Verity sat completely still at the bar in the back of the concrete box doubling as a boxing arena. The crowd surged around her as credits, drinks, and more intimate negotiations flew through the air.

He’d done it. Chance killed a man, and he did it for her.

What had she agreed to?

She was certain for a moment she was going to be sick.

The look on Chance’s swollen and bloody face as he held up the limp body of his opponent cemented in her mind. At first, her fear for herself and for him overrode all rational thought. She’d agreed to something she should have never allowed. She made the mistake, it should have been her to pay the consequences, but instead Chance was beaten and bloody and another man was dead.

Her fear turned to terror when it occurred to her Chance might lose. She hugged herself, her muscles so tight she felt like she’d been the one taking a beating every time Markus got in a blow, and then when Chance had been pinned to the ground her heart stopped.

She wasn’t just watching a fight that would decide her fate, but she was watching a man, her man, die for her. Then, just as that shock threatened to collapse her mind into a black hole, he didn’t die. He did something worse.

He killed for her.

And she’d asked him to do it.

Her soul would be forever stained with the guilt and horror of what she’d been a part of here. She’d never be clean again.

“You’ve never seen a fight before?” Hollywood yelled near her ear.

Verity jumped at the intrusion into her internal world, surprised that anyone else was in the room with her at all.

“Things get worse from here. All the drunk humans like to pretend they can kick half the ass we do and start breaking out into fights. If you don’t want to see the after party, you’d better skedaddle. I’ll let Chance know when he comes up. Or if you want, I can get you back to the offices. He’d probably be happy to see you right now. Looked pretty damn roughed up, even for Chance. I’ve never seen him fight before, but damn that show lived up to the hype.”

Verity glanced over at the intriguing cyborg. He’d clearly once been very handsome, still was in his own way. The exposed metal of his face terrified her at first, but now that she had become more accustomed to looking past such things, it was like the titanium wasn’t even there.

Verity gulped down the last of her beer. She wasn’t a drinker. This whole city had changed her.

She shook her head and sighed. “Thanks, I’ll just see him later.”

She needed fresh air to clear her head. She needed to get away from the smell of blood. As she walked through the crowd bodies shoved her around, making it hard to make any progress. Every time someone brushed against her she wanted to scream.

Verity finally stumbled up the back stairs into the Ball & Joint and took a deep breath. Even the lingering scent of beer and vomit was better than the stench filling the air downstairs.

She knew she should wait for Chance, but she just couldn’t bring herself to face what he’d done. What she was completely responsible for. She couldn’t stand to look Chance in the eye. What he’d done… that man’s body hanging limp from his hand… Now, facing the consequences, she knew nothing could excuse what they had been a part of.

He would never be the same.

And neither would she.

The horror of it commingled with her feelings for him, twisting and warping her thoughts until her breath came in fast shallow bursts. She’d feel better if she could just get out of here.

Upstairs, the bar had closed hours ago. The fights kept the regulars here drinking and betting until the sun rose, but those who weren’t in the know had already been given last call and shuffled out to find their way home.

Behind the bar, counting credits out on the long counter in amounts that made Verity’s mind bend stood Garvan. He looked up and gave her a smile that sent shivers through her soul. His slick eel-like presence made her feel dirty and responsible all at once.

“Verity, are you leaving so soon?” he asked returning to his piles.

“Yeah, I, just need to get home.”

“Ahh, first time at the fights, I see. Tonight was an especially brutal showing. Normally it’s not quite so—visceral.”

She quickened her pace, trying to get out of there.

“Should I give the purse to you or Chance?” Garvan asked, interrupting her forward progress.

“What? Oh, they’re Chance’s credits, just give it all to him.”

“So, you don’t need any of it now?” Garvan gestured to a pile of credits that put even what she had borrowed from him to shame. “This is just what he won tonight, the loan money will be returned as well. Chance always pulls a big crowd, and a big cut. It was wonderful to have him back in the ring. Perhaps he’ll consider taking it back up now that he has the taste for it again.”

Verity shivered. The idea that Chance liked what he’d done never occurred to her. But she recalled the smile on his face as he ripped off Markus’ arm and hit him with it. Was this something he could want to keep doing?

“That’s between the two of you. I’m just a waitress.”

“Have a good rest of the night. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Garvan gave his titanium toothed smile and returned to his business. He made her skin crawl but her nerves were out of energy to process everything she’d seen so far tonight.

Outside, numbness crept into Verity’s body, slithering up her spine and silencing her heart. Her mind drifted as she gulped down the cool misting breath of Cyn City.

She walked home slowly, home being Chance’s place. Another difference in a sea of changes she couldn’t be sure were good or not. She wanted to rush into his arms, have him tell her everything would be okay, everything she’d seen was a lie, and he wasn’t the kind of man who could do such things, even if he had done it for her. Guilt weighed her down and discolored her thoughts about Chance. Was it him who made her feel so ill, or herself?

