Of course, my mind and body disagreed.

Grabbing my coat off of the rack behind the door, I slid my arms into it. The green material hung with a welcoming weight. Even in LA, it would get cold in December. Especially when it got late... and I planned to be out late. “I'll see you after,” I said, twisting the knob and stepping into the growing evening.

Eliza's voice was crisp. “You better!”

I hated lying to her, though it wasn't entirely a lie. I would see her later. Just much later. Way after the party had cleared...

And after Huxton had left the house.

Tucking my chin into the coat, I started down the street and towards the metro. I didn't have a car, couldn't afford it. Luckily, I was used to traversing the sprawling city via bus or subway.

From my purse, I slid my earbuds into place and flicked through my phone for some music. It had become my routine over the last six months. God, had it only been that long? It felt like I'd been making the same trip for years. It was draining me.

The music, low and fierce, was supposed to be soothing. Except now the tunes were making me think of a certain bedroom and a more specific man. Tattoos and gyrating hips. A pair of green eyes that wore me down, and a cock so thick and hard it wanted to rip right through my rapidly dampening panties—Nope. Nope nope nope.

Scowling both mentally and visibly, I glared at my reflection in the subway window. Stop it Zoe. Don't do this to yourself. You know this game, you just got out of it.

Guys like Huck... they weren't new to me. They were my old, familiar comfort zone. My doom. I wouldn't make a mistake like that again.

Changing the song, I found something more peppy and upbeat. It came close to easing the bitter acid in my mouth.

I had some time to kill. I'd expected I'd be able to enjoy my party—Eliza had been kind enough to organize it—and not have it run over into my required engagement. It would still have been fine, except for that fucking guy.

If I'd stayed, who knew what I would have done. I couldn't take the risk.

Riding the metro up and down the entire Red Line, I did two loops. Time drudged by, the normal anxiety that came with where I was heading taking over. Thoughts about Huxton faded.

It was time.

The voice over the intercom boomed the name of the stop we pulled into. I heard it through my earbuds, clutched my purse and stepped out onto the platform. The station was busy, packed with people who were beginning their night out. Saturday in Hollywood, it was always crazy.

In my comfortable flats, the dress kicked around my legs as I jumped the stairs that led to the streets above. It was bright out, they'd decorated every palm-tree with Christmas lights for the season. They lit my way, the red and blue fading when I ducked down a side-street. Where I was going, there would be no delightful holiday spirit.

Zipping my jacket higher, I wandered the familiar alley. The walls around me displayed graffiti, random swears and esoteric symbols. Buildings crowded me, all so lifeless; or at least, they looked that way. Finally, I halted in front of a wide, rusted door. It looked like a garage. I knew better.

Not knocking, I slid the door upwards, ignoring the metallic screech. Yellow light hit me, illuminating the alley I wanted to run back out into. If only I could have.

Quickly, I ducked inside and gave up on my urge to run away. The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. Equipment sat, unused and ghostly. Heavy bags, thick ropes, weights... it was an abandoned gym. Well, I say abandoned. I knew where everyone was.

Crossing to a door, I cracked it. The noise echoed below, rolling up the stairs and telling me clearly that the underground space was going to be packed.

The Dog House always was on Saturday nights.

Unlike the folks above, strolling Hollywood and getting drunk in the clubs... the people here had a specific taste. They screamed for blood.

I didn't need to be quiet, but I tried to, anyway. When I reached the bottom level, I saw the crowd around the ring. Shit, it's seriously packed tonight. Checking my cellphone, I confirmed that I wasn't late—it was only nine—and also ignored the two texts from Eliza. I could predict what they said: “Are you coming back?” or something like “Huck keeps asking for you!” Alright. Maybe not that last one. I shouldn't have even joked about it.

“Hey, Zoe!”

Turning, I saw the thick, muscled man approaching. I recognized him, of course. No one just forgets their ex-boyfriend, even if it'd be a blessing. Towering over me, Reese was a figure from a heroic story of legend. I mean, people weren't supposed to look like that anymore. No one else existed that compared to Reese.

Except, hadn't I met a guy who did, earlier tonight? The memory of Huck's smooth skin and rough hands made my belly flutter. It was a challenge to erase my blush by the time Reese reached me.

Dressed in black shorts, a tight, fitted tank-top and hand-wraps, he was ready for the upcoming match. I appreciated that, even if I still felt ill watching Reese pummel his challengers into broken messes.

He was a violent man—I hated being near him.

But I fucking had to.

“Glad you made it,” he said, reaching down to wrap me in a hug.

Flinching, I shrugged out of the embrace. “Of course I made it. I always make it. It isn't like I have a choice.”

Reese wrinkled his nose, scratched his shoulder. “Yeah, well. Anyway. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I got you something.”

In the two years we'd dated, on and off, not once had he remembered my birthday. I'd always waved my hand, made excuses. Fuck, I was so good at excuses.

I wanted to tell him how shocked I was. I never got to speak.

Reese was on me, fingers catching my upper arms, lips crushing on mine in a kiss. He didn't get far, but I hated that he had touched me at all. Jamming my nails into his forearms, I shoved him back until he stopped. “What the hell?” I gasped, cradling my cheek like he'd punched me.

His square jaw hung low, brown eyes almost... hurt. But no, I knew this man. It sucked that it had taken so long to figure him out—to accept the kind of person that he was—but now I knew. It helped that I'd had a nice wake up call when I'd walked in on him at our apartment a month ago, balls deep in some girl I didn't even know.

Reese wasn't sad from my rejection.

He was fucking insulted.

“What the hell?” he repeated me, tilting his head. “I thought you'd like that. I was trying to be sweet for you.”

“You have no right to be 'sweet' to me—to even touch me!” Rubbing my lips frantically, I didn't mute my disgust. “You lost the right to do that when you cheated on me. Remember?”

His thick shoulders went up to his ears. “Oh, come on! That was like, weeks ago! I thought we could make up, that you'd forgive me by now.”

“Why would I ever forgive you?”

Energy boiled in his glare. Those flames of danger, the heat that had once enticed me to Reese, now turned my heart chilly. “Because you fucking owe me, Zoe.” I didn't like the flat edge in his voice. “You know you do.”

This was what made my situation dreadful. There were many parts of this that I hated. The constant threat over my head, though? That scraped at my soul.

Reese knew he had me. Without him, I was fucked.

With him... I still felt fucked.

So why was I putting up with him? Why did I let him touch me and coerce me and constantly try to use my body, all when he was a worthless piece of shit? He always reminded me that I 'owed' him. And... he wasn't entirely wrong.

But that didn't mean that every time I saw him, he was allowed to put his hands on me.

Something inside me fractured away. It drifted and became dust, burned by my rising, self-righteous heat.