Drake strokes a finger over my cheek. “Miss you.”

“Miss you too.” And I do. I miss him for the fact that he was easy to be with. There were no emotional swings. No confusion. No fear. He was safe, familiar. Undemanding. He wanted nothing from me I couldn’t give. And he made me feel good.

He lifts the ice pack and runs his hand over the injured part of my head, now pleasantly numb, then strokes his hand gently through my hair. The tender, caring gesture makes my heart squeeze, but not in a good way. I want Jake’s hand in my hair. I want Jake’s finger on my cheek. I want Jake holding the ice pack and making sure I’m okay.

“Five more minutes and then we’ll break for fifteen and do it again. That way you won’t be going to work with a bruise on that beautiful head.”

As I study Drake, all blue eyes and fine, chiseled charm, his mouth tips up at the corners and he traces a pattern over my knuckles with his fingertip. “If you keep looking at me like that I might need to give you some personal medical attention.”

My cheeks flush and I drag my eyes away. “This isn’t such a good time. Jake and I just broke up.”

“I heard.”

A disturbance by the door distracts me from our conversation. God, what if it’s Jake and he sees me talking to Drake? Or would he care? I try to look through the sea of fighters, half hoping it is Jake come to find me. Or to save me from temptation. But when the crowds part, I see only the door closing and a new arrival waving to his friends. A pang of longing washes through me. I just want to go home.

Ten minutes later, I say good-bye to the Redemption team, now thick around Rampage’s table. Drake insists on walking me to my car. He throws a casual arm over my shoulders as he tells me about the time he brought squeamish Makayla to a private club where they only served meat rare. My laughter dies away when he grips my shoulder hard and tips his chin in the direction of my car.

“Renegade is here.”

I suck in a sharp breath and then smile when I see Jake leaning against my vehicle. “Hi.”

His eyes narrow. “I should have known you’d be with him. You never waste any time.”

My smile fades. “He was just walking me to my car.”

“He was doing more than that inside.”

I look at him aghast. “You were there? Why didn’t you come over?”

His eyes flick to me, but there is no warmth in his gaze. “Didn’t want to interrupt your intimate moment.”

“Jake…”

Ignoring me, he stalks over to Drake. “I warned you before. You don’t seem to get the message.”

Far from being afraid, Drake laughs and holds his ground. “Last I heard you weren’t together. Which means there is no message I need to get.”

My breath leaves me in a rush. What the hell is Drake doing? Does he have a death wish? He might as well slap Jake in the face and challenge him to pistols at dawn.

“What the f**k?”

“You don’t get her,” Drake says, his arm tightening around my shoulder. “She can’t handle emotional intimacy. That’s why she pushed you away. You wanted more than she could give. I didn’t push. I accepted her for who she was. And in the end, it looks like I made the right decision. She’s with me right now, not with you.”

“Drake.” I wrench myself away and glare. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re friends. Nothing more.”

Wham. Jake lands a punch to Drake’s jaw before my brain has even registered he has moved. He strikes hard and he strikes fast, letting loose an uppercut that has Drake reeling backward into the cars. Desperate to stop the fight, I lunge forward, grab Jake around the waist, and try to pull him away.

“Stop. Stop. Don’t hit him.”

“My fight.” Jake rips my hands off his waist and pushes me to the side, then throws himself at Drake. Oh God. This is worse than anything I could imagine.

But Drake is now as much into the fight as Jake, throwing Jake against a car and pummeling him with his fists. The car bounces and shakes and then Jake twists and frees himself, knocking Drake to the ground. Drake hits the cement hard and then Jake is on top of him, and they are rolling on the ground. My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat. This isn’t MMA fighting, with its rules and moves and procedures. This is street fighting, and if anyone reports Jake, it will be the end of his dream.

Fists fly. Blood spatters. Even at the cage fight, I have never seen Jake like this. He is violence with a capital V. Pure, uncontrolled, seething rage.

Terrified to leave them alone, I text Fuzzy. Almost instantly the door flies open and Fuzzy races across the parking lot with Obsidian, Homicide, Rampage, and Blade Saw following close on his heels.

“Fuck.” He rakes his hand over his fuzzy head when he spots Jake and Drake now on their feet, bruised and bleeding but not slowing down in the least. “Rampage! Get her out of here.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not leaving.”

“’Manda. Please go,” Rampage says quietly. “It will be easier for everyone.”

“What do you mean easier?” I spit out. “I’m not part of this equation. Drake knows where he stands with me, and Jake…he said I don’t belong with him.”

Rampage frowns and scratches his head. “Doesn’t matter what he says. What matters is what he does. And what he’s doing right now is saying you’re his.”

His?