Page 112 of Unbreakable Thread

“I didn’t ask,” she growls.

That only makes the guys laugh. She dabs at his wounds with cotton, then smears petroleum jelly across the broken skin.

When she’s done, Sol turns to me and delivers a gentle kiss on the lips. “You go kick ass and come back to us.”

“Always,” I promise.

She lifts my hood up and pats my chest. “I love you, Max.”

“I love you too, tesoro.” I wink at her to ease the tension. Before leaving, I add, “Stay put and behave yourself.”

I’m sure she rolled those pretty eyes of hers as the door shut behind me.

Sol

“I can’t sit here and wait,” Drake growls, followed by Hector agreeing.

“Same. I need to see if he’s okay,” I tell them, my stomach tensing into a ball.

Drake’s fingers curl around the edge of the wooden door, and he pries it open just enough for one eye to peer through the crack. The roar hits us like a physical wave—thousands of voices crashing together, feet stomping in rhythm against the arena floor, a thunderous pulse that vibrates through the walls.

It’s only been five minutes since Max stepped out. The unknown is making us lose our minds. With these types of fights, you just never know.

“Let’s stand in the entryway. We can see from there,” Drake suggests. “Listen, Sunny, stay close to me.”

I nod and loop my arm in his. From a distance, we can see Max fight his opponent. He’s a big, bulky man with wild, untamed hair. If I’m not mistaken, it looks like scars on his face.

The fabric of my shirt gathers in my sweaty hand, pulling at the collar. The guy throws a punch at Max’s cheek. He staggers back. I want to scream to pump him up, but that will only make him lose the fight.

“Come on, Max…you can do it,” I chant in my head repeatedly. My heart is about to roll out of my chest by how fast it’s beating.

Hector bellows about uppercuts while Drake screams for jabs. I barely hear them—all I can see is Max, and all I can think is please, let this be over.

Blood and saliva spray from the guy’s mouth as Max’s fist connects. A sneer twists his opponent’s face before his arms become a blur of retaliatory strikes.

Breathe. Breathe.

“What the fuck, Max? Where’s your head at?” Drake shouts.

“You shouldn’t say his name.” I grimace at Drake.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back.

Max circles him like a predator; finds me in the crowd. Everything on his face happened at once—every emotion shown. Fury, relief, something that looks almost like he expected this. He knew I wouldn’t listen. The veins in his neck bulge as his jaw tightens when our gazes lock for a split second.

Yup, too late to hide now. So I might as well yell at him. “Come on, champ, you got this. Finish him.” Just don’t kill him.

Max throws punch after punch, and his opponent stumbles back. He corners him in and hits him so hard his face swings to the side. Spit and blood fly out of the man’s mouth. The man loses balance and falls to the ground.

The opponent remains on the canvas longer than he should, prompting others to assist him to his feet.

Max claims victory. Someone leaps between the ropes, reaching for Max’s wrists to raise them triumphantly. But Max is already ducking through the ropes, leaving the ring. The knot in my chest finally unravels. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.

His eyes are burning hot with fury as he walks toward me. I wet my lips, not with fear—With something else entirely. Kinda turns me on. What makes a relationship catch fire is a rising pulse—that’s how you know you’ve struck a match to his heart and made his dick hard.

Max’s jaw clenches in front of me. He pulls me to him with a tug on my neck. His thick fingers run circles on my skin. His hot breath fans my face. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

“I did. I’m with them. I didn’t want to stay alone in the room.”