he first MMA club meeting was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, and by the time my last class ended I couldn’t wait to hit someone.

Other than helping me get dressed that first morning, Hayden continued to act like I didn’t exist. Grief does a number on your head, and the rest of the senior class watched warily, waiting for Hayden to warm up to me. Thank God for Stef and Von, who continued to invite me to hang out with them.

I raced to the dorm and changed into a hot pink sports bra and black booty shorts. My body was tight and trim from years of working out and endless training, but I’d never worn anything so revealing. I’d told Dad it was what girls wore in MMA, but he had insisted on sweats and loose fitting T-shirts. I covered up before I left my room, slipping on a pair of navy sweats and a fitted hoodie.

I’d never sparred with a girl. I hoped there was at least one in my weight class who wouldn’t cry if she broke a nail. Plus there was nothing like a good fight to break the ice.

The club met in the smallest of the school’s three gyms. Like the other two, which housed the basketball and volleyball courts, the place was immaculate with spotless floors, great lighting, and top-of-the-line equipment begging to be broken in. Even the air smelled good.

Two huge mats—blue squares trimmed in red to denote sparring rings—were set side by side on the floor. Steel baskets of kick pads, mitts, gloves, and shin guards lined the wall. Across the room a large, rectangular hanging frame supported six pristine punching bags, all evenly spaced.

I stood just inside the door, relishing the familiar sight and sounds of a bunch of guys in various stages of warm up. Some worked the bags or stretched out while others held kick pads and braced for attack. It was the first time I’d truly felt at home since I’d left Karachi. Then I realized there was something else quite familiar. Once again, I was the lone female in a roomful of testosterone.

“Riley!” Von’s surprised face popped up from behind the bag he’d been holding steady, and I was immediately the center of attention. “What are you doing here?”

I swallowed hard and stepped forward.

“This is the MMA club, isn’t it?”

Sam broke away from the group he’d been working with and took a few swaggering strides in my direction. He wore an indigo T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showcasing muscular arms dreamed up by a sculptor. The hue also played up the color of his beautiful eyes.

He shot me a curious smile. “Is this a joke?” He spoke in the uptown boarding school accent so many diplomats’ kids acquired in the UK.

My brows drew together. “If it is, I’m not laughing.”

Sam looked at his buddies, some of whom shrugged, others shaking their heads in annoyance. His smile grew. He planned to blow me off. Damn. And he was so hot. “Look, um…”

“Riley Collins,” I supplied, brushing past him and heading to a nearby bench. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it down like a gauntlet being thrown. If I didn’t have everyone’s undivided attention before, my pink sports bra sure had it now.

“Look, Riley,” he began again.

I slipped off my shoes and let my sweats fall to the ground.

A few schoolboy sniggers came from my appreciative audience. They wouldn’t be laughing for long. I walked directly up to Sam. “What’s your name?” It wouldn’t help my cause if he knew I’d already checked him out.

He crossed his arms. “Sam Hudson, captain of the club.”

“Well, captain,” I said, sauntering into the center of one of the sparring mats. “If you don’t want me here, why don’t you make me leave?”

A chorus of delighted “oohhs” arose as the guys practically licked their lips over the challenge I’d thrown down. A few even slapped Sam on the back like he’d been promised a whole lot more than just a fight.

Von zipped over, his face tight with concern. “What are you doing?” he whispered urgently. “Sam’s the best fighter in the club!”

I began to do some light stretching as if I were indifferent to the conference taking place between Sam and his buddies. “Then it’ll be over in five minutes, and I’ll never darken your door again.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Von muttered.

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but the huddle broke apart; a decision had been made. Sam came to the edge of the mat. “Here’s the deal: if you can hang on for one round without tapping out or, God forbid, crying…” That earned him a laugh. “Then we’ll let you work out with us.”

“A regulation round with Unified Rules?” A round lasted five minutes while the rules specified things such as no hair pulling, eye gouging, or other dirty tricks.

