Page 32 of Malice

“But I’m scared of fucking it up.” The admission leaves me exposed, but her expression makes it worth it. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Trix. The idea that I could finally have you and somehow ruin it…”

“You won’t.” She says it with such certainty that something in my chest quietly unknots. “We won’t let that happen.”

I reach for her, pulling her back down to me, and she comes willingly, her body fitting against mine like it was designed to. Her lips find my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair. “Always.”

She tilts her face up to mine, her eyes bright with something that looks like trust. “I know.”

And for the first time since I watched her walk through those hospital doors yesterday, I feel like I can breathe.

I cup her face, rough palms against her soft skin, pulling her gaze to mine. Her eyes, full of fucking trust, make something tighten in my chest, like a damn vise. I want to promise her everything worth a damn in this world.

“Trix,” I say, my voice dropping into that gritty register I save for her alone. “We’re in this now. For real.”

Her eyes widen, but there isn’t a hint of fear. Just raw curiosity and a spark of anticipation that makes my blood burn.

“So you need to know something,” I continue, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. “I’m going to protect you. That comes first. Always.” I lean in, lips ghosting hers. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that promise. No questions. No apologies. You can’t fight me on it. That’s the way it has to be.”

I throw in a wink, a cocky flash that slices through the tension in the air. Her lips part, a little surprise mingling with that killer grin, the one that hit me like a truck the first day at the clubhouse. Made me fall hard before I even knew what the fuck falling meant.

“Bossy,” she whispers, amusement dancing in her voice.

“Protective,” I correct, my thumb skimming over the seam of her lips. “There’s a big fucking difference.”

She turns her head, pressing a kiss to my palm. The warmth of it stays there, spreading up my wrist. “I like it,” she admits, eyes glued to mine. “It feels right. You’re not trying to control me.”

“Never,” I say, fierce as hell. “I’d never do that to you, Trix. That’s not us.”

She moves closer, heat radiating from her skin, seeping into me. “I know. That’s why I trust you.”

Her words settle deep in me, heavier than any oath or secret I’ve carried. Her trust. It’s the real weight of the world.

“I should get up,” she murmurs, though she makes no move to do so. “I have a shift soon.”

I tighten my arms around her. “Five more minutes.”

She laughs, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Five minutes. Then I really do need to shower.”

I watch her through the fogged-up bathroom door, steam curling up like smoke in a dimly lit dive bar. Her small frame moves around in that cramped space, brushing her teeth in my oversized t-shirt, hair piled up haphazardly. It’s such a fucking domestic scene, it almost takes me out. My throat tightens with a craving that isn’t just about last night’s physical hunger, though fuck if that part doesn’t still pulse under my skin.

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s not Matthew.

Dad: Training at 4. Don’t be late.

I smile, typing back a quick acknowledgment. My father has never been one for long conversations, even via text.

“Who’s that?” Trixie asks, appearing from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair and my shirt hanging off one shoulder.

“Dad. Reminding me about training.”

She nods, moving to the dresser where she’d left her bag. “What are you working on today?”

“Footwork drills with the new guys.” I sit up, running a hand through my hair. “Then sparring. One of our fighters has a title match coming up.”

Trixie pauses, her hand on a clean pair of scrubs. “Can I come watch? I’m off at three.”

The question catches me off guard. She’s never asked to come to a training session that wasn’t specifically for her self-defense lessons. A warmth unfurls in my gut at the thought of having her there, watching me work.