I’d just acted out one of my longest held fantasies, and I’d had no idea until it was too late.

I’m disgusted that my hands are shaking—actually shaking—as I leave the room that still smells of spun sugar and make my way across the playroom. Around me, couples and triplets and one full on orgy explore their own pleasure, but for once the heat in the room leaves me cold. I almost feel as though I’ve left my own body, am watching myself walk down the stairs.

The control that is my constant companion is gone, and without it I’m full of panic and fear.

Allegra Flynn hates my fucking guts. Oh, I’d known that was probable. I’d hate myself, in her place.

But the reality is a stone in my gut.

Everything that I did back then, I did it for her. But she’ll never know. Even if I told her, she’d never believe me. Especially not now.

I’d had no idea that seeing her again would affect me so much. Okay, I might have suspected, which is why I’d had no intentions of seeking her out while I was in town. I’d planned to do what I came to do, and then go back to New York, back to my solitude, and the chilly isolation that I had surrounded myself with.

But seeing her, touching her, tasting her…it’s changed everything. I feel like the boy I once was, yearning for something I can’t have.

She’s not my stepsister anymore. But given what’s transpired between us, this fact doesn’t make it any less taboo.

Gavin tries to catch my attention as I leave the club, but I wave him off. If he gets too close I might find myself with my hands around his throat, demanding to know what he was thinking, allowing Allegra access to his den of debauchery. A girl like her has absolutely no business there.

Though when I think of the way she responded to the strikes of my palm, when I remember the way her greedy little pussy clutched at my fingers, I wonder if maybe she does, in fact, have needs that are compatible to mine. The idea is… exhilarating. At least, it is until I imagine her in one of those rooms with another man, pursuing her pleasure after I’m gone.

The rage that washes over me at the thought of another man’s hands on the woman whose taste is still on my fingers is not so far from how it felt to have my fists slam into Theo’s face.

I need a release. Getting into my car, I know that after tonight, I can’t even consider finding another woman to satisfy my urges, so I drive to the only other place I can think of that will suit my purpose.

Parking the fancy car on a dark street, I enter the rundown building. It’s late, so I don’t expect to encounter too many people—in fact, I’m surprised they’re even open. But Tristan was the only person I’d told about my visit, and I figured he might have stayed late, expecting me.

I step into the gym, the heavy odor of sweat and leather and rubber like a slap in the face—it’s a far cry from the cultured air of my circles in the city.

The stench has a cautious smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The place hasn’t changed in six years, when Tristan, MMA stars in his eyes, would drag me here to watch the guys train.

It’s still a raw no-frills place to work out. And now it belongs to him, one of the only people I’ve trusted in this lifetime, which means for tonight, it can be my sanctuary.

The gym is nearly empty. There’s one massive giant at one of the heavy bags, pounding the hell out of it, and two guys in the boxing ring, one holding pads for the other to slam his fists into. No women, which suits me just fine at the moment.

Walking up to the side of the ring, I lean on the bottom rope.

“Hey buddy,” I say to the light-haired man with the tribal tats winding up his strong arms as he spins and backhands one of the pads, “you’re dropping your arm.”

He stops dancing around and turns to glare at me. Recognition settles in but the glare doesn’t fade as he sneers at my club attire. “Then get in here and show me how it’s done, Fancypants”

“I need to change first.” I open my arms indicating my denim and leather.

“Then change. I ain’t going anywhere.” He gives me a lopsided grin, which is amplified by the mouth guard.

I want to laugh. I might look fancy now, but I still have the mean streak born in prison. Fucker doesn’t stand a chance.

In the locker room, I search out a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I hang up my own clothes in a locker and return, crossing the gym. I roll under the last rope into the ring. Tristan tosses me some gloves the moment I’m on my feet, still sneering. The second I have them on and partially tied, head gear on, he’s dancing toward me.

“Remember how to box, Fancypants?”

“I think I can figure it out, Twinkletoes.”

He throws a right hook and I dodge out of the way. He’s not as fast as I know he can be. He was the youngest ever to win an MMA middleweight championship title. I watched the match online.

