Chapter Six

West

“West, my man, what’s shakin’?”

Max struggled to catch my steps as I breezed into the café. He panted like one of those rat-looking dogs who couldn’t run from the kitchen to the dining table. He was a short, stout guy with a constellation of acne framing his jaw and coarse, ginger curls he insisted on trying to tame with hair products.

The combo made him unattractive to anyone with a pair of working eyes, which, sadly for him, was ninety-eight percent of campus population.

The idiot was best known for booking the fights at the Sheridan Plaza—and an eager collector of whatever leftovers East, Reign, and I didn’t want in the ladies department during fight nights. Max got a nice cut from orchestrating my Reservoir Dog warehouse gig. He did the legwork; I did the fist-work.

He brought all his frat friends from Pike, Beta Theta Pi, and Sig Ep to the arena each week and had them shell out money for the bets, tickets, and beer.

Worked for me, since I was the one cashing in big at the end of each night.

“Get to the point, Max. We aren’t shooting the shit here,” I snapped.

I was on my way to the cafeteria, about to meet East. My phone danced in my pocket, as it did so goddamn often. I ignored it. I didn’t need to look to see who it was—Mom—and what she wanted from me—more money.

Max clapped his hands together, practically skipping. He wore vintage Jordan Airs, a designer belt, and enough hair product to sculpt a fucking six-year-old. I got high from the fumes coming from his hair alone.

“Aight. Straight shooter, I’m digging it,” he crowed. I ambled into the cafeteria, him trailing behind me like a fart. “I got a new gig for you. Could be sick. Something exclusive that doesn’t come by every day. Lucrative as all hell, but super last-minute.”

“Are you gonna spit it out?” I scanned the place for East. My best friend made me sandwiches every morning, like a doting little mountain girl with stars in her eyes, and brought them with him. I suspected he worried I’d die of starvation if he didn’t take care of me. Maybe because he knew me well enough to know there was always going to be a small side of me that didn’t mind dying.

That would have welcomed the post-death nothingness. I certainly didn’t make an active attempt to stay alive, with my current habit.

“Tough crowd. Ever heard of Kade Appleton?” Max asked.

Appleton was a professional MMA fighter and a Sheridan native, who’d moved to Vegas about five years ago. He was known for getting suspended left and right for fighting dirty in the ring. The general consensus was he deserved to get punched in the face for a living. Every Sheridan resident who knew him growing up had a gory story about an animal he’d killed, a shotgun he’d pointed at someone, or a punch that made him send some poor bastard to the ER.

As far as hillbillies went, Kade Appleton was the poster child. I’d be surprised if he owned one pair of shoes.

“Turns out he’s in town, and he is willing to fight you tonight if you’re in. We still have the guy from Penn State lined up, but we can put him on the back burner for a while. Odds are against you if you pick the Appleton fight. I already made a spreadsheet.” Max produced his phone, shoving an excel table in my face. I stopped midstride, whistling low when I saw the numbers.

One of the main issues I’d been facing since I started knocking people unconscious for a living was I smoked everyone I fought. Even when I let them get a jab or two to keep the crowd interested, I was competitive enough to never lose on purpose, and had some integrity left in me. This made for pretty shitty odds, and the money was drying up, since everyone knew I was going to win.

Kade Appleton was a professionally trained fighter, with a few championships under his belt. It made him a golden opportunity to roll in the big bucks.

A banana ricocheted in the air, bumping Max’s chest and dropping at my feet. I looked up from Max’s phone to the direction it came from, noticing East and Reign from across the cafeteria, slouched over a table. They waved for me to come over.

I started in their direction.

“Well?” Max followed. “What says you?”

“Count me in.”

I slid onto the bench in front of East, who handed me a soggy-ass egg sandwich. I hoped his hookups were as wet as his omelets. He needed to lay off the oil.

“In?” East quirked an eyebrow. Reign was on the phone, his back to us. “In what? In love? Insane? Incapable of finishing a sentence?”

“He’s fighting Kade Appleton tonight,” Max volunteered, stars in his eyes.

East shook his head, his brows thundering.

