The crowd's roar still vibrated in her bones as she pushed through the backstage area. Security had tried to stop her—"No civilians allowed back here"—but she'd flashed the VIP pass Eliot's manager had given her and kept walking. The air grew thicker, heavier with the stench of sweat and blood and something animalistic that made her pulse race.

There he was.

Not in the cage anymore, but still dangerous. Leaning against the concrete wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, as his trainer wrapped bandages around his knuckles. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, glistening with sweat under the harsh fluorescent lights. A fresh cut sliced through his eyebrow, blood dripping slow red drops down his sharp jawline.

He didn't open his eyes when she approached. But his nostrils flared. "You shouldn't be here." His voice was low, rough, like gravel in a velvet bag.

"Your manager gave me a pass." He laughed—a humorless sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Manager doesn't control me." His eyes finally opened. Amber fire meeting hers. "No one does."

He pushed away from the wall, tower over her, crowding her against the opposite concrete barrier. Trapped. Just like his opponents in the ring.

His bandaged hand came up,指尖 brushing her cheek, too light, too gentle for a man who'd just broken three ribs with his bare hands. "You think because you got past the bouncers, you get special treatment?"

She should be scared. Any rational person would be. But something about the way his eyes darkened when they dropped to her lips—something wild and hungry—made her lean in instead of pulling away.

His hand moved from her cheek to her throat, not squeezing, just holding. A promise of what he could do. What he wanted to do.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little one." His thumb brushed over her pulse point, feeling how fast it raced for him. "In my world, pretty things like you don't last long."

She lifted her chin, defying him, even as her knees trembled. "Then why haven't you walked away?"

For a heartbeat, he looked stunned. Then that dangerous smirk spread across his face—the one that preceded the knockout punch. "Because I'm considering breaking my own rules."

His hand tightened slightly around her throat, forcing her to tilt her head back further. His body pressed against hers, hard muscle against soft curves, the heat of him searing through their clothes.

"Tell me to stop," he growled, his lips inches from hers. "Tell me to stop, and I'll walk away."

But she both feared and craved the darkness in his eyes. The wild animal just barely caged beneath that beautiful exterior.

Instead of telling him to stop, she whispered, "Prove you're not all talk, Eliot."

That was all it took. His mouth crashed against hers in a kiss that was more bite than anything else. Primative. Dominant. Claiming. His free hand sliding down to grip her hip, pulling her even closer, leaving no space between them.

The training room disappeared. The distant sounds of the crowd faded. There was only him—his taste, his scent, his possession.

When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen and her mind reeling. His eyes burned with satisfied hunger. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."

But by the way he was still holding her against him, she wasn't sure if it was a threat... or a promise.