The worst part was she’d known. She’d known, and she’d agreed to let this to happen. She’d tried to convince herself she had justification, that the man in the ring opposite Chance might deserve his fate. Now, facing the consequences, she knew nothing could excuse what they had been a part of.

The man in the ring with Chance had surprised him. Hollywood had said his name was Markus, not Jabbar. She knew nothing about him. Her thin justification ripped away and exposed what she’d been willing to do just to save her own life. She deserved every horrible thing Garvan would have done to her. She deserved to suffer.

At the apartment, she found Imogen curled up in the wingback chair with a blanket over her. She wore Chance’s oversized clothes and had a newly sewn skirt draped across her lap, patched together from various fabrics Verity had brought from her apartment.

How simple it would be to just forget what had happened, to go back to being someone who didn’t know things like cyborg fights existed, someone who could sew in silence and look out the window happily. But she had never been that person, even on the compound. She’d always been restless, resistant to rules, wanting to run and scream, and soak in the toxic air and undrinkable water. She wanted to live life to its rawest. And this is what she’d gotten.

When Verity set down her bag on the counter and poured herself a glass of water, Imogen stirred.

“You home? Imogen asked.

“Nope, this is the Ghost of Summer’s Heat. I climbed in the window and am here to steal your virtue.” Verity took a drink from the glass and sat on the couch next to her friend.

“Very funny. So, things went well? Is everything okay now?”

Verity just drank her water.

Imogen stared at her friend, waiting, but Verity had nothing to say. Violence begat violence. That’s what they’d been taught. How could someone capable of what Chance had done in the ring tonight be anything other than violent to his core? And what did that say about her, the woman who loved him and sat by, giving her permission and even thanks for what he’d done?

“I didn’t want to go to sleep until you got home,” Imogen said, yawning.

“Thanks, how about tonight you and I sleep in the big bed. I know you haven’t been getting enough rest out here. Chance offered to sleep on the couch.”

Imogen raised an eyebrow. “Am I to assume you don’t want me to ask?”

Verity’s throat tightened. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over, and I can barely think right now. I need some sleep.”

Imogen nodded and folded up her sewing. “I’ll be right there.” She placed a kiss on Verity’s forehead.

Verity sat in the couch staring at the wall in front of her, listening to the water run in the bathroom. She must’ve dozed off, because the next thing she knew Chance was kneeling in front of her, his face cleaned of blood but swollen with a bandage over his right eye.

“Verity,” he said, softly shaking her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, he swooped in and wrapped her up in a tight embrace. He smelled of sweat and soap but fortunately not the blood and death she’d expected.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Verity pulled away from his touch and swallowed the sick desperate feeling in her throat. “It got really loud, and I couldn’t think. I had to get out of there. I told Hollywood I was leaving.”

“Shit, can’t trust that kid to do a damn thing.” Chance studied her face for a moment. “You could have waited outside. Or had Hollywood get me. I was terrified something happened to you, that Garvan had taken you even though I did what he asked. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” He reached out to run his hand down her face, but Verity flinched back.

Chance’s face hardened. “Is that it? Now you’re afraid of me?”

Verity sat still, letting her waiting tears fall. “I just can’t believe someone’s dead. What have we done? What have you done?”

Chance leaned back on his heels and stared at her with an open mouth. He gaped at her for so long she started to think maybe he’d lost his voice.

“Now that it’s over, Imogen and I will go back to my apartment. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Chance stared at her.

She shouldn’t be taking this out on him. He’d done this horrible thing for her. He’d done something he desperately didn’t want to, all to save her, and how did she repay him? She ran. But she could barely stand the sight of him. It just brought back the burning pain of her guilt. The image of him standing there, holding another cyborg’s dead body like a trophy reappeared in her mind.

“You don’t understand.” Chance sputtered.

“I do. That’s the problem. I know that wasn’t Jabbar but someone else entirely. Who did we kill? Do you even know who he was? Do you know what he did to deserve this? I should have just gone with Garvan. You shouldn’t have tried to save me, now we’re both damned.” Her anger at herself rose, and she pointed it at him. All her pain and fear came barreling out focused on him as its target.

Verity stood, the past few days’ worth of fear and nerves collapsing in on her.

Chance loomed over her, his face an unreadable mask. Cold. Inhuman.

But what did she expect? She deserved his hate as much as she deserved her own.

“I’m going to sleep in your room with Imogen, and then we’ll leave in the morning.” She backed away from him toward the bedroom. Tears gathered in her eyes and her throat threatened to close off completely, suffocating her with regret.

“Verity—”

“Don’t. Just. Don’t.” She disappeared into his room before collapsing into the bed that still smelled like him, like them. Her tears fell and even in her sleep Imogen wrapped around her back, soothing her with her warmth and familiarity.

Verity cried herself to sleep, unable to believe her life had come to this.