CASSIUS

Ollie Reed has never been a threat to me. I've never feared him as an opponent when we had to go toe-to-toe in the ring, and I'm not even slightly worried about his chances at trying to steal Quinn away from me. Ollie is nothing.

But when a woman like Quinn is involved, a woman who has been through the ringer with men and people in general, it's different.

He's an abrasive guy and he enjoys the fight more than he does the actual win. And I'm not referring to his style in the boxing or MMA world.

If a girl shoots him down, it just makes him want to come back for more. It's like he can sniff out any female who has had a hard time in the world and likes to wear them down until they feel worthless enough that they think he might be able to fuck some self-esteem back into their lives.

Quinn is a feisty person. I'm not scared she'll fold. But I am worried that he'll get more aggressive with his advances every time she shoots him down. Which means, at some point, she'll panic when he crosses a line with her. And things will get very bad for him if that happens.

Ollie Reed is a threat to Quinn's headspace. Which means, now, he's a fucking threat to me. Something I never thought I'd say.

She's refusing to answer my question about if he made her feel uncomfortable, which is enough of an answer for me. I lean back in my chair and take a quick sip of her drink before placing it back down in front of her.

"How do you want me to handle it?"

Her pale greens go wide as she twists her head to look over at me.

"H-handle it? What do you mean?"

My hand delicately squeezes her shoulder, trying to provide her with some form of comfort.

"Want me to beat his ass? Fix the fight? Talk to him about it? Let you handle it on your own? Want me to just drop it all together? What do you want me to do, Quinn? Tell me how I can help you."

I hope she'll choose the first option, but I know I shouldn't risk adding yet another assault to my record. I observe the way her throat bobs as she swallows nervously.

"I – I – I..." She jostles her head as if trying to clear her thoughts before continuing. "I have a choice?"

I swivel my chair and do the same to hers, so her legs are nestled between my outspread knees. "You always have a choice. It's all in your control."

I didn't have the slightest clue how strongly those words would affect her. But then I notice her eyes shifting between so many emotions, I can't even begin to keep them straight or pinpoint the strongest one.

"You'd beat him up for me?" She whispers in awe.

I drop my head and chuckle before twisting both our chairs to face the room. I raise my hand and point to Silas, guarding the conference room in the back.

"If you needed me to kick his ass for ignoring you all the time, I'd do it. I'd lose, but I'd do it."

I gesture to the girl standing with what I'm assuming is her boyfriend in front of the stage.

"Want me to kick her out because you don't like that she has two shoes on? Consider it done."

And then I nod my head to Ollie, who is stepping up into the ring with Wyatt.

"Need me to make sure he never makes you feel uncomfortable again? You fuckin got it."

The crowd starts growing thicker, flanking the stage like hungry vultures. I stand, placing my hands under Quinn's arms, and heave her up onto the bar top so she can see the fight better, our faces on level ground now. Her eyes don't drift away from mine. Not once.

"Just tell me what you need, Quinn." My breath fans her face with each whispered word as my gaze zips between her eyes. "And I'll get it done." I reach up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

I don't need anyone to tell me how far gone I am for this girl. I knew it the minute I started fabricating ridiculous excuses to interact with her. She's been lingering around for years but the original rush of feelings I experienced during our first conversation has just been continuing to run rampant.

I never felt like this with another girl. If we're being realistic, yeah, I had the cutesy butterfly feeling for a little while with one of my exes. I was excited to see other girls when I was interested in them. But never to this extent. And it just feels different.

I've never had feelings sink their claws so far down into my skin that I couldn't pry them out if need be.

Mum always said that I'll know when the right girl is in my life, because it'll hit me without warning. I could wholeheartedly understand that sentiment because I applied it to MMA and, later on, hockey. Which means I thought I could teach myself to fight it off.

I learned how to predict every single jab, kick, and cross, making sure none of them landed unexpectantly. Never without my permission. Reading my teammate's moves in the rink, scrutinizing the opponents, and picking apart their plans? That came naturally because of my background. Nothing got by me unless I allowed it to.

But Quinn grabbed a stick, crept up behind me, and snapped the damn thing across the back of my skull. Mum didn't warn me that there was no way to prepare for it. No way to fight it off, no matter how hard I trained. I just have to give in and bitch at her for the half-assed lesson sometime later down the road.

An intense grunt rings out through the room, drawing the attention of everyone who wasn't already focused on the stage, including us. We look just in time to see Ollie falling backwards, slamming down onto the mat like a dead weight. Hushed murmurs start floating around the crowd.

It doesn't stop there. Wyatt straddles Ollie's stomach and leans in close to his face, whispering what appears to be some harsh words. An eerie smirk crawls across his lips before he leans back and takes two more swings at the already KO'd opponent.

Max starts making his way over to them, ready to peel Wyatt off, but he throws his hands up in surrender and crawls to his feet. Wyatt is deemed victorious, and my chest is filled with fluttering pride. That kid deserves a win.

Quinn wriggles off the bar and into her seat instead, getting to her feet so she can have a better look. I hook an arm around the back of her legs, clenching the opposite side of the chair with my hand to make sure she doesn't fall.

