my shoulder to force his hand to drop. Problem was he followed the motion and his fingers unlatched only to retighten once I’d given up fighting. The effortless way he kept me prisoner sent my heart whizzing around my chest. I hated my betraying body for acting more alive than I’d ever felt. I hated the challenge he presented. But most of all I hated the intrigue, the puzzle.
“I’m not a spy. What are you James Bond? Get your hands off me. I’m done being interrogated.”
“Not until you tell me how you got into my club. What is it about you?”
“There’s nothing about me.”
“You’re lying. There’s something different.” His attention turned inward for a brief second. “You make me feel—” Cutting himself off, he glowered. He smelled of earth and smoke and power with a trace of chocolate. His hand was hot and tight on my arm—deadly. “I’ve never seen you before, and I don’t like strangers. I’ll ask one more time. Who the f**k are you, and why am I drawn to you?”
My heart skidded to a stop. He’s drawn to me?
He felt it, too. The strange compulsion, the unknown need. Maybe it was purely lust—two bodies who recognised a person with similar wants and urges. If it was, I’d never been affected so violently.
Everything I’d felt while watching him fight bubbled to the surface. He’d hurt with no remorse. He’d acted as if shattering a guy’s kneecap was nothing. How could I let some stupid chemistry in my body override my self-preservation?
I curled my hand, ready to punch him and run, but I paused.
He made me feel alive.
He made me feel like a woman and not a mother or friend or failure.
He made me feel powerful and submissive all at the same time.
I felt as if I’d lived my life in a haze. Trudging through day to day, always putting other’s needs before my own. For the first time, my own needs made a very strong appearance, and I embraced the awareness, the connection, the simple infatuation by a total stranger.
But then responsibilities bulldozed the fleeting attraction away.
Clara.
Destitution.
Ruin.
How could you let yourself be consumed by him when you shouldn’t even be here?
I no longer hated him. I hated myself for being so weak—he’d made me forget for the briefest of time.
Freezing, I looked directly into his eyes, ignoring the snarl in my stomach. “You’re mistaken. You’re not drawn to me. You’ve never seen me, and I’m leaving so you’ll never have to see me again. Let go of me.”
His eyes rested on my lips; his face hardened, blocking off the interest I’d seen before. “I’m never mistaken.” He unclenched his hand. Pins and needles rushed to the spot where he’d gripped me. “And I never settle until I figure out what I don’t understand.”
My heart lurched. He’s the same. He had the same need to understand. To figure out the unknown before the unknown could hurt him.
“Go away before I regret letting you leave,” he muttered. With fists clenched by his sides, he looked over my shoulder as if searching for a way to run. Gone was his dominating air, replaced with heavy acceptance. Without his potent gaze on me, I scrutinised him.
I didn’t like what I saw. Something heavy lived inside—something squeezed until he trembled with more than just anger. He used the scar as a deterrent, but behind all that lived something else. Something darker, something…sad.
My heart thudded, sending a flood of compassion into my veins.
Oh, no you don’t.
Gritting my teeth, I closed my eyes and forced all interest and empathy to die a quick death. I couldn’t afford to suffer such idiocy. I was searching for reasons behind his surly attitude, seeing a heavy penance in his scar. You can’t get swept up in the need to help, protect, and listen.
Dragging hands through his longish hair, Fox glared. “I let you go. Why haven’t you left yet?” The faint foreign accent lurked behind a cultured Australian voice. He may have studied hard to sound like a local, but he couldn’t hide his roots completely. Just like he couldn’t tame the wildness in him—the savageness beneath the cool façade.