I decided to your with an update. Soooo... words later, I present to you Chapter 32.

This took longer to publish, but cut me some slack... It was a hard week. 😅

Give me , give me food, by clicking that sweet on the bottom of your screen. (I appreciate every little sign of love towards this book, you have no idea!)

No, without further ado...

I always did that: prepare myself for the most difficult, most uncomfortable, most challenging situations beforehand, so the shock and stress wouldn't consume me as much. I did this before I came to the US, before every clinical exam. It worked against the worst possible scenarios.

Nothing prepared me for the scene that welcomed me and Jaxon as we battled our way with the crowd, all the way to our seats. In this underground stadium the cheering fans seemed wilder, more energetic, and, even though this wasn't my first encounter with crazy Guardian-fans and MMA enthusiasts, the return of the Guardian to his original base, his father's gym, was huge for everyone that knew the athlete's story.

"To think this gym would look even better after that tragedy..."

I turned around to find the person who said that, only to lose the owner of the voice among the crowd.

"Did you hear that?" I turned to Jax, whose stone-cold façade was back in place like a mask he was wearing when he felt uncomfortable or cornered.

"Let's go find the others."

Jax pulled me behind him, as we merged with the people around us, without uttering another word until we sat beside our favorite couple.

I didn't think this was possible, but alas the day had come and my nightmare became a reality, when I saw Markus and Stella in matching 'Superman'-themed t-shirts. In public, no less.

"What? We didn't have the Guardian's merch. This was the next best thing," my brother tried to reason with me, but I just rolled my eyes; it should be expected.

Unlike all the previous times, tonight I saw everything differently. The crowd was cheering as always, the mesmerizing lights complemented the scene around me, but my attention was elsewhere tonight. No, tonight my eyes were directed towards the men on the other side of the ring, I've never noticed before. Men in tuxedos, that resembled grim reapers, ready to devour the people in the middle of the ring, if they dared dishearten them. Dangerous people, with menace in their eyes.

The more I dared gaze towards the opposite side of the stage, the darker and shadier it seemed. If only he didn't warn me. If only he didn't warn me about this side of the sport. Maybe then I could continue living in sweet ignorance.

But who was I kidding; there was no way I could ever let this go. I was as stubborn as a bull.

My attention remained on them for a while, until the Guardian entered the stage. In dark sportswear himself, he looked beautiful. Mesmerizing. Dangerous. It was difficult not to concentrate on him. He had this thing about him, demanding my attention everywhere he was.

And he had it.

"Jokes aside, I'm glad you came," Jax's words snapped me back to my friend's company, as he nodded towards Markus and Stella.

"You got that right," I teased back, when I felt Stella retaliate with a pinch to my side.

If only that pinch was hard enough to ground me better.

I thought I was prepared. I thought the signs were positive. I thought my plan was solid.

Chills erupted on my skin the moment our gazes crossed, and when he clenched his jaw, his fists tight by his side, I knew I was in trouble. His temper was boiling up, when he realized I was actually there, taking on his challenge, making a choice.

'I'm choosing you!' That was what my presence meant.

He bit his lip, shaking his head, as he attempted to hide the small smirk at the corner of his lips. Elijah was by his corner, probably giving him a last-minute advice before the match began, but his eyes never left mine, as he pinned me in place.

He couldn't wait to finish his match.

I couldn't either.

No sooner did the referee blow his whistle, and the Guardian's opponent was on the ground heaving. Brandon didn't lay a finger on Lowell "The Lion" Tracy, while he was on the ground. Instead, he waited for him to stand on his own two feet, before he crushed him back down once more. Then he waited again, toyed with the lion in a reversed cat and mouse game, allowing him but a second to breathe, before he was back on the ground.

Brandon's punches were ruthless, colliding with Lowell's skin with sharp efficiency. Each blow was accompanied by great precision, while he avoided each and every one of Lowell's attempts.

The lion was wounded on the ground, his golden mane a mess around his bruised face, while Brandon jumped around him, teasing him with his movements. In the blink of an eye, Lowell was on his feet, delivering a sloppy punch to Brandon's face. Brandon moved a couple of steps back, rubbing the red streak from the left side of his head, a result of the lion's scratch, before he was back on Lowell's tail with another harsh blow.

Lowell Tracy was on the ground, when the referee blew his whistle to announce the end of the first round. Instead of walking to his corner, Lowell started shouting profanities against Brandon, making the audience retaliate with boos and hisses.

"You're a crazy motherfucker, King. You're fucking crazy."

Brandon didn't acknowledge the lion's bruised ego, didn't look his way, as his opponent stepped off the stage. He didn't even look the referee's way as he blew his whistle for a final time, announcing the end of this match. The crowd was going crazy, showing their disapproval with loud profanities, as the match concluded so fast.

Nothing could touch him. Instead, he was preoccupied with piercing me in place with his intense glare. He promised me he was 'gonna finish it in the first round', and he did. The fire in his forest-green eyes was burning a message in my mind.

If challenged, he'd win.

If he promised me something, he'd do everything in his power to keep that promise.