“Fuck no. That asshole fights dirty and everyone knows it. His entire entourage is into shady-ass crap. It’s not worth it, Westie.”

I hated that he called me that. Westie. But I was also aware East was one of the only people on planet Earth I could stand, and more importantly—stood me. We came to Sher U together from our small town in Maine. Parting ways after everything we’d been through seemed wrong.

We lived together. We shared everything: Past. Present. Future.

There was no separating us at this point.

We were always East and West—wonder kids.

At least until I stopped being one.

I ignored East, taking a bite of my sandwich and pointing it in Max’s direction. “Book the fight.”

“Bro.” East’s eyes widened. Reign killed his call, boomeranging his phone on the table and tearing off a piece of grilled cheese with his teeth. “Afternoon, ladies. May I ask what got your corsets so fucking tight?”

“West is taking a fight with Kade Appleton tonight.” East jerked his thumb in my direction, in a check out this dumbass motion.

Reign’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Holy shit. Personally, if I were suicidal, drowning in psychedelic drugs would be my death of choice, but whatever tickles your fancy, man.”

“If you ever change your mind, I’d be happy to lend a hand.” I took another bite of my damp omelet sandwich, trying not to miss my mother’s Italian food. For all her faults, she could cook a mean-ass meal. Aside from the diner incident this week, I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in years.

“West is not suicidal,” East said, more to himself than to anyone else at the table. He shot me a look. I shook my head. I had no plans to kill myself, but if I died, well, that would not be an unwelcome plot twist.

Reign laughed. “Seriously, though. You’re actually considering getting into the ring with Appleton? Can I have your AirPods? Mine have enough ear wax to fill up a jar of mustard.”

East kicked him under the table then proceeded to smash my shin in with his foot.

“East—I don’t wanna hear it. Reign—I don’t wanna hear you. Max—take a hike. I’ll be there tonight. Spread the word. Make it worth my while.”

“That’s what she said,” Reign jested.

Now both East and I punched his arm.

When I took the food truck job, I’d told Karlie Fridays were a nogo. She knew the score. She was one of the only chicks in Sher U, along with Texas, not to show up for fight nights. I liked that I could keep my food truck gig separated from my breaking noses gig.

Max scurried away. The table fell silent, before Reign cleared his throat.

“Jokes aside, there’s a reason why Appleton is currently suspended from the MAF league. He was arrested last year for assaulting his girlfriend. The mother of his child. The photos of her face after the fact aren’t something you’d appreciate seeing while eating. Just putting it out there.”

“And his manager is notorious for arranging dog fights. He went to prison for it for, like, three years,” East chipped in.

“That’s right. Shaun Picker. Between them, they have a rap sheet longer than War and Peace.” Reign pointed a finger at me with the hand that held his grilled cheese. “Which, for the record, I’ve never read, but I heard that like me, it is thick as fuck and not easy to swallow.”

“I’m not marrying his ass, I’m putting it to bed.” I scowled. “Look, this shit is settled, so you might as well change the subject.” I lost interest in them and glanced around the cafeteria, looking for what, I wasn’t sure, exactly.

I needed the money.

Desperately.

It was the cruelest type of irony.

Growing up, I’d always promised myself I wouldn’t be that asshole who lived to work versus worked to live. Then again, I never was very good at keeping promises.

I grew older, I fucked up, made mistakes, and had to pay for them.

Nowadays, I was chasing paychecks like every sorry jerk I’d pitied as a kid, and I didn’t even earn the money for myself.

Appleton was a fight I couldn’t refuse. I was going to win. Even if I had to kill the bastard to cut a nice paycheck.

My phone buzzed in my pocket for the hundredth time today. I took it out, killed the call, and texted my mother.

West: Sending more money on Monday. Get off my case.

A voice message notification popped on the screen. I deleted it before I was tempted to listen to it. I looked up, between Reign and East. A flash of puzzled worry marred their faces.

“Drop it,” I stressed.

“You get into bed with Appleton, you might be dragging everyone else around you into a mess,” Easton warned. “The man is basically a gang member. He operates like the mafia.”

