Ivan shot a quick look over his shoulder. “Birthday thing. Not everyone is invited.”

“Aw, but I am?”

Fisher clapped him on the shoulder. “At a strip club. Right up your alley, huh?”

Fuck. It would be, if he hadn’t promised Molly he’d steer clear of them.

Sergei frowned and spoke to Ivan. The big Russian shook his head. Deacon made out three words—Dave & Buster’s.

While Ivan and Sergei went back and forth, Deacon watched Maddox and Courey confer with Ito, who’d just walked into the training room.

Ivan pinned Fisher with a hard look. “We’re going to that game-playing place first, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Sergei’s girlfriend forbids him to go to strip clubs.”

“And he lets her dictate that to him?” Fisher said. “Lame.”

Two weeks ago Deacon would’ve been railing against that too. But now . . . he wouldn’t break his promise to Molly even to save face with the guys.

“Like Sergei said, he’d rather not piss off his girlfriend and get cut off from pussy just to look at some random stripper’s tits.”

That gave him an out. “That’ll work for me too. I’ll hang at Dave and Buster’s, but then I’ve got plans with Molly.”

Fisher sighed. “Didn’t you just spend an entire week with her?”

“Because her grandma died. A funeral ain’t exactly fun.”

“Guess it’s up to me’n Blaze to get Beck his birthday lap dance,” Fisher said.

“If you guys go to Jiggles, I’ll give you my VIP pass,” Deacon offered.

His eyes lit up. “No shit? You da man, bro.” He held his fist out for a bump.

Ivan thrust his fist at Fisher and Deacon for a bump. “No woman tells Ivan what to do. I’m in.”

Sergei snickered and said something in Russian that caused Ivan to gut punch him.

“If you ladies are done swapping spit,” Maddox yelled, “how about you get those lazy asses in gear and get to fucking training.”

Deacon picked up his gear. Then he said quietly, “Why isn’t Mad invited? He and Beck are always doin’ stuff together.”

“Knox said Beck and Maddox had words this week and Sensei had to step in,” Fisher said.

“Words about what?”

“You, evidently.”

“Fucking awesome. Seeing that Courey is still here, I know who won that pissing contest.”

Ivan loomed over Deacon. “It’s not what you think. Maddox trains you. But Beck has your back. He proved it.” Then Ivan walked off.

Weird.

But Deacon didn’t have time to dissect what that meant because he spent the next four hours sweating his ass off and working his muscles to the point of exhaustion.

•   •   •

ABOUT an hour after he’d returned home, his phone rang.

Deacon debated ignoring it—but he pushed ANSWER. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“Nothing earth-shattering,” he drawled in his thick Texas accent. “Just hadn’t heard from you in a while and I thought I’d see what’s new. How’s training?”

He slumped back into his recliner. He could handle this conversation. It was the other one his dad regularly brought up that set him on edge. “It’s going good. Sometimes Maddox drives me so hard I wish he were my sparring partner so I could knock him the motherfuck out. Then, after training ends, we have a rational discussion about my progress or setbacks.”

His dad chuckled. “Coaches like that are rare, son.”

“I know.”

“When’s your next fight?”

“Next month. Here in Denver.”

“Let me know when the date is set. I’ll fly in for it.”

His dad was supportive of his MMA career—as much as he could be given that he’d set his sights on Deacon taking his place in the family business.

“Your mother sends her love.”

Deacon snorted. That was a fucking lie.

For the next five minutes his dad filled him in on the stuff going on at JFW, the family company. After that they talked sports, his dad’s golf game in particular.

“Anything new with Ronin?” his dad asked.

“Since Black Arts has been under the House of Kenji, he’s had to step up his responsibilities.”

“Responsibilities to what?”

“The American Jujitsu Association. The politics of jujitsu ain’t his favorite thing by any stretch. But there are only five other instructors in the States that are at his belt level—none even close to his age, so his knowledge is valuable.”