Chapter 27: Sparring

James shifted his stance slightly, and Marty’s eyes slid to him before glancing at Kai. Then back again.

“You gonna pair up?” Marty asked casually, addressing no one and everyone.

James hesitated.

Scotty chuckled from the sidelines, arms folded. “C’mon, man. You said yourself—you wanted to face the best fighters in this room. She is the fearless leader for a reason. Don’t start acting like she’s made of glass now.”

Marty grinned. “Hell, she has been sparring two black belts back-to-back for years and doesn’t even break a sweat. We know how she fights, you can always back out.”

James’s jaw ticked once, just enough for Kai to notice. He didn’t look at her—but he nodded, stepping forward.

“Sure let’s do this.”

Kai met his eyes for the first time since bowing in. Her own expression was neutral. Focused. She gave a nod.

Let’s go. They bowed, then stepped into the ring.

The room around them seemed to vanish. All she could hear was the thudding rhythm of her heartbeat, and the sharp inhale as James made the first move—a slow, measured jab she easily deflected. He was testing the waters. Holding back.

She didn’t.

Kai moved in clean, her form tight and efficient, her counters swift. She pressed him backwards, landing a few strikes to his side. Just hard enough to remind him that she wasn’t playing. James responded, his eyes narrowing. The shift was subtle. But she felt it.

The next block came faster. His stance adjusted, more grounded. The follow-up strike was sharper. Now he was actually fighting her. Their movements became a silent exchange of intent and restraint. Kai pushed harder. James met her halfway. And as the round wore on, that middle ground grew smaller and smaller.

Every step was a test. Every strike an answer. They weren’t speaking, but everything was being said. Time slowed—not because the fight dragged, but because the weight of it—what it meant, what it stood for—stretched it into something that felt timeless.

And then—

“Yame,” Marty called, stepping forward.

They bowed again, both slightly out of breath.

Kai didn’t look at him right away. She just stepped back in line. But as she turned her face slightly to glance at him from the side, she saw something in James she hadn’t before.

Respect.

Real, raw, unfiltered respect. Not just for her as a business woman or a survivor—but for her as a fighter. As his equal.

The dojo hummed with the aftershock of movement as the class came to a close. A mix of sweat, breath, and the muted buzz of conversation rolling in waves across the mats.

James was speaking with Marty, the older man’s eyes sharp and knowing, voice laced with the kind of hard-earned wisdom you couldn’t fake. But even as he answered the last question—something about how long he’d been training in a certain style—his eyes kept drifting.

Kai sat near the corner of the mats, cross-legged with a couple of the older black belts, laughing at something one of them said. Her gi jacket was already off, revealing the black tank top underneath. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t check if anyone was watching. Just peeled it off in one clean motion, like the fabric meant nothing—like the marks on her skin were hers and she had nothing left to hide.

She rubbed absently at one of her tattoos as she listened, her thumb tracing a line that curved along her ribs before she reached for the hoodie beside her and pulled it on.

James exhaled slowly through his nose.

The way in which she moved with ease, it was the first time in weeks he had seen it. But it wasn’t performative. It wasn’t armor. She was just being. Like her body, her voice, her presence—they were all hers again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so centered. So still and in motion at the same time.

Marty nudged him with an elbow. “You held back,” he said, low enough that only James could hear.

James met his gaze. “A little.”

The older man raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me. That round was the most focused I’ve seen you in weeks.”

James smiled faintly. “I think she’s doing more work than people give her credit for.”

Marty gave a short grunt, folding his arms across his chest. “No kidding. Half this room coasts through class. Kai never coasts.”

He paused.

“You respect her,” he added after a beat—not as a question, but a statement.

James didn’t look away. “I should’ve sooner.”

Marty nodded once. “Well. Better late than never. Don’t waste it.”

