Page 53 of Knox

He’s in sweatpants and a baggy shirt, which means he must have run straight from the airport the second he heard I needed backup for this stupid party.

Even dressed down, and with jetlag, the man looks like a Korean idol ready to shoot a skincare campaign.

Leo, all giddy, turns to the rest of the group. “No offense, but that man is one of my absolute favorite Harknetts.”

“None taken,” we all say at the exact same time.

“Tae!” I step forward, lifting my arm to greet him, but the movement pulls at my sore rib muscles, and I flinch.

Ouch.

…Damn, Chief Iacob.

It’s been almost two weeks since that paintball game, and I’m still feeling his freaking kick. Maybe I should invite him for sparring another time.

“Knox, why are you twitching?”

“Hi, Tae. Good to have you back,” I smile at him. “How was the certification?”

“I passed,” Tae replies, setting his cocktail glass down on the bar. “Why are you twitching?”

“I’m not…” I lie.

Tae closes the distance, pressing his palm to my forearm, sliding it up my bicep, and starts mapping the muscle of my chest.

“I told you he was going to notice!” Damián cries with laughter. “Pay up, you sexy osito.”

I pull out a fifty-dollar bill and pass it over without looking at him, because my eyes are locked onto Cillian.

Now he isn’t even pretending to listen to his groupies anymore. Instead, he’s staring at us, his eyes narrowed into a glare.

The fuck is his problem now?

“You need to lay low from MMA,” Tae tells me, his palm and fingers still checking the damage on my muscles. “At least for two weeks.”

“Tae, I’m fine,” I grunt, my eyes still on Cillian across the garden. “It stopped hurting a week ago.”

That should have been the end of it, but Tae slides his fingers down my ribs and presses. A sudden spike of agony flares through my side, forcing an involuntary flinch from my body.

“Argg… The fuck, Tae?” I gasp, and he laughs.

“You were saying?”

“Fine.” I give up. “I’ll tone it down.”

Leo sighs, completely enamored by our medic. “Is he always so…”

“Violent?” Damián suggests.

“Amazing?” Leo corrects, his eyes dreamy.

“Sí, that too.”

“How did it happen?” Tae asks, stepping in front of me to check the alignment of my neck and shoulders.

“Paintball game. Took a couple of hits from the chief of police.”

“Come by the HQ tomorrow. I’ll give you a shot of Toradol to help with the tissue recovery and inflammation. Then I’ll run a couple of kinesiology tape strips across your ribs, from here…” Tae draws a line from my spine, around my waist, and to my chest. “…Till here.”