The pre-fight routine was as natural as breathing to Zeph, but he’d never thought about how strange it looked to an outsider until now.

Cooking an extra portion of the protein-loaded light lunch for River, going for a quick jog with River by his side, heading to the gym for a warmup with River watching him and Bo…

It was nice.

Zeph was surprised at how damn well River fit in. He didn’t distract them, but he watched closely as Zeph went through everything he and Bo had been practicing. The blend of wrestling, jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai, and kickboxing had been intense, because every discipline required different muscles. His goal of beating Rhino if they took it to the floor seemed achievable, but he and Bo were worried about what would happen if Rhino had been working on his upper-body strength and speed.

With the weigh-in over, he was eating as often as he could stand, and River didn’t join in all the meals, but he also didn’t look weirded out or tease him like he’d expected.

By lunchtime they were done training, not wanting to burn more energy than was totally necessary. With the adrenaline beginning to surge at the prospect of the fight that evening, it was hard for Zeph to keep his hands off River, but Bo took care of that by getting them both over to his place for a video-gaming marathon.

Kicking ass at Mario Kart had to help improve his morale, right? Next time, he’d have to train River in some of the warmup exercises he was doing so he could have another partner.

It startled Zeph how easily he thought of a next time. Thinking ahead to his next fight was something he strictly avoided until after a fight, so he had to squash that idea now. Even after the fight was dangerous.

His job now was to visualize the fight—every tiny detail from wrapping his hands to applying Vaseline, from walking up the stairs to the octagon to raising his hand in victory after the fight.

Once their gaming was done, River kept playing with Bo while Zeph walked around Bo’s yard for a while, visualizing the trading of blows.

If Rhino had been working on upper body and had been using the BJJ reference to throw him off, he’d have to get the fight where he wanted it—on the mat.

That meant leg locks and grappling holds, using his weight to throw Rhino off-balance.

He closed his eyes, choosing a meditation pattern and breathing deeply as he walked the familiar circular gravel path around the birdbath.

He had to win this fight. All banter with Tristan about his career prospects aside, he couldn’t afford a losing streak now. And Rhino was a great guy, but dangerously good in the cage.

Once Rhino was down, he couldn’t let him get back up.

* * *

“Is it time?” River looked anxious but excited as he sidled up to Zeph in the parking lot.

Bo was already waiting for him in the locker room. Zeph knew everything that was about to happen, right up until the first blow. From then on, it was down to a healthy mixture of skill and luck.

“Yep. I gotta go do my thing.” Zeph didn’t feel as nervous as he perhaps should have. “Are you staying?”

“Of course!” River assured him. “I’ll be there to watch you win, babe.”

A smile spread across Zeph’s face as he gazed at River. As it turned out, hearing that felt like an extra confidence boost rather than an extra thing to feel nervous about. His worries on that front were laid to rest instantly.

Yeah, maybe this can work out.

“Okay. Cool. I’ll see you after the post-fight medical,” Zeph told River to give him an idea what to expect.

River nodded once, firmly, and then leaned in. He cupped Zeph’s cheeks in his palms and pressed their lips together once. “Go kick his ass.”

Zeph beamed at River and pulled back, then clapped his shoulder. “I will.”

When he got to the locker room, Rhino was waiting to say hello. They half-hugged and clapped each other’s backs as they joined the rest of the fighters who were up tonight.

They were going third in the lineup, right after what promised to be a hell of a fight between an upstart newbie and one of the older, more experienced guys in the sport. Zeph just hoped they could hold the audience’s interest after that.

One of the other fighters, Odin, waved to catch his attention. “You showed up.”

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to beat Rhino’s ass for the world.”

“My ass appreciates your confidence,” Rhino retorted.

“Oh, it will,” Zeph winked.

Odin interrupted, “You hear what Trip did the other day?”

“No,” Zeph grunted as he flopped on a bench and nodded at Bo. “What’d his dumb ass get up to this time?” Trip was infamous for making stupid decisions before a fight. He’d gotten dumped by two trainers already for it.

“Went to Reno on a bender—”

“Jesus,” Rhino snorted.

“—picked up a couple cheap hookers—” Odin continued.

“Sex workers,” Zeph reminded him.

“Whatever. Picked up something—not cash—to pay them in…”

Zephyr stared. “What the fuck?”

“Only he’s a dumbass, so he picked a cop and got busted. He’s in a holding cell right now. Freddy ain’t bailing him out. His girlfriend is pissed.”

“Freddy?”

“Oh, yeah. His new trainer.”