Sam stepped onto the mat and made a show of pulling off his shirt, much as I had done, revealing more of his perfect physique. “Tell you what. Since I way outclass you, we’ll only go for three minutes.” He referred to our weight class. At 115 pounds, I landed in the lightweight division. He looked to be around 170, which would make him a welterweight.

I shrugged indifferently, despite almost swallowing my tongue as he flexed the muscles on his rippling chest. I was accustomed to fighting shirtless guys, but none of them had ever looked quite like this.

“Suit yourself,” I managed to sputter.

I dropped to the mat to stretch my hamstrings, and Von hunkered down next to me. “This is ludicrous,” he said in a stage whisper. “If Sam kills you, you’re going to die without ever realizing you’re madly in love with me.”

His humor lightened my mood. “Then I guess I’ll have to do my best to live through this, won’t I?”

Sam and I both took a few more minutes to warm up before donning fingerless padded gloves. Von velcroed me into headgear that wrapped so far around my head, it cupped my cheekbones. “School rules,” he explained.

I was as ready as I’d ever be.

“Wait,” Von called out, still hovering. “Who’s going to ref?”

“You do it,” Sam said to him, before glancing my way. “That okay with you?”

I nodded, relieved that we’d at least have a fair fight now.

“Tap gloves,” Von instructed. “Let’s keep it friendly.”

Sam’s eyes met mine as our gloves connected. Now that he no longer played captain or postured for his friends, I could read genuine concern in his expression.

“You could walk away now, and I promise no one would give you shit,” he said softly. “You have my word.”

I grinned, thinking about the last time a guy had tried to, in his words, let me off easy. By the time he realized he’d better shut up and fight, he sat dazed on the mat. “That’s very nice of you, but I came here to spar.”

We separated and claimed opposite corners. Von used a remote to set the large digital wall timer for three minutes and then announced, “Begin.”

I immediately started to dance about. Sam dropped into a fighting stance.

The only way to survive the round would be to stay on my feet as long as possible and use my legs for attack. I could never match his reach or strength, and if he got me down into a wrestling match, I’d have only seconds to finish him off before he’d do the same to me. Luckily, most guys based their strategy on fighting other guys, which usually worked in my favor.

He kept his guard up while I circled. “I’m curious,” he said conversationally, over the hoots and hollers of his friends. “Why would a girl like you want to fight?”

My smile didn’t quite reach my eyes. “And what kind of girl would that be?”

He still puzzled over that when, thirty seconds in, the impatient crowd called for action. He straightened slightly and said, “Are we fighting or dancing?”

The moment I waited for had come: the moment he dropped his guard. I threw myself into a side thrusting kick, a knee lift that brought to bear every ounce of my lower body strength. I aimed the heel of my foot at his solar plexus, but he turned at the last possible moment. Still, I delivered a solid blow to his ribcage before I zipped out of range.

Sam staggered a moment, and I wasted no time in delivering another kick, this time to the inside of his upper thigh. Benson had taught me there were a ton of nerves there, and a well-placed jab could make you see stars. Despite the pain I knew he suffered, he threw himself into defense. Playtime was over.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” he gasped.

I danced just out of reach. “That’s the kind of girl I am.”

I saw his muscles gather to deliver a roundhouse kick just before he let fly. If I were a guy, I’m sure he wouldn’t have hesitated to aim for my head. As it was, he foolishly went for my torso, a move I quickly blocked before kicking his standing leg out from under him.

He took a face plant to the mat, and I leaped onto his back. Normally I would never take to the floor so quickly, but it was a golden opportunity. I wrapped my legs around his naked torso and locked my arms across his throat. Our audience howled in derision, egging both of us on.

“Where did you learn how to fight?” he gasped out.

“I’m home schooled. They’ve got tutors for everything these days.” I’d probably given away too much already, but at that moment I didn’t care.

His body glistened with a light sweat as he heaved underneath me. I was still a card-carrying member of the V club, but I wouldn’t be for long if I dwelled on the way his muscles bucked between my thighs. I mentally slapped myself to keep my head in the fight.

