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Dalton gripped me by the shoulders and shook me gently. “You don’t need a knockout. You need to remain standing, understand?”

He reminded me so much of his nephew, I wanted to cry. “Vaughn’s going to kill me,” I muttered.

“No shit. He’s already read me the riot act about it. Don’t worry about Ells. He’ll get over it.”

I stared at him while the bottom dropped out of my stomach. “He… he knows I’m fighting?”

At first, I’d intended to tell Vaughn.

Really.

I’d texted him to call me after the game because I truly didn’t want to lie to him about this. But then I’d chickened out.

Wasn’t it better to ask for forgiveness than permission?

I’d started thinking that if he knew I was fighting, he might actually do something stupid like leave the expo, and the last thing I wanted to do was jeopardize his big opportunity.

So, I’d asked Dalton to keep his mouth shut, and I’d ducked Vaughn’s calls. And now…

The crowd noise picked up a little over by the doors. Dalton excused himself as he caught sight of whatever was going on, and I was left to finish my warm-ups and stretches.

I’d spent hours researching “how to survive a cage fight” last night, but I didn’t hold out hope I could implement it in the moment.

After a few minutes, Dalton reappeared. “Okay, change of plans. You’re fighting Elliot. Sorry, kid.”

I blinked at him and let out a short laugh. This was clearly a ploy to get me to relax, and I appreciated it. “Okay, that’s actually kind of funny—” Then I saw a familiar head of messy brown hair above the crowd. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t ask me why he’s so hot to beat your ass that he came all the way back from Nashville, but it is what it is. And it’s going to make me a lot of money, so.”

He wandered off to talk to the guys taking the bets and make the announcement.

The referee Dalton had introduced me to earlier came over, shaking his head. “Shit, bro. You know Vaughn never loses, right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Hugo. Very helpful. Fuck.”

My brain spun in circles, trying to figure out what was going on. Why was Vaughn back? Surely not to fight me? Unless he was that pissed when he found out I was fighting at the Pit?

My stomach clenched and heaved.

“I need to talk to him,” I said, moving toward where all the buzz in the room was.

Hugo’s meaty hand gripped my elbow. “Not a good idea. Besides, you need to be getting into the right headspace. Kickers have, like, meditation shit, right? Use that.”

Now I really did want to laugh. Laugh until I cried.

Was it too late to beg off? Admit I stood no chance and walk away without facing Vaughn’s anger?

This fight wasn’t going to be real anyway. Vaughn would know all he needed to do was clock me once, and I’d go down hard. I’d seen him do it to other people.

Could he hit me that hard? Could he use those hands that had spent the last few weeks wringing pleasure from my body to hurt me? Just how angry was he?

Because there was no way I could hit him for real. Hurting him was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. I could maybe give him a few jabs for show, if I could get angry enough… and if I could get close enough. And honestly, that might feel good. Let out my frustration on him for coming back here and fucking with my plans.

But could I really haul off and punch the guy?

Definitely not.

I… cared about him too much.