That determination should scare me, but I craved more; more warmth, more fire.

Lost in my own world, my mind didn't have time to acknowledge the death stares he was receiving, not just from the hard-core fans, who were expressing their disappointment through harsh words, but also from the quiet sharks in tuxedos on the other side of the stage.

Were they upset with him? With Lowell?

Was he in trouble?

Was this my fault?

"I think they're waiting for you." Jax's voice paused my unsettling thoughts, as he pointed towards Elijah and Liam, who were standing by the door to Brandon's personal locker-room.

Now that everyone was preoccupied with the victor in the ring was my chance.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins, making me feel invincible as I walked towards the hallway that led to Brandon's private room. I was by the door, when a voice halted my movements.

"Where do you think you're going, beautiful?"

That voice... I've heard it before.

I didn't have time to react, when Elijah showed up out of nowhere. From behind his wide, muscular back, I couldn't see who the voice belonged to, but the twisting feeling in my gut was enough warning that this man was bad news.

"Go back where you came from, James."

"Oh, come one, Eli... Can't I meet Bandon's little friend?"

I didn't appreciate his patronizing attitude, but Elijah's words stopped me from acting recklessly. "This isn't the time," he told him, triggering what I was best known for; analyzing and overthinking.

Realizing I was still frozen in place, Elijah turned to me once James was gone, ushering me inside the room. "He'll be here in a while. Probably taking photos, answering reporters' shit-questions and all that." I bit my bottom lip at the harsh intensity of his voice, nodding quietly. "He won't take long. He hates that part of the job," he added, his voice softer than before.

A few weeks ago, I felt I didn't belong by his side. That his world was too different from mine. In a weird way, although I knew I stood out like a sore thump, that feeling didn't exist anymore.

Cazzo, I was good for him.

And he was good for me. He made me feel alive, in a way I haven't for the past twenty-four years. His fire was going to burn me, but I'd gladly burn down with him.

If anyone thought otherwise, I'd punch some sense into them.

I even considered taking up a lesson or two; I didn't want to hurt myself doing it the wrong way. I wanted to be a surgeon, damn it. And a good one, at that.

Before I had time to dwell on these thoughts further, the click of the door alerted me to the man in the room. He leaned against the door, as he faced me, a hard expression on his face.

"You came." I swallowed the lump in my throat at the husky tone of his voice.

"I did," I said, conviction in mine, as I never lost contact with his intense eyes.

Pushing away from the door, he took a few steps towards me, while I did a quick damage control of his body. He came out almost completely unscathed, if not for the bruised knuckles and torn left eyebrow.

"Where do you keep your ice-packs and first-aid-kit?"

The smirk on his lips was instantaneous, almost as if he was expecting it from me. Shaking his head in amusement, he went through the door to his bathroom, only to come back with a leather bag, settling it on his desk.

I took his hands in mine, feeling my stomach clench at the bruises on his skin. "Come with me," I nodded towards the bathroom.

I could feel his eyes burning the side of my head as I pulled both hands under the cold water, massaging the overused muscles. Like a ticking-time bomb about to burst, he remained still, waiting for the right moment to react, while my hands smoothed over the hot skin.

Once back in his office, I opened the bag trying to find gauze for his hands, only to be impressed at the material found inside. It was filled to the brim with all the supplies I needed to fix him up.

"What's it gonna be?" I asked, new annoyance in my tone. He turned to look at me, questions written allover his face, as I sighed. "What's it gonna be with you and hurting your left eyebrow? I don't know if steri-strips will suffice this time."

The same fucking spot as last time.

"I think you'll need stitches," I said with a fake tone of indifference, a challenge, but he rolled his eyes, seeing right through me.

"The strips will have to do," was his answer, as he settled me on his desk; the way he did before.

He took a step closer to me, his hands on the desk by my sides, but not close enough. Ignoring his challenge, I found what I needed in the bag to clean the new wound as best as I could. He hissed at the burn of the antiseptic spray, his hands in fists, as he took a deep breath. I almost felt bad for hurting him, before I remembered how reckless he was inside the ring.

"What were you thinking?" There was no answer, as he waited for me to elaborate. "That was no way to win the match. Or were you feeling extra-arrogant tonight?"

"Are you here to complain about the way I play the game?"

At that I bit my lip in anger.

"I don't know why I'm here." My voice was softer, a whisper, but I wasn't yet intimidated by the man in front of me.

"Is that so, doc?" came his teasing words, and that smirk right where it belonged.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed at his tone, before I applied some more antiseptic to the wound, making him hiss once more. It was an unnecessary evil, but this was my arena, and I was going to take advantage when I could.

Of course, Brandon wouldn't be Brandon, if he didn't see right through my act at this power game. In an attempt to win the reins back, his hands moved to pull my knees apart. His movements were wary at first, but when I didn't push him away, he settled his body between my legs. His hands on my thighs were burning, but I couldn't resist his heat.

Unfortunately for him, I was still angry.

"Hope this works. If you're gonna be this way, then I'll act recklessly as well." I was overstepping the boundaries, I knew I was. But I was so damn angry with him.