“If shit gets too hot, you know where the door is.” I met Easton’s stare steadily, my jaw tightening with barely contained anger. “Either way, I’m taking the fight.”

Reign stood up, stretching lazily.

“All right, I’m dipping. East, I’ll see you in practice. West—it was nice knowing ya. I’ll be sure to leave some flowers on your grave and comfort your lady friends, who might need some bed warming at night.” He bowed his head, grabbed his duffel bag, and dashed.

East watched Reign’s back before fixing his gaze back on me.

“Are things that bad at home?”

He knew exactly why I was showing up in the ring every Friday, and it wasn’t for the pride or glory. Yes, I was a competitive shit—it ran in my blood. Whenever I saw a challenge, I conquered it, but fighting would never have been my route in life if it weren’t for what happened.

I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth.

“You know my dad. He can’t run a business to save his life. I can’t let them lose the farm. They’ll have nothing left.”

East nodded. “I’m here if you need me.”

Despite it being the fakest cliché I’d ever heard, I knew he actually meant it, and despite knowing he couldn’t help me, it actually made me feel slightly better.

“Where were you last night?” He changed the subject.

“This Grace chick from the food truck had a crisis. She bailed early, so I needed to close shop.”

I wasn’t going to share Texas’ business with East. Not because I had one decent bone in my body, God forbid, but because I was above town gossip. Besides, if I were in her position and someone spilled the beans about my fruitcake grandmother, I’d ream them out and use their remainders as decorations for a Christmas tree.

Texas sure didn’t have it easy.

“Try again. You came back at one-thirty. I was still awake.” East drummed the table, giving me a busted look.

“Grabbed dinner afterwards. Didn’t realize you wanted to spoon.”

“You don’t eat out. You’re too cheap to buy yourself a pair of goddamn socks.”

That was fact as fuck. Buying everyone tacos and slushies a few weeks ago was a one-off. One of the chicks who’d accompanied us was the sister of a guy I’d sent to the ICU after a fight night. He was threatening to sue, and I needed to butter her up to convince him to drop the case. He did.

“Let’s say I did hang out with the Shaw chick.” I yawned provocatively. “What of it? I ate a steak, not her pussy.”

“You never eat pussy,” East noted.

That was also true. Eating a stranger’s privates felt akin to licking a public toilet. I had no idea where their coochies had been, but considering this was college, and not a very good one, my educated guess was: everywhere.

“You never take anyone out either,” East banged on, leaning forward, going in for the kill. “Dinner sounds a lot like going out.”

“I didn’t take her out. I helped her out.”

“Funny, I don’t remember you having a Superman complex.”

“Once every full moon I feel charitable. Sue me, Braun.”

“Bullshit, St. Claire. You’ve got your eyes set on this chick, and we both know why.”

That really did it. I slammed my fist against the table.

“Do you have a point? If so, please get to it in this century.”

It was just a fucking meal. Texas spent more than half of it shooting daggers at me with her arctic blue eyes and silently praying a bomb would land directly on the diner.

“I think you’re interested.” He wore his shit-eating grin. “Tell me she doesn’t bone you up.”

“She doesn’t bone me up,” I said offhandedly. “Even if she did, I’d never touch her.”

Texas was attractive, but so were eighty percent of the girls on campus. And they came without the drama, complications, and detonated self-esteem. Bonus points: they didn’t work with me. Hooking up with someone I had to see four times a week was a big fat no.

Not to mention, she almost certainly sucked in bed.

“That’s what worries me.” East scratched his smooth jaw. “Don’t get her hopes high then watch them crash and burn. If you start giving her special treatment, she’ll get ideas. You feeling me?”

Texas was too screwed-up about her scars to consider getting laid. That much was obvious. He had nothing to worry about. She was the one woman I couldn’t get into my bed on campus, and despite my competitive nature, I was fine with that.

That was the thing about being on the fence with the whole life situation. I stopped caring and pursuing things I otherwise would have wanted and cared for. Life no longer had a taste, and a pulse, and colors.

Nothing charted anymore, and pleasure and pain were replaced with an overall numbness.

“It’s all under control.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my arm. “She’s not my type.”

