In a quick move, Mav throws a jab. But Taz dodges it by rapidly swinging his head to the side a split second before it connects. They trade places and Mav puts his back to me.

When he does, my eyes roam over the biggest tattoo I’ve ever seen. The HOC colors as the boys call them. The HOC insignia spans from the top of his spine to his lower back. It’s massive. The middle arrow of the chaos symbol follows the line of his vertebrae. It sinks under the hem of his jeans, and as he moves, the muscles in his back bulge and pop, making the image dance. It’s so damn sexy I have to clench my thighs together to fight the ache building between them.

I’d like to trace the design. Every line, every nuance. The wings. The arrows. The banner with the words that every HOC besides Mav lives by, Revel in chaos, regret nothing.

Mav’s the exception.

Because Mav is full of regrets.

Taz’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Gettin’ slow, brother.” He bounces on his feet and moves to the side. He moves fast, throws a punch, and lands a solid blow to Mav’s ribs.

An oomph sound escapes Mav and a grimace spreads across his face.

Taz chuckles. “Shit man, you’re gettin’ soft. Or should I say hard. The stray still got your head spinnin’ but not the head above your should—”

Mav throws a jab and slams his fist into Taz’s cheek, cutting off whatever he was going to say.

“Fuck!” Taz laughs, cups his jaw, and rubs it with his glove. His laugh comes out manic and unstable. “Damn, that one’s gonna leave a mark. Hey, maybe I can get her to kiss it better.”

Grumbling under his breath, Mav walks to the ropes. He says just loud enough for me to hear, “Try it, and Doc will be wirin’ your jaw shut.”

Taz finds his response hilarious.

I readjust the heavy bag on my shoulder and as I do, it knocks a wrench on a shelf and sends it clanging to the floor. I cringe as the noise echoes and both men turn toward me.

There’s no point in hiding anymore, so with my head down I trudge forward until I’m a few feet from the ring.

Taz leans with crossed arms on the top rope and peers down at me. “You wanna go a couple of rounds with me, little stray?” The side of his mouth lifts. “If it’s your first time, I’ll take it nice and easy on ya. Go as slow as you like. Don’t worry, it only stings for a sec.” His cunning smile tells me he’s not talking about boxing.

Rolling my eyes, I say to Mav, “I’m ready when you are.”

His eyes pierce me where I stand as they take me in. He blinks, but doesn’t say a thing. In fact, I’m beginning to doubt he heard me at all. His head is tilted down and he’s looking at me through those thick, black lashes, which make his eyes appear darker than normal. Bringing one glove up to his mouth, he bites the strings to loosen them while keeping his eyes on me.

“How about you throw a few with Mav? Or is it Luce? I’m so confused.” Taz grins and glances at Mav, then back to me.

I shake my head. “No. Pretty sure he’d hurt me.” Mav’s eyes narrow further at that comment. Maybe because just a few hours ago he promised not to hurt you anymore.

“I’ll hold him while you get a couple good licks in,” Taz offers.

I can’t deny that hitting Mav, getting a little revenge, sounds satisfying. I smile a little to myself at the thought. I look up to see Mav scrutinizing my face. He lifts his hand and scrapes his thumbnail over his bottom lip. Meanwhile, his eyes run down my body and back up.

My core tightens and my nipples turn rock hard.

A wicked smile slides across his mouth and my heart quickens. “You want a piece of me, Doll?” His accent stretches his vowels and the gruffness of his voice sends a pleasant flutter through my lower abdomen.

Damn him. Even though my brain is screaming YES, I say, “Nope.”

Maybe it’d be better if I wait for him outside. The fresh air might help me keep dirty thoughts from running rampant through my mind.

“C’mon. Here’s your chance at a free shot. Time to let out some of that fire you keep under wraps,” says the devil’s pit bull.

“Fire?” The word has chills rising on my neck.

“That Irish temper, Doll,” Mav replies.

“Time to be real, little stray,” Taz adds.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask incredulously. “That I’m usually fake?”

They share a look, some kind of silent communication. When they look back at me, Taz smirks. “Why do you think he calls you, Doll?”

What?

A hot and heavy rock hits the bottom of my stomach. My gaze swings to Mav. “That’s why you call me Doll?” I knew it wasn’t a compliment. But I thought maybe, it was about my height.

Mav glares at Taz for a moment then his gaze swings to me. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not denying it, are you?” Grinding my teeth, I wait for his reply. His silence drives me to act. “One punch,” I say, dropping my bag to the floor. “If I hit you, you’re not going to do anything?”

The side of his mouth twitches as if to smile. “I won’t move a muscle.”

Taz helps me put on the gloves. I’m fired up and ready to lay into Mav until I turn around to face him. When I meet his eyes, I freeze as doubt circles through me.

What if this is a trick?

He steps closer. “Eye for an eye. Blood for blood. How shit works here. I owe you this, Doll. I spilt yours. Do your best to spill mine.”

Then I realize I’m forgetting one vital thing. I have no idea how to throw a punch. I mean, I get the mechanics, but I heard of people breaking their hands throwing a punch and the last thing I need is a broken hand.

Mav raises an eyebrow. “Change your mind?”

“I’ve never thrown a punch before.”

He peers over my shoulder, makes some noise in the back of his throat, then mutters, “I’ll show her.”

Taz snorts and chuckles.

Mav steps into my personal space. First, he straights my wrist. “Keep this straight and strong.” I do what he says. “Good. But it takes more than your fist and your arm to throw a punch.” Taking my fist, he guides it in slow motion to his damaged yet beautiful face. “See, that’s weak. But use your whole body . . .” He puts a hand on my stomach. “Tighten these muscles here.”

He doesn’t have to tell me. My muscles automatically contract as I fight not to show how much his touch affects me. His hand even over my shirt sends sparks of electricity firing through my nerve endings.

“Good.” Grabbing my hips, he twists my body forward. “Now put those together.” We do it together in slow motion. Three, four, and then five times, me pushing my fist out and him twisting my hips.

“Perfect, Doll.”

Perfect Doll.

Irritation pings through me at the nickname and its meaning. However, it’s quickly drowned out by the flames fanning out from his hands on me; the intoxicating scent of him that’s overwhelming my senses. This time, his scent isn’t cloaked by tobacco. It’s all him. His scent. His sweat. All Mav.

My gaze is drawn to the vein in his neck. It’s pulsing wildly, making me wonder if his heart is beating as erratically as mine is. My gaze ventures down again, this time to the tattoo sitting at eye level in front of me. It’s in the center of his delicious pec covered by golden skin. I read and reread the bible verse inked in small, cursive letters. I try and fail to understand the meaning of it. But it’s about darkness, light, and death. All the things I see when I look at him.

His hand cups the back of my neck. He squeezes once and puts his thumb under my chin so he can lift my face to meet his. His tongue comes out and sweeps against the cut on his lip, and my eyes follow. I’m drawn back to the kiss we shared and I remember in vivid detail the way his mouth felt against mine, demanding and hungry, soft and yet savage. Like he’s been famished for half a decade and I’m the only sustenance he needs to survive.