The Fighter's Prize

“Easton Brawn. Everyone knows.”

“How?”

“Brawn made her a neat little target, showing public interest in her like he did.” Banner’s white teeth flash in the dark room. “One of his many enemies already put a price on her head.”

My knees almost collapse beneath me. I look at my father, but he seems more concerned with lighting a joint than the fact that his oldest daughter is in danger. I try to hold on to the fact that Scout sounded confident in her safety over the phone this afternoon, but frankly, I’m done leaving things up to men and chance.

“Let me out of this room!” I shout, turning and banging on the door as hard as I can.

Banner grabs my hair and yanks me back, hard enough to make my eyes tear—

And that’s when Maxim realizes I’m gone. There’s a loud crash out on the club floor. Women scream. Feet travel quickly on the floor. Running.

“WHITNEY.”

Despite Maxim’s obvious anguish, relief spreads in my chest. All I have to do is stall. He’s going to find me if he has to rip every inch of this place apart. “Maxim!” I scream.

Banner slaps a hand over my mouth. “Shut the hell up!”

He drags me backwards toward an emergency exit and I dig my heels in as hard as I can, twisting in his grip. I absolutely cannot allow him to take me out of this club. Or Maxim will have no idea where to look. Not until it’s too late and this man inflicts his will on me.

I hear the heavy pound of footsteps and another bellow of my name.

“WHITNEY.”

The doorknob rattles. And then the entire door is kicked off the hinges, sending splinters in every direction, and there, outlined in the doorframe, is six-foot-four inches of seething, deadly muscle and man. Maxim takes in the scene with one livid sweep of his eyes and crushes the sides of the doorframe in his bare hands, roaring loud enough to make my eardrums throb.

Even Banner loosens his grip on me, sending us both stumbling back a couple steps.

I use the opportunity to rip myself free and run toward Maxim, tears running down my cheeks. He runs his hands over my face, hair, shoulders, frantically looking for injuries, before pinning Banner with cold, murderous eyes. “You will die now.” He points at my father without removing his attention from Banner. “You too.”

“No.” I tug on his elbow, but he is unmovable. “Let’s just leave. I want to leave.”

“Are you sure, Whitney?” Banner asks, clearly not valuing his life. “Brawn is something of an associate of mine. I can still bring you to Scout, like you wanted. Can the Russian do that?”

Maxim flinches, glances down at me, something like hurt beginning to kindle in his eyes. “Did you ask him to bring you to your sister?”

“No, I—”

“Oh come on now,” Banner interrupts. “We texted about it. Didn’t she tell you?”

My father shifts nervously, sidling toward the exit, like the coward he is. But I barely notice, because all I’m seeing is the betrayal on my fighter’s face. “Maxim, it’s not like he’s making it sound,” I breathe, gripping his elbow. “They lured me back here. I—”

Banner laughs. “She came willingly.”

“I told you I would arrange meeting, kotik. Did you not believe me?”

“I did!”

“But you did not tell me about these text messages.”

“I didn’t want you to be angry,” I whisper, hating his disheartened expression. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this at home? Please?”

My father chooses that moment to run for it. He’s out the door like a bolt of lightning. I must have lost all feeling for him long ago, because his desertion doesn’t affect me at all.

Banner merely sighs. “You don’t really want to go home with someone they call The Madman of MMA, Whitney. Do you?”

Maxim’s muscles ripple under my hand and I know he’s about to attack. About to kill Banner. And while I wouldn’t mind seeing my fighter wipe the floor with this bastard, I can’t allow that to happen. Can’t allow Maxim to commit a crime that might get him taken away from me. I’m also aware that Maxim’s pride has been stung by Banner’s twisting of the truth and that wounded pride needs to be repaired somehow. He’s an alpha male. A warrior. He won’t just walk out of here without making it known who gets to keep me. The prize.

Is there another way for me to restore his pride?

A way for me to make it obvious who I’m choosing?

Maxim is beyond listening. I need more than words.

I need…

Wetting my lips, I move to stand in front of Maxim, running a hand up the front of his shirt. “Will you kiss me?” I whisper.

His eyes flicker with awareness, but his frown does not ease. “Do not try and distract me.”

Ignoring his gruff order, I push up on my toes and press our mouths together, licking at the seam of his lips until they open on a grunt and he kisses me back. His eyes take on a drugged quality when our tongues brush, but he never takes his eyes off his opponent. Between us, I feel him stiffen behind his fly and I position my hand over the long, swelling ridge, massaging him firmly in my palm. “Show him who I belong to, Maxim.”