“You don’t have a type. You hate everyone.” East balled his sandwich wrap and threw it in my face. I caught it midair. Killer instincts. I threw it back at him, getting his eye.

“Exactly.”

“St. Claire. Wait up,” a small voice squeaked behind me.

Feminine footsteps thudded behind my back. I didn’t break my pace or turn around to see who it was, on my way to the campus gym. I’d never had my ass whooped in the ring, and I planned on keeping my unchallenged record intact.

Despite the vote of no confidence from East and Reign, I worked hard and was fully capable of annihilating Appleton with an arm tied behind my back.

“Geez, what’s with you?” the voice behind me puffed.

Texas had never sought me out on campus before. She wasn’t the kind to try to hang out just because we worked together, and it was fresh to have a girl who wasn’t dazzled by my status, battle scars, or anger issues.

She fell into step with me, her fists shoved into her hoodie’s pockets. Her winter attire looked out of place in the scenery of cropped shorts and short skirts. She wore the same ragged, gray ball cap, her long, blonde hair cascading all the way down to her lower back.

“You’re ignorin’ me.” She squinted.

I didn’t answer, still walking. It was important to distinguish we weren’t BFFs. Just because I’d done her a solid last night didn’t mean I cared. I was willing to lend a hand when she needed help, but we weren’t going to sing “Kumbaya” by the fire or get matching Taylor Swift bracelets. East was right. I had to make sure she knew I wasn’t interested, in the improbable case she had any ideas.

“Would you stop walkin’?” She threw her arms in the air.

“Eventually,” I said with a biting tone. “When I reach my destination.”

“Where to? Hell, I’m hopin’.”

“Why go to hell when I can enjoy the same fine weather at the food truck, with an added bonus of your whiny ass?” I wondered aloud.

The air-con I’d brought didn’t make much difference, but I stopped working shirtless, because Texas couldn’t look at me when I had my shirt off, and I was tired of her talking to my boots whenever she addressed me.

It wasn’t like me to banter, especially with chicks—especially with chicks I had no interest in watching taking my cock into their mouths—but for some reason, this girl brought the high school kid out of me. She was never above an immature, sarcastic remark, always down for a few verbal jabs, and I guessed both of us didn’t care about impressing each other.

“Because you’d be a guest of honor there,” she hissed.

See? Snarky with a capital S.

Then, out of nowhere, a sharp little elbow jammed into my ribs, exactly where I had a welt from last Friday’s fight. I instinctively stopped, not because it hurt—even though goddammit, it actually did—but because I knew she knew exactly what she was doing, and that was a jerk move. Especially after I’d saved her ass yesterday.

She punched me in the kidneys, where she also knew I had a bruise. Then she hurled herself in front of me, blocking my path.

“What the fuck?” I inquired flatly, eyeing her like she was something I had to throw into the recycling can but was too lazy to pick up.

She flattened her lips, glowering. She looked like a five-year-old trying to be tough. I half-wished she’d take off the ugly-ass ball cap and show her face.

How bad could it be?

Pretty bad if they called her Toastie.

She examined my torso over my shirt, then went for my arm, punching it.

“Cut it out.”

She punched my other arm.

Then my abs.

The little shit was trying to fight me.

In the middle of campus, with people strewn about on benches and the lawn, looking on. Everyone at the Student Union Building was glaring at us through the floor-to-ceiling window.

She swatted my chest and stomach. Sarcastic and insane. The latter was a new, unwelcome development.

I picked her up by the back of her hoodie, like a mouse from a tail, until her feet were above the ground. She was as light as a feather and just about as threatening. She kicked the air, trying—and failing—to punch my face. It was comical, seeing her going at me with everything she had and still not getting one shot in.

A curious audience clustered around us like a pre-cum stain on a teenager’s underwear. I despised being watched. Could only tolerate it if people paid for the pleasure to see me in the ring. But she’d just made sure we were Friday afternoon’s main event.

I took everything nice I’d thought about Texas back.

She was a massive pain in the ass.

“Let me down,” she rustled, her balled fists shaking in my face.