He’s good. I won’t say I’m better, but like I said, I’m definitely meaner.

We dance around the ring, both landing some good punches. Sweat sheens my skin, and I feel the warm burn of my muscles at work. He hits me a few more times than I hit him. Normally that would piss me right the hell off, but tonight I welcome it.

Maybe it’s penance for my sins, or the fact that I’m not as quick as I used to be. I haven’t had to use my fists in a long time.

After a half hour of being used as a punching bag, I pull back, tugging the headgear off, panting. Wiping my arm over my forehead to mop away the sweat, I suck in air and size up my opponent.

Tristan Hemsworth, the best friend I ever had, shoots me a cocky grin, tears off his gloves and comes at me again, but this time for a hug, slapping me on the back.

“Took you long enough to get your ass back here.”

I don’t answer, instead taking off my gloves, tossing them to the side and following Tristan out of the ring. He tosses me a bottle of water and we collapse on the floor, leaning back against the ring as we fill each other in on the Cliff’s Notes version of each other’s last six years.

When I’m done, he looks at me, shakes his head and laughs. “Back then you were most likely to land your ass in jail, and now you’re a fucking millionaire. How the fuck?”

“Well, you were still right about the first part.” Heavy silence descends, and Tristan smacks himself in the head.

“That was dumb. Sorry, man.” He looks contrite. I’m not actually mad—the past is the past.

“I’ll forgive you by watching your face when I tell you I’m actually a billionaire.”

I’m right. His expression is comical. His jaw almost drops to the floor.

“I… wow. How?” He looks around his gym, as if he’ll find the answers amongst the punching bags.

“Won’t bore you with basics. Good investments, mostly. And yeah, it still baffles the fuck out of me most days.” I finish the water and reach for a towel, mopping my face off.

“So, you thought you’d come visit your peasant friend before heading back to the city?” He arches an eyebrow at me, nonchalant, but I think I see a touch of hurt there.

We might have spent most of our time drinking, but he was still the best friend I ever had.

“It’s not like that.” I run a hand over my sopping-wet hair, trying to find the right words. “I…”

“You don’t have to explain.” He tosses his empty water bottle into the recycle bin. “Two points. Yeah! Oh here’s something you might find interesting. Guess who comes here all the time?”

I cock my head in response as I send my own bottle flying. It hits the rim. Damn.

“Allegra Flynn.” He runs a hand through the spikes of his hair.

The fresh water bottle stops midway to my mouth. Just hearing her name on another man’s lips, even Tristan’s, has my fingers tightening, slopping cold water onto my hand.

“Is that so?” I school my face into a mask of stone.

“Yeah.” Tristan heaves a happy sigh. “She asked me to train her. Nice to see a woman want to get strong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I appreciate the way her ass looks in those tight little pants. She grew up really fucking nice.”

I can barely contain my snarl. “Shut it.”

Tristan chuckles. “Yeah, you always had a thing for her, didn’t you? Not like she was your real sister, anyway. And even then, with those little dresses and those glasses, she was a looker. Jailbait, but a looker.”

Craning my neck, I glare at my so-called friend.

Tristan laughs again. “Chill, man. I’ve tried. She’s not interested. Probably every guy in this gym has, but she’s never taken one home. Least, not that I know of. And the way these crass idiots blab, I’m pretty sure I’d know.”

Slowly, I expel the breath I’m holding, forcing every muscle in my body to relax.

If Tristan had said that he’d fucked Allegra, I just might have killed him. And I’m not entirely sure that I’m not serious about that.

“You planning on visiting sweet little sis while you’re in town?” Tristan eyes me sideways, and I try not to show anything on my face.

This morning, my answer would have been a solid no. Now that I’ve had her bent over my knee…

I just don’t fucking know.

With the canny sixth sense that Tristan’s always had regarding me, he pushes just a little further, just enough to get under my skin.

“If you ask me, someone hurt her real bad. Some guy.” He watches me with those long-lashed eyes that all the girls used to swoon over. “By the way she attacks the bag every time she comes in, I’d say she’s working out some issues. Some guy hurt her real bad.”

Yeah. Yeah, I certainly did.