Unlike Huck, Shrapnel never took his eyes off his target. He'd been meant to fight my ex. If that had happened, he would have lost. Reese, for all his flaws, was an expert fighter.

Now, facing down someone like Huck, Shrapnel was cocky. He was going to win, that realization gleamed in his dish-water eyes.

In a rush, air returned to my lungs. I pushed it out and up, begged my tongue to do something useful. “Huck!” I screamed, tearing at my vocal cords. I needed to be heard over the blood thirsty shouts. “Look out! Move!”

That stupid fucking grin of his. He'd die with it so firmly on his face.

Shrapnel rammed forward, reaching for Huxton. Slippery lightening, Huck darted aside at the last second. The momentum sent the other man flying, falling into the cement. A rabid animal, yet somehow entirely in control, my fighter—my fighter—jumped onto the broad back of his enemy.

Tattooed arms wound tight, sinking into Shrapnel's trunk-like throat from behind. The raspy gag as the man choked for air ricocheted around the ring. People pumped their fists, no longer obvious in who they cheered for.

I realized I was digging my nails into my palms. Shaking, I forced my fingers to unclench. I couldn't make my stomach do the same.

Sweat glistened along Huxton's spine. Every fiber flexed, I could count each of them. I did it, just to keep myself focused. They popped along his shoulders and forearms. Under him, Shrapnel strained... and in a great wave, went entirely limp.

It was happening for real. Huck had done it.

We'd really won.

My ears rang with the new roars of adrenaline. Howling, they became wolves under a full moon. Everyone was jumping, shoving, clapping or scowling. Money did funny things to people. So did violence.

Pushing through the mess, I darted over the chalk outline just as Huck let Shrapnel go. The big man was still, mouth open and drooling blood. He'd be fine. This was probably one of the least messy fights Shrapnel had come out of.

“Huck,” I gasped, reaching out for him instinctively. I needed to know he was really okay, and that... that he didn't hate me for getting him into this.

Turning, he looked down and met my eyes. There was nothing even close to hate there. Not anger, not disgust. Emeralds watched me, glowing like Huck had eaten the sun and replaced his blood with it.

Dammit. The bastard had my heart pumping again.

Grinning crookedly, he said, “Are there more of them?”

I blinked. “More what?”

“Men I need to tear down for you.” His eyebrows drifted low, shining with the dampness of his sweat. I forgot how words even worked.

Footsteps came to us, men bending down to drag Shrapnel away. They'd patch him up, make sure he was fine. It was doubtful he'd go to a hospital. Nehro had people he could pay that were almost as good as real doctors. Involving actual hospitals put the ring at risk.

Nehro liked to gamble... but he was too smart for risks.

Thinking about the long-limbed man, I glanced around. Nehro was gone, no where to be seen. That was more than fucking fine. My match was done, I wanted to get out of here. I avoided Nehro like the plague when I could.

“Well?” Huck asked, rolling his neck, testing the muscles. “The fights. Are they over?”

Shaking myself, I stared back up at him. Oh. Right. That whole thing.

Clearing my throat, I motioned for the stairwell. “They aren't done, but for you they are.” Handing him his jacket and shirt, I regretfully watched him hide himself under the clothing. “Let's go, you could use some air.”

And so could I.

- Chapter Three -

Huxton

What the hell was wrong with me.

My fingers—the fingers that had curled their way so happily around my phone when her fucking call came—were aching. I'd hit Shrapnel so hard, I wondered if my whole hand would be swollen tomorrow.

It wasn't the pain that bothered me.

It was my reason for allowing it to happen.

Zoe had asked for my help. I mean, god, when I'd heard her breathless voice my insides had flipped around. When she hadn't returned for her party, Eliza had drank with me then sent me on my way, ranting about her roommate and her weird actions.

Sure, I'd been disappointed. Zoe had gotten me so hard my cock could have snapped in two. I'd almost asked Eliza for her number, but I'd held off. I hated looking desperate.

So... when that red-head with her fluttering lashes and little lies had reached out to me...

I'd lost it.

Really, I should have told her I wasn't driving anywhere without more details. She'd given me enough that logically, I should have hung up. Should have rolled over in my bed and gone back to jerking off and waiting for one of my clients to call me. I'd needed to fuck, not to drive out into an unknown alley for an impromptu fight.

None of it made sense. But I'd done it.

And now that I was standing there, next to this intriguing woman in the cold air of a Hollywood December night...

I regretted none of it.

Zoe hugged herself, jacket pulled to her chin. The dress she wore wasn't keeping her legs warm, apples blooming on her pale cheeks. There were no stars to be seen, the light pollution of the city hid them away. But when this girl looked up at me, teeth chattering, I saw bursts of color in her crystal-blue eyes.

She nodded her chin. “Nice bike, by the way. How fast does it go?”

Glancing at my Harley, I pushed my tongue against my teeth. “Pretty fast. Fast enough to get me here in the nick of time, it sounds like.”

Darting her eyes to the ground, then to the side, she spoke under her breath. “Sorry, I should be thanking you.”

A strand of her copper hair flew loose. I craved to tuck it behind her ear. “Then why aren't you?”

Her eyes widened, strangely accusing. “Asking you to come here was selfish of me. I'm not stupid, though. Thanking you isn't good enough. You could have gotten really hurt in there.”

“But I didn't.” Cocking my head, I shrugged with a smile. “You called me, I showed up. I tend to do that when I hear a pretty voice begging so nicely.”

Fuck, I craved the blush that danced over her cheeks. I wanted to turn every bit of her hot and red. She asked, “How much?”

“How much for what?”

Digging into her purse, Zoe slid out a crumpled piece of paper. I didn't recognize it as my card until she smoothed it. “Muscle for hire. How much do I owe you?”

A thanks isn't enough. Now I understood. She wanted to pay me. It was weird, but I hadn't even thought about money. This was so unlike any job I'd taken before. It wasn't a house-call, it wasn't sex or strutting. It was sort of like the times I went with a girl when she was fucking a John and needed to make sure he didn't hurt or rob her.

Still... even that wasn't the same.

Rubbing my cheek, I watched Zoe's plump pink mouth tug down at the edges. She didn't like my silence. I wanted to see into her skull, gather up her private thoughts and worries. Instead, I moved closer to her. Those blue eyes twitched a hair wider. “How much do you think I should charge?”

“More than I have on hand.” Sighing, she handed my card to me. I didn't take it. “Just tell me a number. I'll do my best to pay it off.”

Purposefully, I slid my hands into my pockets. “Keep the card, you'll need it to call me again.”

“I'm not going to call you again.”

Arching an eyebrow, I stared at the rusty door of the building. Below our feet, according to Zoe, men were still fighting. “How can you know for sure?”

Again, she stabbed at me with the card. “I'll find someone else for next time.”

Tension burned into my teeth. I openly gawked at her, both of us understanding what she'd just let slip. I'd been implying she'd call me in a perverse way, for something fun and wet and wild.