Sugar (The Henchmen MC 12)

"Did he dump ya?" he asked, blunt, almost painfully so. I knew he was trying to goad me, but he did it so effortlessly. "Tell ya he was sick of fucking ya, wanted more variety?"

"No," I objected. And while he was using the wrong material, just the mention of Sugar right then was starting to tick me off again.

I had apologized.

Owned up.

Agreed to talk. Full-well knowing that if we talked, feelings would be involved, and that I was about as emotionally inarticulate as a human being could get. So that was huge for me.

"Come on," he demanded, doing the 'come at me, bro,' fingers.

I planted my feet, pulled my right arm back, then thrust it forward, slamming into his shoulder.

Adler wasn't a brick wall of a man. He was tall and lithe. As such, I expected my punch to knock him back a bit.

But he didn't budge.

"Hand hurt?" he asked, smiling.

"Shut up," I told him with small eyes as I tried again.

And again.

And again.

Sometime in the next twenty minutes, I finally admitted I was pissed because Sugar was ignoring me, to which he had nothing to say but to keep goading me on.

"It's like getting a massage from a kitten," he informed me, patting my arm, making me push a hand into his chest with a laugh.

"The fuck is this?"

Well, that was a fine way to spoil the good mood I had finally gotten into after twenty minutes of attempting to beat up Adler as he heckled me.

"Uh oh," Adler said with a guilty look at me.

"This is me taking a boxing lesson," I said, lifting my chin a little.

"Wasn't talking to you," he said, not bothering to look at me as he kept advancing the ring.

I'd seen a lot in those gorgeous eyes of his since I met him, but I had never seen this. Anger.

Even as he ducked under the ropes, his body was tense, taut as a coil ready to spring.

Adler's arm moved out, catching me fully across the chest, pushing me back several feet effortlessly as Sugar got closer.

"Told you to keep her out your fuckin' head. You take that to mean to put your hands on her instead?" Sugar asked, slamming his hands into Adler's shoulders hard. Hard enough to send the man who - to me had been unmovable - back several feet.

"Ya don't want to do this, man," Adler warned, voice carrying a threat I didn't know him well enough to understand.

"Don't tell me what I want. I get a call saying you're down here sparring with her," he said, pushing Adler again, this time pressing him back into the ropes.

"Don't be mad at me because ya can't treat yer woman right," Adler shot back, for whatever reason choosing not to de-escalate the situation by telling the truth.

That, well, that was the wrong thing to say.

I blinked, and suddenly the men were tearing into each other.

Some women romanticize the idea of men literally fighting over you, but right here in the muck of it all, watching two men I liked slamming fists into each other, drawing blood, hissing in pain, yeah, no. There was nothing romantic about it.

It was ugly.

Brutal.

And I didn't know enough about how to get between them without getting hurt.

"Do something," I demanded, seeing a few of the guys standing around watching.

"They got to get it out," one of them shot back, shrugging.

"Shoulda called yer woman back," Adler said, blood dripping down the corner of his lip, but he was smiling. Like he was enjoying this somehow.

"You fuckin' knew I was on guard all night, and sleeping in today," Sugar shot back, angry still, but not swinging suddenly. "You could have told her."

"Ain't my job to do yer job," Adler shot back.

"You're a fuckin' asshole, Adler," Sugar declared, breathing a little hard, but seeming to lose some of the rage.

"Never claimed anything different," he agreed, then turned to look at me. "Ya wanna go again, kitty paws, let me know," he said, then ducked out of the ring as though he hadn't just gotten into a fight.

I took a deep breath, watching as Sugar seemed to do the same thing. His hand rose, the knuckles a little raw, rubbing the back of his neck. On a sigh, he turned back to me. "I just fuckin' got up," he said, shaking his head.

And right then, I could see it.

He looked beat.

"You couldn't wait like half a fuckin' day before you went all vengeful on me?" he asked, his tone strained, but his lips were twitching slightly.

"I just wanted a good workout," I lied.

"Bullshit," he called me out, smile starting. "I heard you were feeling throat-stompy. Figure 'cause you finally got your head out of your ass and texted me. And thought I was giving you the silent treatment."

"My head was not up my ass," I objected, small-eyeing him.