The words sat heavy in his chest as they shook hands and parted. James gave a few casual goodbyes on the way out, caught Kai’s eye once—just a flicker of a glance—but didn’t approach her. She’d shifted conversations, now chatting with Damian and a couple of the youth students who always stuck around late. She was laughing again. Easy, open. Her body turned toward them, but her awareness sharp, turning when a scuffle broke out amongst some students. She didn’t miss much, he was realizing.

Outside, the night air was crisp enough to bite through his shirt sleeves, but he didn’t mind. He leaned against his car, arms folded, keys in hand, watching the soft spill of light through the dojo windows. He wasn’t going to say anything. He just wanted to see her. Not as penance. Not even as a test of her boundaries.

Just… because.

Because she was stronger than he’d thought. And he already knew she was strong. Because every time she looked at him now, it wasn’t with softness or sorrow—but with something steady. Something real. Because she was the most dangerous person in that building tonight, and not one person had noticed but him.

The door clicked behind him, and Kai stepped out, her hair damp against the edge of her hoodie, her duffel slung over one shoulder.

She spotted him instantly.

“Your stalker tendencies are getting a little ridiculous, you know,” she called out, tone light but threaded with warmth.

James smiled, pushing off the car. “I prefer the term loyal observer.”

She snorted. “You were halfway to a brooding poem just now, weren’t you?”

He took a slow step forward, stopping just short of her space. “Maybe.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything around them faded—the cars in the lot, the hum of the streetlights, the faint shuffle of students still packing up inside.

It felt like that first time all over again.

The club. The stars. The breath that caught between them like a live wire.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said quietly. “Didn’t want to crowd you.”

Kai tilted her head, eyes sharp. “And that’s different how, to how you’ve been lately?”

James huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m trying to be good.”

Her lips curled into something close to wicked as she stepped into his space, just close enough for her fingers to reach out and pluck a tiny piece of lint from the front of his shirt.

“I’m always good,” she murmured, voice low and deceptively soft.

Then she moved to step back—but he caught her wrist gently and tugged her in, just enough for her body to press against his. His voice dropped to a growl.

“Define good.”

Her smile was slow. Unapologetic.

And without resistance, she stepped out of his hold again.

“I’ll see you Friday… for the meeting,” she said over her shoulder, already moving toward her car.

James watched her go, jaw tight, every nerve in his body lighting up like it had taken a direct hit. Her car door closed, the engine started, and a few seconds later, her taillights disappeared into the night.

He stayed exactly where he was, unmoving, the ghost of her still pressed against him. The engine hummed under his hands, but James didn’t put the car in gear right away.

Her scent lingered—faint eucalyptus, chalk, something warm and clean. Ridiculous. He was a grown man, a trained predator in the boardroom and back alleys both, and yet he sat there like a dazed fool, the ghost of a smile still playing at his mouth.

“I’m always good.”

Bullshit.

She was chaos in a deceptively calm package. Controlled chaos. A brat with a crown.

He tapped the steering wheel once, then twice. Shifted into gear, finally, and rolled out of the lot. Sleep didn’t come easy. He’d tried working—numbers, contracts, a quietly brewing acquisition in South Korea. He’d tried music. Even went for a midnight run.

But all of it frayed at the edges with the same thought:

I’m always good.

She knew what she was doing.

And that irritated the hell out of him. Not because she was playing games—but because she was so damn good at them. Because she made it impossible for him to stay cold, even when he had every reason to.

And then there was what he’d seen earlier.

Not just strength—raw, honed, quiet strength. Not just the way she moved through the dojo like she belonged to the earth beneath it. But the way she casually shrugged off her gi. Sat bare-armed among seasoned men like she’d earned that space. She had. He’d tested her limits. She passed. And the tattoos. The absent way she touched them.

Like they were armor. Or reminders.

James rubbed his jaw, unable to shake the feeling that there was far more under that ink than style or rebellion. That maybe, just maybe, Kai hadn’t been teasing him earlier.

Maybe it was a dare.