Undisputed Champion (The Undisputed, #1)

by Renée Mo

Easy. Easy was a myth invented by people who didn’t rehearse grocery store interactions in the shower.

I hated being so weak, letting my memories consume me like this. I wanted to be someone strong, someone who could raise her voice without fear. Someone who could step out into the world and find her better half.

What if someone saw me, really saw me, and didn’t look away?

“Cute, huh?” The smug look on his face said it all. I felt my anger surge, and I shoved him back, a feat only Jax or I could manage. “Fuck off.” There was something about him looking at her that made my blood fucking boil.

She bent to lift the box once she got her book signed, her arms buckling under its weight, and something inside me snapped clean in half. I was there before I realized I’d moved, grabbing the box from the floor like it had offended me personally, which it did. I picked it up without thinking, just so I could touch something she’d touched. I finally got to see her face. And fuck. The world would never be the same.

I hefted the box onto my shoulder, the weight nothing compared to the urge to toss her over the other one and walk out of here with her forever.

She’s mine. The thought slithered into my head, sharp and possessive, curling around my ribs like barbed wire. She didn’t know it yet, didn’t know me, but it didn’t matter. This sweet girl was mine now, everything I’d been missing.

I couldn’t stop staring at her if I tried. She—Sierra—blinked up at me, unsure but curious, and I wanted to fucking absorb her. She smelled like lavender and ink and entirely mine.

“You look flushed, sweetheart. Are you coming down with something?” Yes, I wanted to scream—a terminal case of delusion and hopeless romanticism.

I locked up the library, triple-checking the doors like the sexy god had told me to, because who didn’t want to be his good girl?

I’d climb that man to reach his lips.

He’d knelt for me. The thought ambushed me for the seventeenth time since I’d gotten home. Connor, all six-foot-whatever of him, had dropped to his knees like a sinner at an altar, his thumb pressed to my pulse like he was taking communion. From me.

He made me feel like something fragile and precious. No one has ever looked at me the way he did, like he was learning me better than I knew myself.

“Okay. How do you stalk someone without ending up on a true crime podcast?”

"Sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever look at me and see something worth keeping.” I traced the words on the screen like they were sacred, bourbon bitter on my tongue. She had no idea. No idea of the things I’d do if it meant she’d never doubt it again.

I’d hold the entire sky on my shoulders for her. But not yet. Patience wasn’t my strong suit at all, but for her? I’d wait. I’d wait as long as it took to make her mine.

She didn’t notice me until I was close enough to see the faint pilling on her cardigan. I suddenly wanted to give her more clothes than she could ever wear; she needed everything the world had to offer at her feet.

“The hero’s weak. He let her walk away three times.” He sounded oddly frustrated. My head tilted curiously. Was that bothering him? “That’s called angst,” I started, trying who knows what to figure out why he was reading such a girly book. “Bullshit.” His eyes snapped to mine, dark and… hungry? “If you were mine, you’d never get far enough to open the door.”

It was such a relief not having to speak to the waiter and not having to rehearse my order the whole way here. My anxiety usually clouded the excitement of most things.

“You’re all I think about. You’re all I want. And if you weren’t shaking like a rabbit right now, I’d show you exactly how much.”

“I see you, sweet girl,” I whispered to the empty room. “And I’m never looking away.”

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway, mortified by my inexperience. I was twenty-three, for god's sake. Most women my age weren't still virgins. But between my anxiety and my tendency to live in fictional worlds rather than the real one, I'd never found the right moment or the right person.

Because sometimes, monsters were exactly what good girls needed to keep them safe.

“Thank you,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder. Toffee kneaded my thigh, his purrs growing louder. “For everything. For being there yesterday. For... understanding.” Connor's muscly arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer to his side. “Always,”

“Wherever I go, you belong.”

As he approached the ring, he looked up directly at my VIP box, and even from this distance, I could feel the intensity of his gaze. He raised a gloved fist in my direction, a gesture that was both a promise and a claim.

“I saw you, you know. I was scared you’d fall over the railing.” I blushed at that. “I got a little carried away,” I admitted. “Don't apologize,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that never failed to send shivers down my spine. “I loved seeing you like that. All fired up for me.”

“Taking you with me to the press conference.” My eyes widened in alarm. “But—I'm not—I don't—” I stammered, suddenly imagining all those cameras focused on me, the nobody in leggings and an oversized pullover, clutched in the arms of the undefeated heavyweight champion. “You're perfect,” he said firmly as if reading my thoughts. He pressed a kiss to my hair, his lips lingering there for a moment. "And you're mine. I want everyone to know it.”

The reporters' surprised murmurs and excited whispers created a wave of sound that washed over us. I instinctively tensed in Connor's arms, my fingers digging into the solid muscle of his shoulders. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to my hair. “I've got you. Always.”

“Everything I do has to do with her,” he answered, pressing yet another kiss to my hair. “That's all you need to know.”

“It's all part of the long game,” Adrian answered, his expression thoughtful. “We each have our path, but we move forward together.”

Whatever came next, I trusted him completely. This man just knocked someone unconscious in a ring, but touched me so gently. He commanded people with his presence, but always, always checked to make sure I was comfortable.

“Because you saw the worst of me,” I murmured. “And you're still here.” She nuzzled into my touch, eyes drifting closed as fatigue claimed her. “Always,” she whispered, the word slurring slightly. “I'll always be here.”

“You’re right. I am an animal. But I’m her animal. And you made the mistake of threatening what’s mine.”

“Pick whatever you want, sweet girl. At least thirty or we're not leaving.” I laughed, twisting to look up at him. “Thirty? Connor, that's a lot.” “Thirty,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument despite the warmth in his eyes. “Consider it making up for all the books that asshole threw away.”

“Open it,” he murmured against my ear, his breath stirring my hair. “Read me your favorite part again.” Surprised, I glanced up at him. “You remember that?” He gave me a look, his grip tightening slightly on my waist. “I remember everything about you, Sierra.”