Pulling the skin closer together, I glued the sides together. Next came the Steri-strips, but I kept shaking my head, deep in thought. "Hope this won't get infected," I said, finishing up, before my eyes found his staring intently at me. "If you notice the wound opening up, you should contact the hospital."

"Oh, should I now?" The huskiness of his voice caught me off guard, and goosebumps formed on my neck, when I felt the warmth of his breath on my skin. He was closer, minimizing the little space between us with intent.

"Y– Yes. You should also keep the wound dry. If you feel like it's clumpy, I don't know, maybe try applying antiseptic cream to the wound... Or perhaps, a spray?" My hand found leverage on his shoulder, tightening my grip to keep me from doing anything crazy.

"Are you asking me, doctor? Why don't you tell me what else I need to take care of?"

His hands traveled up my thighs to my waist, pulling me closer. His lips left a kiss on my forehead, before starting their descent to my jaw, creating a warm trail in their path.

I should stop him, push away, but I was too preoccupied thinking about his last question, thinking about my answer.

Me, me, me.

"So? What's it gonna be, Angel?" he breathed against my ear.

Dio mio, he was playing dirty. I was losing this fight.

It could have been seconds, but to me this burning sensation I was feeling all around my body, scorching my insides, felt like hours. This was torture. The most beautiful, skin tingling, flame licking kind of torture I only ever experienced with the man in front of me.

"Hmm... I don't know," I pushed back, trying to feign ignorance. He pinched my chin, challenging me to look at him, and my breath almost hitched in my throat at the cloud of want in his green orbs.

I was in trouble.

"Maybe we should keep this a strictly doctor-patient relationship," I humored him, but I gulped at the sudden change in his expression.

God, I was in so much trouble.

His resolve shattered, as he pulled me close, his lips claiming mine in a new battle. Unable to restrain myself further, I pulled closer, answering his kiss with my own, tasting his skin with my tongue, before another battle had begun.

One hand was at the nape of my neck, the other around my waist, as he maneuvered my body like clay, reaching closer to what he wanted. I slid my own hands around his neck, pulling at his hair, swallowing the sinful grunts he left on my lips.

We couldn't stop; we didn't want to. All that was programmed inside our brains right now was tasting, winning, claiming each other.

Hungry kisses layered my skin, from my jaw all the way to my collarbone. At the feeling of his teeth claiming the skin there, I tugged more on his hair, until his tongue soothed the new sensitive marks.

"I swear to God, if you use that excuse one more time," he breathed against my skin.

"Says the one who keeps pushing me away," came my frustrated answer.

"I'll stop if you want me to. Just say the word."

"Ma che cazzo, Brandon," I pulled him in for another kiss, shutting him up before he pushed me away again.

I didn't want him to stop. God, I never wanted him to stop.

"Yes." With newfound determination, I pushed him back, staring into his clouded orbs that eyed me questioningly.

"Yes, what?" His hold around my waist tightened at the endless possibilities.

"Yes. Yes, I want you, and I'll have you. Yes, I want to be your girl. And say goodnight at night, even if it's at 7 in the morning after a shitty shift." A chuckle left his lips, giving me strength to continue with my ramble.

"Yes, I want you to keep sneaking inside my bedroom at midnight after your training, or after you're done putting the bad guys behind bars. Or even after a mini-lawsuit, I'm completely fine with that." The smile was now permanently on his face, waiting to hear more; he knew I had more to confess.

"And kiss me crazy. Yes, I want to know every little or big, happy or disturbing detail of your life, but only because you want to tell me as well." Brandon laid his forehead on mine, the warmth of his embrace soothing all my inhibitions until there was nothing left. With the little resolve left in me, I whispered the last words in the safe space between us.

"I want you. And I want you to want me, too."

It was silent for a couple of minutes, safe for our slow breathing. I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my hand; the thin material of his robe giving away how worked up he was. Still, it seemed to be in sync with my own heart.

"You deserve so much more, Erika. I can't help but think–"

"Stop! Leave the overthinking to me. Look at me, Brandon..." With both hands on his stubbled cheeks, I pushed him back, gaining his eyes' attention. "I like you so much, baby, it's driving me crazy. You don't want to stay away from me. Not really, anyway."

"You got that right," he said, amusement and pain both hidden behind his nonchalant tone.

"Well, I can't stay away from you either. Cazzo, you're stuck with me, so find a way to fix this." I was barely recognizing myself. This determination was new to me, but up until now, I never had something in my life worth fighting for.

He was watching me, amused to find this new side of me. He shook his head, soft chuckles escaping his lips, as if he saw me for the first time.

"Tonight, baby." His hand moved to my face, caressing my cheek softly with his thumb. "Tonight, I'm gonna tell you everything. If you're ready for this, if you're ready for me, then I'll try giving you all the answers to all of your questions."

"Dio mio, I have so many, Brandon," I groaned, realizing the long list of mental notes I had only for him.

"We have all night, bambina," he chuckled, as I just became aware of something else.