“If I do, will you behave like a lady and not like a rabid animal?” I arched an eyebrow, speaking slowly and condescendingly to rile her up even more.

“You patronizing ass!” she spluttered.

“Wrong answer.”

“You’re such a jerk!”

“Bzzz. Wrong again.”

“Screw you!”

I was growing impatient and bored. “Is that an offer, Texas? There was no need to be that aggressive. All you needed to do was ask,” I drawled.

Texas was like the city of Troy. Her walls were high, thick, guarded, and not worth the conquest. Slipping in wasn’t an option, and fighting my way through just to get laid went against my agenda toward women.

“You will never have me, St. Claire.”

“Hold, I’ll try to get over the heartbreak.” I raised a finger and let a beat of silence pass between us. “Done. Now, if I put your ass down, will you eloquently explain why you’re acting like a badger on meth?”

She folded her arms over her chest but nodded. I let her down. Everybody was looking at us from a respectable distance. They knew better than to get close and openly eavesdrop. I refrained from pointing out we were the center of attention. If I hated an audience, Texas goddamn loathed it.

Which was why it seemed downright nuts for her to major in theater and arts.

Either way, I couldn’t run the chance of having her pass out. Something told me I wouldn’t resist the urge to step over her and walk briskly to the gym without looking back.

“Listen.” She let out a breath. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

“But you’re about to …”

She snarled my way. “I swear to God, St. Claire, if you tell someone about last night … about Grandma Savvy …”

“Say no more,” I sliced into her words again. “I won’t.”

She eyed me skeptically. “Promise?”

“I don’t promise shit. Ever. That’s a principle,” I said firmly. “I have no plans to air your dirty laundry. But I’m not going to carve it out in my forehead to pacify your ass.”

“That’s a nice visual.” She nibbled at the side of her lower lip. “You sure you’re not open to that?”

I held back a grin. She was a weirdo. A curiously infuriating one at that. With an ass worthy of a poem by one of the twenty-first century’s finest poets, Lil’ Wayne.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence. The charged kind. I glanced around, ready to be over with the conversation. “You’re still here. Why?”

She took a deep breath, sloping her chin up. The sun was directly on her face, her silhouette burning like wildfire against the sunset, and I had the chance to see as much as I could of her scar. It wasn’t just that her skin was darker around the area—somewhere between purple and pink—but the complexion was different, too. Raw and bumpy. The flesh stretched thinly across her bones, struggling to keep it all together.

She was right. That part of her wasn’t pretty.

“I’m all ears.” I leaned a shoulder against the red-bricked building of the Bush Art and Library Building.

“Stop helpin’ me. I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have my pity,” I clipped.

“There’s no other reason for you to go out of your way to be nice to me.”

“Again, I’m not being nice to you. What makes you think I’d act any different if Tess or Hailey or Lara were in your situation last night?”

I may have made up the last couple names. I didn’t know a Hailey or a Lara, though I was sure there were plenty of girls with those names attending Sher U.

Remembering chicks I rolled between the sheets by name wasn’t my virtue. Face, maybe. Ass, probably.

“You’re awful to everyone.” Her eyes burned intensely. “I want you to be awful to me, too. Otherwise, I don’t feel like your equal.”

It felt like she pinched the back of my throat. Not that I wasn’t awful to people—I know I was—but her constant crave to be normal threw me off guard.

In that moment, I wished I could smack some sense into her. Unfortunately, it was a firm red line I would never let myself cross. Because Grace Shaw sure deserved a few good spankings.

I leaned into her face, plastering my best see-if-I-give-a-shit smirk.

“Get it into your head, Texas: I’m not a good guy. I’m not here to save you. I’m not on some quest to make you get out of your shell and come out of this experience a stronger person or some other Dr. Phil bullshit. Just because I don’t kick you when you’re down doesn’t mean I’m a standup guy, and you’d be wise to remember that. That awful enough for you?”

She stared at me, her face marred with disgust. Nothing I hadn’t seen on my parents’ faces a thousand times before. Just another Friday. Which reminded me—I had a fight today and needed to get my ass in gear. I grabbed her by the arms, picked her up, moved her away from my path like she was a traffic cone, and marched to the gym.

