Page 7 of My Fixation

“I don’t get a say in that,” he replies, just as quiet. There’s no bite to it, no anger, just fact. And that pisses me off more than anything else. My eyes flick briefly to where the guy disappeared, then back to him.

“You do tonight,” I say.

“Look, mister. I don’t know who you are, but I can’t walk away. I appreciate it, but please just go away before Henry gets back. You won’t be helping by making a scene.” His voice stays low and controlled, but there’s something under it.

He drags a hand through his hair, rough, frustrated, then drops it and stares back down at the floor like that settles it. Like the conversation is over. Does he think I’ll just leave? Something in me snaps tight. I want to grab him. Haul him out of that chair. Drag him out of this place if I have to. I don’t understand it. Why is he staying? Why is he accepting this? What the hell does he owe Henry? What could possibly be worth this?

He doesn’t look back up. I take a step closer, just enough that he can feel me there without me touching him.

“Jaxon.” Saying his name makes his head lift, fast this time. Surprise flashes across his face before he can hide it. Good. Now I have his attention.

“I’m telling you you’re not stepping back in that cage tonight,” I say, voice quieter, sharper.

His jaw tightens immediately. “You don’t—”

“Stop. Get the wraps off your hands,” I cut in, letting just enough edge slip through to make him pause.

Chapter 5

Jaxon

This man is going to get us both killed tonight. The thought sits heavy in my chest, pressing down until it’s hard to breathe. Why won’t he just leave? Why does he care?

It doesn’t make any sense. Not in a place like this. Not with men like Henry and Manny pulling the strings. People don’t step in unless they want something or unless they’re stupid enough not to understand the cost. And he doesn’t look stupid.

I drop my gaze back to the floor, shoulders tight, hands still wrapped and aching where they rest against my thighs. I don’t move to take them off. Don’t move at all. Because it doesn’t matter, Henry will be back soon. Then my name will be called again. I’ll get up, walk into that cage, and do what I’ve been doing for months now. A slow breath pulls into my lungs, heavier than it should be. Maybe this is the night it ends. Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. The decision to end my life will be taken out of my hands. My fingers curl slightly against the tape around my hands. Because at least then I wouldn’t have to keep doing this anymore. But even as that thought settles in, I can still feel him standing there.

Months of him standing on the other side of the ring, staring holes into me, and now he decides to talk to me. God, he’s even more gorgeous up close. The dim lighting doesn’t hide any of him. If anything, it makes him sharper, harder. Every line of muscle under that tight t-shirt stands out, stretching the fabric like it’s barely containing him.

I shouldn’t be noticing that. I definitely shouldn’t be noticing him at all right now. I can’t stop. I keep my head down, like I’m still ignoring him, but my eyes lift just enough to take him in.

His legs first. Jeans hugging thick thighs that look just as solid as I imagined. Strong. The kind of strength you feel more than see. My gaze drifts higher before I can stop it and fuck. I look away too fast, heat creeping up the back of my neck. Not the time nor the place, I remind myself. A bitter thought cuts through it just as quickly. Too bad it doesn’t matter anyway. Because whatever this is, this pull, this distraction. It’s not something I get to have. Not in this life.

“You need to leave,” I tell him again.

My voice is low. Tighter this time. I don’t look up at him. I keep my eyes locked on the same cracked spot in the concrete. He doesn’t move. God, why won’t he just go? Then I see them. Henry’s wingtips step into my line of sight. My breath catches sharply in my chest before I can stop it. Shit. And he’s not alone.

“Conor.”

Conor. I repeat it in my head, turning it over once, twice, like I need to memorize it. Conor. It fits, strong and solid. The kind of name that doesn’t bend.

My eyes lift just enough to catch the shift in his stance when the other man speaks. Subtle but there. It’s a tightening, an awareness snapping into place. So he’s not just some random guy who wandered in here. Of course, he isn’t. Men like him don’t end up in places like this by accident. Something uneasy settles low in my gut. This just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

“Danny,” Conor says, like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just step into a situation that could go sideways in a heartbeat.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” Henry cuts in, puffing up like he’s got any real authority here. My stomach tightens. This is bad.

“Doesn’t matter,” Conor replies, voice flat, controlled. “But he’s not doing another fight.” Silence hits for half a second.

“Fuck you,” Henry snaps. “He’s fighting again. It’s already arranged.”

I swear the temperature in the room drops. It’s not just Conor’s size. It’s not just the way he stands, solid and unmoving like nothing in this place could touch him. It’s something else, something heavier. The kind of presence that makes people shut up without being told to.

Henry’s too stupid to see it. Or too blinded by borrowed power to care. My pulse starts to pick up. Because I’ve seen men like Conor before. Men who don’t raise their voice, he doesn’t need to. The dangerous ones aren’t loud. They’re quiet right before everything breaks. And Henry just stepped right into it.

“The fuck you say. He can barely stand. Danny, you can’t be okay with this.” Conor turns towards the other man. I think he’s one of the guys who backs these fights.

“I came over to talk to Jaxon. Just to make sure,” Danny says, glancing between us. “But Henry’s right. Four fights were signed up for, and we’ve only had three.”