•   •   •

THE next morning Deacon left for the dojo early—after offhandedly mentioning they were having a “couples” dinner thing or “some such shit” with Knox and Shiori this week.

She headed into the extra bedroom and checked out the fruits of her labor. For the bookcase base color, she’d chosen a soft sage green. She’d painted over that with a coat of white stain, wiping most of that off, so the green was visible beneath. Then she’d sanded random spots. Last night she’d added the final coat, an opaque gray varnish that dulled the paint into an antique patina. The gray tone settled into the dents and pits, creating tiny dark spots so the piece really looked old. It’d turned out awesome.

She wandered toward the kitchen to refill her coffee and stopped in the living room. Deacon might not appreciate the country-cottage look of her living space, but she loved it. After growing up with bare walls and just the basics, she never took for granted that she could express her personality through the home she’d made for herself.

She’d placed two mismatched oversized chairs, one covered in rose chintz and the other in sage-green velvet, opposite the tufted sofa, done in a floral pattern composed of shades of pink and green. Between the couch and chairs she’d positioned a pine coffee table she’d refinished with a reverse-crackle glaze—her first DIY project. Directly behind the chairs was the space for the large bookshelf. She’d culled a few things from her grandmother’s house over the years, an antique birdcage, some funky botany prints she’d found in the closet, and a wooden vase her grandfather had carved—all items she proudly displayed.

So she liked her private space frilly and girly. Mr. Big Bad MMA didn’t look as out of place in her space as she’d imagined.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AFTER a grueling week of training, work, and hours of makeup sex, Deacon and Molly showed up late to Diesel on Saturday night.

Their friends gave them a rash of shit about that. Maddox had even gone as far as checking Deacon for hickeys. Good thing they couldn’t see Molly’s tits, because she had three or four red marks on each breast.

All the chairs around the table were full. Maddox, Beck, Ivan, Sergei, Fisher, and Blaze were all there, plus Blue and Gil. Even Riggins had put in an appearance. Katie, Fee, Presley, and Jaz sat at the other end of the table.

When Molly tugged her hand from his to join the ladies, Deacon hauled her back. He whispered, “Ten minutes with them and then I want you with me.”

She stepped in front of him and rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just get a leash?”

Deacon placed his mouth on the pulse point in her throat. “Because I haven’t found a collar yet that won’t mark up this pretty skin.”

Her breath caught. Then she slapped her hand on his chest and tried to push him back. “Not happening. Ever.”

“Then you’d better have this luscious ass parked on my lap in ten minutes, hadn’t you?”

Deacon snagged a chair from the table behind them, spun it around, and straddled it. “What’s up?” he said to no one in particular.

“Maddox has chick problems,” Ivan offered.

“Then why aren’t you sitting there”—Deacon pointed to the women’s end of the table—“whining to them for advice?”

“Fuck off, D.” Then Maddox tipped his beer bottle to Ivan. “You too, Ruskie.”

Beck stretched his arm across the back of the booth. “I’d take your problem any day, Mad.”

“Me too,” Blue added.

“It’s not that kind of chick problem, you dipfucks,” Maddox said with a scowl.

The waitress showed up. Deacon ordered water for himself after he saw Katie had poured Molly a margarita from the pitcher on the table so he knew his woman was taken care of. “So what else did I miss? Spare me the chick-problem drama.”

“Says the guy getting laid regularly,” Beck complained.

Deacon shot Molly a quick glance and allowed a smug smile.

“There’s an exhibition next weekend in Los Angeles put on by International Mixed Martial Arts magazine. The PR person has asked if we’d supply a fighter.”

“That’s unusual, isn’t it? And late notice.”

Maddox shrugged. “It’s a calculated move, a callout by TGL, my former employers. I’ve been with Black Arts for a year. Guess we’ve been a little too low-key for their comfort.”

“Does Ronin know about this?” Deacon asked.

“Yeah. He sees it for what it is.” Maddox looked at Deacon. “It’d be a bad move to put you or Ivan or Sergei in the ring at the expo. You all have big fights coming up in two weeks. Which TGL knows. This is a test to see if we’ve been keeping other fighters on our roster out of the spotlight.”