“You’re a monster!” she bellowed behind me, her voice taut with anger.

I pushed inside the gym’s door, ignoring her.

She wasn’t wrong.

Kade Appleton was not a fucking walk in the park, that was for sure.

Unless that park was in Chernobyl.

He continually broke the few rules we had in the ring in his quest not to have his ass handed to him, which resulted in my being more beat up than I’d ever been the entire three years I’d been doing this gig.

I’d be lying if I said I minded. The floor was jam-packed with people crammed together, like worms pouring from rotten meat. Beer sloshed from red Solo cups all over the sticky concrete, which was filthy with blood, dust, and sex juices. The place hadn’t been this crowded since I started attending Sher U. There was cheering, yelling, and whistling. Chicks sitting on guys’ shoulders to get a better view.

At some point, the guys who sold the tickets ran out of stamp ink to mark those who’d paid. They had to doodle on people’s hands with Sharpies. Max was on cloud nine. I could practically see the flashing pictures of him in a Hugh Hefner robe running through his Pornhub-infested brain.

It was a bloodbath in the ring. I’d popped Kade’s nose in the first ten seconds with a mean uppercut to get people riled up, then kneed his face to make every blood vessel in his mouth gush like a fondue fountain. He’d managed to bust my lip and eyebrow open by getting two solid shots to my face minutes after. The mat beneath us was slippery, squeaking with every movement we made.

Reign and East were behind me, shouting unsolicited advice. My eyes stung with blood and sweat, and I was pretty sure I spat out a tooth ten minutes into the fight. I swayed, bumping into one of the cardboard boxes that marked the ring.

Kade and I circled each other. We were entering our fifth round. I’d never had a fifth round in my amateur fighting career, but Appleton was no spring chicken. I didn’t find his size or technique challenging. I was just as good a wrestler and boxer as he was, and he figured it out when I cracked his rib before we even finished the first round with a kick that sent him flying like a kite.

Which was why he shoved fingers into my eyes, jabbed me below the belt, and tried other third-grade bullshit to slow me down.

Injured or not, I could still massacre the motherfucker.

“St. Claire! St. Claire! St. Claire!”

The chants vibrated the mats under my feet. Kade zeroed in on my face, his eyes already sporting two shiners. He had a face not even a mother could love (unless she was blind), with a nose that had been broken in the double digits, bug eyes, and nonexistent lips. His neck was as wide as some streets.

We were on opposite sides of the makeshift ring.

Max blew the whistle. “Fifth round! Make it count, gentlemen.”

We approached each other in guarded stances. I dodged a few easy swings, ducking and bouncing on the balls of my feet, before going in for the kill. I sent a perfect right hook to the side of his head, knocking his lights out. I watched him falling down on the mattress Max stole from the college gym, his body bouncing on top of it.

He lay there, eyes shut, knocked out. The crowd exploded. I spun on my heel, gliding a hand over my bare chest to wipe off the sweat and blood. Reign cupped my cheeks, screaming in my face in ecstasy.

Max wobbled into the ring and took my arm, flinging my fist in the air.

Roars. Claps. More whistles. Not one to bask in attention, I was already halfway out of the ring when I heard a voice behind me.

“This is bullshit!” Kade’s manager, a meathead called Shaun, blazed between the boxes, pointing at me. “Kade wasn’t prepared.”

“No shit.” I plucked a bottle of water from a random girl who offered it to me, taking a gulp and splashing the rest on my face. “Next time I’ll be sure to email him my game plan.”

Easton elbowed me.

“The fifth round didn’t start before you threw in that last shot!” Shaun bellowed, kicking something between us out of his way. His smoker’s breath skulked into my nostrils when he jabbed his finger against Max’s chest. “Pippy Longstocking over here didn’t whistle.”

“Umm, bro, I did whistle.” Max positioned himself between us. “And Kade made a move toward West first. He tried to throw in at least a couple punches before the KO happened.”

Shaun wasn’t having it. Neither was Kade. As soon as Appleton swung up on his feet, he began shouting in my face, claiming he’d been set up. That Max hadn’t blown the whistle, that I’d ambushed him. Throwing excuses around, seeing which one might stick.

