hot enough to pull a man under and make him beg to keep drowning.
Nina broke away, her fingertips trailing down his shoulder as she stepped back. Her retreat was as abrupt as her kiss, leaving him swaying toward her before he caught himself.
It was just part of the cover. Nina was playing arm candy to the hilt, sending her man into battle with a kiss. He repeated the reminder over and over in his head, as if repetition could drive back the simmering hunger she’d kindled in his blood.
Sweet, merciful fuck, she was dangerous.
Knox turned toward the cage, his body still rioting, and found Boyd watching him with a far too appraising look. No—watching Nina. Knox didn’t like the look in his eyes, but the quickest way out of this place was through the champion, so he walked forward to meet him.
Diesel was already climbing into the cage. He was so big he had to duck to get through the opening. Straightened to his full height, he stood a head over Knox. He was bulky in a way that didn’t come from hard work or even hours in a gym. When he flexed for the roaring crowd, his muscle groups looked like they had their own muscle groups.
The obvious answer was confirmed when he reached for a metal cylinder someone passed through the chain-link fencing. He held up the jet injector and slammed it against the side of his neck. The onlookers screamed as he doped himself up and then hurled the empty container into the crowd. Pure theater, just like the way he flung his arms wide and snarled, the perfect picture of a frenzied warrior on the edge of sanity.
Diesel was playing to his fans, but whatever he’d injected himself with was likely to make Knox’s night unpleasant.
Knox swung up into the cage. The clang of the door behind him settled his emotions. The need pulsing through him didn’t vanish. It … transformed. This time, his focus felt feral, dangerous, and it was hard to remember he was fighting for Conall.
It would be easy to pretend he was fighting for Nina.
* * *
Boyd’s chosen fighter was good. Between the drugs, his size, and Diesel’s skill, Nina could understand how this guy had gone undefeated for so long. He was almost a match for Knox.
Almost.
Perversely, the realization settled her nerves. Knox didn’t have to let Diesel hit him. He still had the edge over Boyd’s champ, but the gap wasn’t as wide in this fight as it had been in Rafe’s. Whereas Rafe had had to split his attention between winning and showmanship, Knox could throw the full weight of his effort into beating his opponent.
It wasn’t as difficult to watch as Rafe deliberately getting his ass kicked. But Nina watched anyway—every jab, every feint. Every blow, glancing or solid. Every gap in the cage, where spectators’ eager hands grasped the chain links.
But no weapons were passed through. It seemed unthinkable, Knox’s bout staying clean and aboveboard when Boyd had already proven he wasn’t opposed to dirty tactics. But then she spotted the man walking her way, a predatory gleam in his eye, and comprehension washed over her.
He had another plan up his sleeve. A whole different way to fuck with Knox.
Boyd stopped a few paces away, and he didn’t bother to hide his lazy, appraising look. “So, the teacher’s pet finally found someone willing to put up with the stick up his ass.”
The man was as transparent as he was revolting, and as revolting as he was predictable. Still, Nina couldn’t deny that she’d encouraged Boyd’s conclusion by not correcting his assumptions. She’d even cemented it by planting that kiss on Knox.
That impulsive, delicious, earth-shaking kiss.
So she swallowed her sigh. “Don’t you have scads of money to count, or something?”
“Some things are better than money.” Boyd grinned. “I came over to see if you’re interested in a little wager.”
Dani’s stance shifted, and Nina surreptitiously flashed her a signal to stand down. “The fight’s already begun, Sergeant. Betting window’s closed.”
“Window closes when I say it closes.” He hooked his thumbs in his wide belt. “What do you say, girl? Wanna hedge your bets? Put your money on our champion? That way, if you lose your boyfriend, you’ll still have a nice stack of credits.”
He wasn’t talking about money or bets. A slimy implication underscored his words, made even more uncomfortable by the fact that it wasn’t even motivated by sexual interest. That, at least, would be understandable. But this