Her head fell back against the cupboard, breathless, lips swollen from his kisses.
Mack was still between her legs, hands under his shirt that she wore, kissing down her throat like he had nowhere else to be like her skin was his addiction.
Then her phone rang.
Viola groaned, leaning back to look at the screen. Sam.
" Ugh , seriously ? " she muttered, reaching over him to grab it.
Mack didn't stop. His mouth found the base of her neck, tongue trailing hot and slow across her collarbone as she answered.
" Hey, Sam, " she said, trying very hard to sound normal.
Mack's teeth grazed her skin.
Viola sucked in a breath.
" Vi ? You okay ? You sound . . . weird. "
" Nope, I'm good ! " she squeaked, gripping Mack's hair to try and stop him, but he only grinned against her neck and kept going.
" Listen, " Sam coughed, sounding hoarse and miserable " I'm down bad with the flu. Like bedridden, throat on fire, can't-stand-up kind of bad. I need your help at the place. Just a few hours. I really can't manage alone. "
Mack's hands slid beneath her shirt again, warm fingers teasing her thighs as his lips moved lower.
Viola bit down on her knuckle, covering the tiny moan threatening to escape.
" Of course, Yeah, I'll be there in—uh—like thirty minutes? "
" You're a lifesaver, " Sam sighed.
" Always, " Viola said, then quickly hung up before she lost all composure.
She looked down at Mack, who was smug as hell and still nuzzling her neck.
" You're impossible, " she murmured, breath still shallow.
" You were enjoying it, " he muttered, trailing another slow kiss just beneath her ear. " You still are. "
" I have to go. "
" You can be late, " he said without shame.
She gave him a pointed look.
He let out a dramatic sigh and stepped back reluctantly but not before brushing his lips against hers one more time, slow and claiming.
" I'll drop you off, " he said, already turning to grab his keys.
" You don't have to "
" I'm not letting you out of my sight when you're wearing my shirt under that coat. " He looked her over with a dark gleam in his eyes. " Not a chance. "
Viola rolled her eyes, grabbing her coffee like a lifeline as he opened the door.
She could still feel his kisses on her neck.
And the way he looked at her just now?
Yeah… she was in so much trouble.
- - - - - - - - - -
Later that morning
He watched her walk inside the café where Sam was already waiting, dragging her coat tighter around her, that messy bun still wobbling on top of her head. His shirt peeked out from underneath. His.
Mack's jaw flexed.
She turned and waved through the window. He gave her a small nod before pulling away from the curb in his black SUV, jaw still tight.
He needed to burn this energy off.
An hour later – Shooting Range
Mack cocked the rifle, loaded, and aimed.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each shot cracked through the silence like a thunderclap. Perfect hits.
He reloaded without blinking, nostrils flaring, muscles coiled like a wolf on the verge of snapping. His best man, Zane, stood beside him, arms folded, chewing gum.
"You gonna tell me what's eating at you, or just keep murdering targets like they're personal?"
Mack's jaw ticked.
"Her ex was in my office yesterday."
Zane raised an eyebrow.
"The one who cheated?"
Mack didn't respond. Just loaded again.
Bang.
"Let me guess... smug? Fake charm? Weak handshake?"
Mack's eyes narrowed at the memory.
"He smiled at me while lying through his fucking teeth. Talked about integrity while I stared at the office assistant he cheated with."
Zane whistled low.
"Dumb move. She knows?"
"No. And I'm not telling her. Not yet." Mack stared down the scope. "She's already had enough damage done."
Zane let the silence hang.
"You're falling hard."
Mack shot again. Didn't miss.
Later — Underground Boxing Gym
The air was thick with sweat, leather, and tension.
Mack peeled off his shirt, hands already taped. Zane stood ringside, glaring at the man pacing across from Mack. One of the gang's old enemies. Recently back in town. Had the nerve to point a gun at one of Mack's own the night before.
A warning. A mistake.
Mack climbed into the ring, slow and controlled. Predatory.
"You shouldn't've touched my crew," he said coolly, cracking his knuckles.
The other man sneered. "Didn't shoot, did I?"
Mack smirked. "You tried. That was enough."
Bell rang.
The fight was brutal. Mack didn't hold back. Each punch was clean, calculated—but fueled by something deeper. Rage. Protection. Desire. All tangled into one storm behind his fists.
One brutal left hook sent the man sprawling against the ropes. Blood trickled from his nose.
Mack stalked forward, voice low.
"Touch what's mine again, and next time, it won't be fists."
He glanced down at the Glock resting in the gym bag nearby.
Message delivered.
Zane tossed him a towel as he stepped out of the ring, breathing heavy.
"Feel better?"
Mack wiped the sweat from his jaw. "No. Not until I see her again."