Turmoil spreads across the masses like wildfire while the spectators try to comprehend what just happened. It was a dirty move and goes against everything Wyatt stands for as a fighter. I know what that shit was, though. But, just in case I had any doubts, he scans the crowd until he locks eyes with me.

He shoots me the biggest, shit-eating grin and points his glove at me. I nod back to show him my appreciation for handling it. Quinn never gave me an answer, but now she doesn't have to. For tonight, at least. He'll come back for more.

Right now, though, I know I have a night of damage control ahead of me thanks to Wyatt's unexpected win. Him claiming this victory means a lot of people are going to have a little less money lining their pockets, and a lot more anger in their hearts.

Add in those two cheap shots after the fight was already over, and you're looking at a recipe for disaster. Anyone who came to support Ollie out of pure loyalty is going to seek some kind of revenge for him. Whether it be against us for allowing it, or Wyatt for acting on it.

My first gut reaction is to pry Quinn off the chair and get her back on the floor. She protests, but I manage to finally get her down. When she tries to slither past me, I cage her in against the bar, my hands gripping the ledge.

"Cash! I want to see!"

She stands on her tiptoes to peek over my shoulder, but she doesn't have enough height on her for it to work how she wanted.

"Quinn, can you listen to me for a second?" I ask timidly, already knowing it's going to take some time for her to focus. Time I don't have right now.

She keeps trying to glance around me, find an opening, so I step in closer.

"Quinn, focus. I need you here with me right now." My voice is borderline desperate.

After one more attempt at breaking free, she finally meets my eyes with annoyance.

"Wyatt is gonna come over here in a minute. I need you to leave with him. Don't stop to talk to anyone. Just go as soon as he's here, okay? He'll walk you home."

I wish I was able to be the one escorting her back to the apartment, but that's just not a reality in my world tonight.

It's not a regular occurrence that Wyatt wins, honestly. But, when he does, we both know the drill. He usually dips out of whatever venue he's at. It's safer that way.

He's going to be a target tonight. I don't know how protected Quinn will actually be leaving with him, but it's the only option I've got.

"What? No! I want to stay!" She argues back, giving me her infamous squinty evil-eye.

Typically, I'd laugh at it, but it's not a good time for games right now. I sigh, not wanting to do this. I don't like that she thinks I'm just trying to boss her around. But I can't risk her getting hurt, either. This is a shit situation that I'm trying my best to navigate.

"Not tonight. I promise I'll make it up to you, okay?" I plead with her, hoping she'll listen.

She opens her mouth to argue but, as soon as she gets half a word out, she's being ripped from under my arms. I spin around with intense fury claiming me, ready to confront whoever thought it was okay to touch her.

Wyatt has her by the hand, pulling her towards the back exit of the club. He shoots me an over the shoulder wave as he goes. Thank fuck. I really didn't want to have to force her out. I'm hoping bouncing her from Shadow is a thing of the past.

Thanks to thinking he was some random asshole grabbing at my girlfriend, I'm already ramped up for the inevitable anarchy that will break out. Within ten minutes of their departure, the barricaded entrance to the conference room is swarmed with shouting customers.

Silas continues standing there like a brick wall, not moving an inch. If his eyebrow wasn't arched, I'd assume he wasn't overwhelmed by the hoard at all.

Max is occasionally glancing up as he haphazardly cleans up the ring, more focused on the discord than the actual dismantling on stage.

Gio is studying the scene intently as he mindlessly pours a drink, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Rita, who's closest to the action, is trying to clear everyone away from her bar, just in case the scene moves in her direction.

I head right into the thick of it, providing backup for Silas. He may be a monster of a human, but even he can get swamped the second he's distracted.

"Alright, everyone! Chill the fuck out! Can't get shit done if you're all yelling!" I bellow out, only half of the crowd complying with my request.

"That fight was fixed!" Drew – a regular – yells, drawing up a few angry agreements from others.

"Drew, you know that's not how we operate." I calmly argue back. "Now, if you all wanna have words with the bookies about your loss tonight, you're gonna have to be patient."

A few people step away, going back to the center of the room to wait like I asked. The heated debates are simmering down. And then one idiot runs at Silas, earning him a giant elbow to the throat. As he tumbles backwards, I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan.

That's the catalyst. As soon as someone shows the first signs of violence, even the security detail, all hell breaks loose.

A fist flies in my direction, but I lean to the left to avoid it. It crashes into the brick instead and he cries out in pain, holding his mangled hand. When two more guys run at me, my knuckles connect with flesh, bone crunching beneath it. That's a fractured orbital socket.

My heart flutters at the same time every muscle in my body pulls tight. We're surrounded by pissed off assholes with gambling addictions who are convinced we screwed them over. My knuckles are already split, the blood coagulating at the surface.

Gio has left the bar, sprinting over to us with Max. Four against one-third of the entire club? No problem.

The bookies on the other side of the wall are no doubt flicking through wads of cash without a single concern about what's taking place out here.

When someone finally gets a hit in on me, I can't stop the smile that forms through the blood in my mouth.

I love this shit.