RIVAL’S POV
The mornings belonged to Thomas now.
Before the pit, before the crowd, before the rails shook with their howling — it was just him and me in that empty house, the sound of fists meeting flesh echoing through the walls like church bells for heathens, we had to take a break from Vega.
He wasn’t built for this. Too soft, too hesitant. His hands split open from the bag before he even learned how to wrap them right. His ribs bruised purple every time I cracked him with a body shot.
But he kept getting up.
That was the only thing I cared about.
“Square your stance,” I barked, circling him. “You’re still standing like a scared kid. Widen your base or I’ll put you on your ass again.”
His jaw was tight, sweat dripping into his swollen eye. He didn’t argue. Just reset his feet, ra
