Page 36 of Malice

Her laugh cuts through the gym’s stark atmosphere, bright and warm. “You’re terrible.”

“Worth it.” I echo my earlier words, and her smile widens.

We sit in a comfortable silence, our hands still linked. The gym buzzes around us: the rhythmic thud of fists hitting bags, the clank of weights, the low murmur of trainers coaching fighters. It’s the only world I’ve ever known how to live in, but right now it feels like it’s been missing a corner I didn’t know existed until she filled it.

“What time do you finish?” she asks, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“Seven, if I can wrap up early.” I study her face, noticing the slight shadows under her eyes. “You should go home and rest. You had a long shift.”

She shakes her head. “I want to watch you work. Unless you’d prefer I leave?”

The question sounds casual, but I hear the hesitation in her voice. After years of keeping my distance, I see the question in her eyes: what is her place in my world?

“I want you here,” I say, firm. “Always.”

Her expression softens. “Okay then. I’ll stay.”

I squeeze her hand before standing. “Don’t distract me too much. Some of these guys actually need to learn today.”

Her smile is knowing. “No promises.”

As I turn back to the ring, I catch Dad watching us, his expression a mix of approval and amusement. He gives me a quick nod before turning back to his own group.

The afternoon blurs with instructions and demonstrations. I work with four fighters, tweaking techniques, correcting form, pushing them past their comfort zones. Through it all, I’m keenly aware of Trixie on the bench, her eyes sometimes on me, sometimes on her phone, occasionally meeting mine with that smile that makes it hard to draw a full breath.

By six thirty, I’ve worked through my entire schedule. My shirt is soaked with sweat, muscles aching pleasantly. I grab a towel, wiping my face as I approach Trixie.

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask, dropping onto the bench beside her.

She nods, tucking her phone into her bag. “You were amazing with them,” she says, her eyes bright with an admiration that makes me feel ten feet tall. “The way you explain things, it’s like you see exactly what they’re doing wrong.”

“It’s years of practice.” I shrug, though her praise warms me more than it should. “I made all those mistakes once.”

“Hard to imagine you making mistakes,” she murmurs, her voice softer. “You’re always so… controlled.”

Her eyes flash with something, not fear but awareness. She knows the man who was so gentle last night is capable of things she might not want to dwell on.

“Some things you do can’t be undone, Trix.” I keep my voice steady. “The real question is whether you’re honest about that.”

She watches me for a moment, then nods. “I know.” Her hand finds mine, our fingers slotting together. “I’ve seen it.”

The image of her at the hospital—covered in someone else’s blood, wielding that speculum with fierce determination—slams into me. She fought like she’d finally realized her own strength wasn’t something to fear.

“Ready?” I say, pulling her up beside me.

She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Where are we headed?”

“Dinner. You need food.” I steer her toward the locker room. “Give me five minutes to shower and change.”

“I could join you,” she teases. Her voice drops, and my pulse kicks against my ribs.

“Tempting, but Dad would totally notice if we vanished into the locker room together.” I press a quick kiss to her lips. “Hang tight. I’ll be fast.”

When I step out, Trixie is exactly where I left her, but now she’s chatting with one of the club prospect’s sisters, and Arabella, whose hands are flying as she tells a story.

“And then he just stood there, nose bleeding, while she’s towering over him with this look on her face like—” Arabella stops, eyes wide when she sees me. “Oh my God, Carter, did you know your girlfriend is a total badass?”

Trixie blushes. “It’s not a big deal.”