He flipped over and we both landed on our backs, though my legs were still locked tightly around his hips. “I think I’m beginning to see the advantages of sparring with girls.” He ran a teasing hand up my bare leg, and the spectators roared their approval.

I increased the chokehold on his throat. There were still a few defensive moves he could use against me, but he didn’t seem so inclined.

“Do you yield?” I asked.

He reached out and thumped the mat twice, drawing jeers from his friends. As we disentangled ourselves, I said in a low voice, “You let me win.”

He got to his feet first and reached down to help me up. When we were face to face he said, “Let’s just say that maybe we both learned something today.”

He reached for a towel and left me on my own to work the bag, though I kept an eye on the other practice matches. Sam engaged in one more bout. It was a tough battle because both fighters were well matched in speed and strength. Ultimately Sam won because he had game in both standing and ground fighting. Von was right; with Sam’s size, he could have totally cleaned my clock. Jogging back to the dorms to shower, I wondered why Sam had held back.

Hayden stood waiting for me when I walked in the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I regarded her blankly. “I don’t know… breathing?”

She shoved her phone in my face. Pictures of Sam and me locked in steamy combat had already been posted, and our expressions said we were both enjoying it way too much. I might as well have stripped naked in front of the entire school. If my dad ever saw these, I’d be toast.

“Sam is off-limits,” she snapped. “Everyone knows that.” She threw her phone in her bag and began packing up her homework to go wherever it was she studied. I’d staked out the library the first night and the common room the next, but I still hadn’t found out where she did homework. I needed to get that tracking software loaded sooner rather than later.

“Does Sam know that?”

She stopped for a moment and glared. “We broke up just before summer break. Maybe it’s over, maybe it’s not.”

Damn. “I didn’t know he was your ex.”

“Now you do.” She resumed grabbing every book from her desk and angrily shoving them into her tote bag, even for classes she didn’t have the next day. When her bag was zipped, she paused. “Look, I don’t give a shit that our dads were once supposedly friends. You’re nothing to me. So unless you back off from Sam, I will make you sorry we ever met. Are we clear?”

I wanted to tell her I was already sorry I’d ever crossed her selfish, spoiled path, but I couldn’t forget my purpose here. I shrugged. “I’m not interested in Sam.” Maybe if I repeated that a thousand more times, I could believe it myself.

My phone chimed as she slammed out the door.

HORSES.

Crap.

“This is exactly what I was talking about!” Major Taylor brandished a smartphone four inches from my face, making it impossible to miss yet another picture of Sam and me.

She’d hauled me though the dark of the empty security offices until we reached her door. The only source of light inside was a single desk lamp, which lent her office a sinister air. I slumped in the same uncomfortable chair as our last interview.

“Now everyone on social media knows what you’re capable of! You were supposed to blend in. This is what comes from sending a child to do a soldier’s job.” She slapped the phone on her desk and paced the small space like an animal in a cage.

Tears welled while I stewed, but I’d rather die than shed one in front of her. She had no clue how lonely it was here. I scrubbed the sleeve of my sweatshirt across my eyes. “Who posted those pictures anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she fumed. “Everyone in this place watches that Instagram feed like a hawk. You better get on it if you’re going to continue to put yourself on display.”

I scowled at her. “How was I supposed to know?”

She stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “People like you and me don’t have the luxury of screwing up,” she said, her voice as unyielding as concrete. “You must think before you act and be three steps ahead of everyone else. If you don’t, you will be gone. That’s a promise.”

I wasn’t a waste of flesh, and I could prove it. “Hayden leaves the room every night for study hall.”

“What?” That got her attention.

“Every night about fifteen minutes before we have to sign in for study period, Hayden leaves the dorm. I’m not sure where she goes yet, but as soon as I get my hands on her phone and get the tracking software installed, I will.”

She hadn’t forgiven me yet, but this had definitely given her something to chew on. “See that you do, and report back to me immediately.”