“About to be old trainer, again,” Zeph rolled his eyes. “Jesus. We’re a big deal, but we ain’t rock stars.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rhino jumped on the spot and warmed up, stretching and bending.

Zeph grinned, then started his own stretches. The atmosphere down here was nice—not aggressive and hostile like people thought it would be between the fighters. Up at the top levels, they had separate locker rooms, but they also had one or two fights in a night. This was the midlist of fights, but heavily promoted. A win here meant good things for your career.

“You ready?”

“Always.” Then, Rhino hesitated and tossed him a frown. “Not feeling so good today, though.”

“The better to kick your ass, dude.” Zeph eyed him, gauging if he meant a little nauseous or actually about to pass out.

He seemed okay, and he responded to the banter as always. “Always about my ass. Find a new obsession.”

“But my shrine is almost complete.” Zeph dropped to the floor for a few one-handed pushups.

Rhino had never admitted to nerves before, but this was a bigger night than most. The guy had a lot of career pressure on him, just like Zeph did.

They separated naturally minutes before the fight, each of their trainers giving them the last-minute pep talk and guidance, reminding them what openings to look for. Zeph passed along what Rhino had said, but Bo reminded him it could well be a feint—an attempt to make him look weak before he rebounded in the second round.

He’d stick to the game plan, then.

The roar of the crowd as they ascended the stairs would never grow old. The adrenaline from every little pre-fight moment—entering the cage, greeting the referee, playing up to the crowd…

Zeph was fucking high off it, but not so high he couldn’t remember the one little, yet huge, difference tonight: River. He tried to look around for River in the crowd. He had a vague idea where he’d be sitting, since he’d scored him the tickets, but it was hard to see and he only had a few seconds to do it.

He spotted him only from the shock of platinum-blond hair and managed the briefest grin before he was out of time.

Zeph’s world narrowed to Rhino, and vice versa. Even the referee, right there in their peripheral vision, couldn’t punch through the surging adrenaline, the raw testosterone-fueled fighting instinct that made his head spin and his buddy look like the Goliath to be wrestled.

They circled each other once, twice, and then Rhino went for a quick hit to the torso, testing his limits.

Zeph dodged and landed an uppercut in response, testing right back to judge his speed today. The blow barely glanced off Rhino’s shoulder, but it must have hit him right as he was shifting balance, because Rhino went down hard.

The audience would hate Zeph to take him down so fast in the first round, and it wasn’t a clean fight if he pressed now, but he followed. He hit his knees by Rhino to make sure he wasn’t trying to sweep his legs out from under him.

But Rhino wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression a grimace at first.

Time slowed as Rhino’s expression softened and the fight went out of his body.

The fight half-forgotten, Zeph grabbed the front of Rhino’s shirt. The audience roared in disapproval, expecting a dirty hit now, expecting the round to end this soon. Zeph ignored them and shook Rhino once.

He didn’t respond.

Shit.

Before Zeph could even raise his hand to alert the referee, the man was there, pressing between them, and then there were medical staff.

Rhino wasn’t getting back up. The fight was over. The ring doctor was beside him, working busily on his pulse, his breathing, talking to him and leaning in close. The stretcher was there, and a couple more nurses? Attendants? Some people were there.

Zeph was forgotten, only a couple of feet back but utterly out of the picture.

While he worked, the referee turned game show host, apologizing to the audience for whatever they’d missed in the pre-fight medical clearance. He started telling an anecdote from the locker room earlier.

He was distracting them from the truth that was sinking into Zeph’s brain, slowly but with the catatonic torpor of an ice cube on his palm. By the time it melted, Zeph was numb but utterly certain. Staring at his friend’s face, he knew it before the ambulance attendants even arrived.

Rhino was dead.

Zeph crouched on the ring floor as Rhino was finally hustled out of the ring for a futile ambulance trip. His eyes fixated on one little detail—the limp, taped-up hand that slipped free from the gurney before Rhino was strapped in.

Then he was covered with a blanket and there were staff members urging him to his feet and out of the ring while they reset, prepared for the next fight. Glossed over what had just happened, until the news broke later.

Dead. He’d been talking to him minutes ago, threatening him, shooting the shit like they did before every fight.

And now he was gone.

Zeph’s brain couldn’t reconcile it. In seconds, one of the toughest men he knew was gone.

By the time he tipped his head back to drink the sugary crap they were giving him, it was much too late to keep the shock from setting in.

Zeph swallowed the rest of the drink and rolled his head back, ignoring their questions as he gripped the side of the familiar post-fight medical table. Of course he knew his damn name and age. He hadn’t gotten a concussion, he’d killed a man.

Somehow, he’d killed Rhino.