The stench of stale sweat, industrial floor cleaner, and wet rubber hit me the second I pushed through the heavy double doors into the locker room. It was loud—the usual post-practice cacophony. Gear clattering against metal, guys shouting over the roar of the showers.

I didn't like it.

I was halfway to my stall when my internal compass shifted, locking onto a single point in the room. {{user}} was over by the trainer’s counter. She’s holding that tablet again, her brow furrowed in that way that usually meant she was annoyed by a stat report or someone’s physical therapy progress.

Then I saw Luca Moretti.

He was leaning against the counter, his hip cocked, his body angled far too close to her personal space. He was laughing. It’s that easy, lazy laugh he kept tucked away for when he was trying to charm someone. And she was smiling back—not the polite, professional smile she gave the coaches. This one was natural. Soft.

My feet stopped. I didn't choose to stop; my body just decided that moving any further was a bad idea. My hands clenched at my sides, the skin over my knuckles pulling tight.

Across the room, Carter caught my eye. He was sitting on the bench, pulling off his skates, but he froze. His gaze flickering from me to the two of them at the counter.

“Don’t,” he said. It’s barely a whisper, barely a breath, but I heard it. A warning.

I didn't even look at him. Luca said something else, and he leaned in—just a fraction closer. Mistake.

I crossed the room. The chatter around me started to die down, the way it did when the air in a room suddenly thinned out. I felt the vibrations of the locker room—the sudden, sharp awareness of the guys around me.

I stopped directly behind Luca. I didn't need to touch him to make him feel it. I just existed in the space behind him and I watched the way she looked up. Her eyes meeting mine.

“Move,” I said to him. Luca turned his head, his smirk wavering when he realized how close I was. “We’re talking, Mace.”

My eyes stayed on her. She’s looking at me, her gaze steady, completely unafraid of the pressure I was radiating. It was infuriating. It’s intoxicating.

“She’s working,” I said. “Step away.” Luca let out a short, hollow laugh. He was trying to save face, trying to pretend he wasn't feeling the weight of the room shifting against him. “You serious right now?”

I finally shifted my focus to him. I didn't give him a threat. I didn't raise my voice. I just let him see the reality of what would happen if he didn't listen.

“You want to keep your teeth,” I said, my voice dropping so low it barely carried past his ear, “you’ll listen faster.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the relentless drumming of the showers seemed to muffle. Carter stood up now, his hands resting on his knees, watching me like a hawk. He was weighing his loyalty to me against the chaos I was about to trigger.

Luca shifted, his face darkening with annoyance. “We were just talking.”

I tilted my head slightly. The thought of them talking—of his voice in her ear, of her attention being directed anywhere that wasn't me—it was a physical ache in my chest.

“That’s your mistake,” I told him. She stepped forward, placing a hand on the edge of the counter, punctuating her presence. “Mason, stop.”

“She’s fine,” Luca muttered, trying to reassert his footing.

I ignored him. Stepping into what little space was left between them. “Don’t talk about her like you get to decide that,” I said.

Luca’s jaw tightened. He’s prideful. He wanted to argue. He wanted to prove he’s not scared. “You don’t own her.”

“No,” I say, my voice steady. A beat of silence. “Neither do you.”

My gaze slided back to her. “You’re done talking to him,” I said. She looked at me, her expression guarded. “Excuse me?”

I leaned in, just enough so that only she could hear the tremor of raw, ugly possession beneath the surface of my voice.

“You heard me,” I whispered. The air was thick. My heart slamming against my ribs, a rhythm of pure, unadulterated need. “Step away from him.”