An interested crowd molded around us, eager to see if we were about to start a second, free-of-charge fight.

Rather than hang around and argue to death with these suckers, I told Max I’d meet him in his “office” upstairs and cordially suggested Kade should go to hell where he belonged, and get a hearing aid and a pair of glasses on his way there, if he truly believed anything about the fight wasn’t kosher.

Max’s office was what was supposed to be the management floor in the mall that never came to be.

“You’re not getting away with this.” Appleton made a slashing motion at his throat. “Consider yourself a dead man walking, St. Claire.”

“Dead or alive, I still rode your ass tonight, and I’m not the one limping out of here.”

I cut through the mass of people cheering and slapping my back. The random chick who’d handed me water waved at me, smiling and batting her lashes at me. She had long blonde hair almost down to her ass, and her smallness reminded me of a certain infuriating little hick.

“Legal?” I breezed past her, not stopping. Her friends thrust her my way, giggling into their palms.

“About to turn twenty on August sixth!”

No need to get specific. My ass is not about to get you flowers.

I jerked my head upstairs.

“Really?” she squeaked.

“No talking.”

“Okay. Sure. Totally.”

That was three fucking words, but I let it slide.

“This ends here,” I warned.

“I know. You’re West St. Claire. Duh. My name is—”

I gave her a cutting look. She wasn’t getting it.

“Sheesh. Okay.”

Half an hour later, Max came upstairs, shaking his head and apologizing. I sent the blonde back down. I was pretty much out of it during our hookup, although I did remember going through the motions, showing her something of a good time.

My mind drifted to other things. My parents’ relentless calling, Texas being impossible and difficult for no reason at all, and Appleton being a killjoy and a bad sport.

Max explained that Kade, Shaun, and a few other guys in his entourage had cornered him after the fight, making a big stink about his loss. He said he’d gotten them off his back by handing over some of his cut to settle the misunderstanding. It was Bullshit with a capital B. Everyone in that room knew Max had blown the whistle, including Max himself.

But if he wanted to pay them lip money, it was his problem, not mine.

Max handed me my cut. It was what I’d normally make in two months of fighting. He praised me for my form and good taste in women (“Melanie, huh? She’s bangin’.”) and sent me on my way. I was glad to get the night over with. It was late, I was sore from all the illegal jabs Kade had managed to throw in, and I had a morning shift tomorrow at the farmers’ market.

I had no idea what mood I was going to find Texas in, but if she thought I was going to put up with her crap just because other people felt sorry for her, she was gravely mistaken.

I shuffled back to the Ducati, which was parked on the other side of the mall, hidden away from the throng who got in through the main entrance. I’d learned early on that Christina attracted star-fuckers and high school kids who wanted to hop on her and take pictures.

Christina was my one and only indulgence. I’d chucked her out as an expense, seeing as I played the role of someone who had their shit together. I couldn’t afford having people dig into who my family was, get dirt about my life, find out I was as broke as a stick horse. So I pretended to be someone else.

Someone to fear.

Someone who had a sick ride and a sinister taste for fighting.

Ironically, pretending to be someone I wasn’t only made me even more tired of living than I already was.

As I ambled to my bike, I heard rustling coming from the bushes behind me. I stopped, twisting my head. The rustling stopped. I turned back to Christina.

The swooshing resumed.

It sounded like people were whisper-shouting behind the scrubs.

I turned around fully now, cocking an eyebrow.

“If you’ve got something to say, come and fucking say it. See if you have any teeth left by the end of your speech.”

Silence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Deciding it wasn’t my job to coax whoever waited for me in the bushes for another brawl, I got on my bike and drove off.

Once I got home, I crawled into my room and collapsed on my bed without taking a shower. I lifted my pillow, plucked a picture from under it and kissed it, rubbing my thumb over the person imprinted on it.

“Night, A. Sleep tight.” I pressed a kiss to the photo.

I tucked the picture back under my pillow, hating that I was still breathing, living, fighting, fucking.

She didn’t answer.

She never did.