“Lo?” Dad craned his head around my bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

I looked up at him and shrugged, too exhausted to answer.

Too devastated to care.

“What happened back there?” He removed the pile of clothes from the chair and sat down.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I ground out, the words almost impossible to say. He couldn’t be … he just couldn’t.

Yet, in my heart I knew.

I fucking knew.

“What?” He choked, slamming a fist against his chest. “I...” His eyes gave him away. 

“Who is she?”

I hated Maverick was right. Hated that this was happening. Back in Surrey, when things went to shit, I got drunk or high. My eyes darted around the pool house like a caged animal looking for a way out.

“Sweetheart, I... it isn't...” 

“Who is she?”

Guilt flashed across his face and I balled my fists. “I wanted to tell you sooner,” he said. “Before the move—”

Eyes wide as saucers, I rushed out, “Before the move? There was someone before the move?”

“Lo, sweetheart...”

“Stop calling me that. I want to know who she is.”

There was someone else.

Another woman.

Someone who wasn't Mum.

This.

Was.

Not.

Happening.

Tears burned the back of my eyes but I forced them down. “Who is she?” My voice was shrill as I clutched the pillow across my lap. 

“Sweetheart, this is why I didn't tell you. I didn't want to upset you, not so soon after—”

“You didn't want to upset me? So, you thought you'd sneak around behind my back? Is that why we moved here? Is that why you dragged me halfway across the fucking world? For her? How long has this been going on, Dad?”

“Eloise, calm down.”

“Calm down? Are you fucking kidding me? Mum died, Dad. She died, and you're shagging around like it's perfectly acceptable. It hasn't even been a year.”

Eight months. He’d waited eight months until he moved on. I stared at the man who had been there to pick up the pieces when I finally got out of the hospital.

“I didn't mean for it to happen. We have a complicated history.” 

The pillow flew across the room and I was off the bed, pacing. They had history? What kind of history trumped a marriage?

A family?

My mother?

The woman Dad promised to love and cherish?

Forever.

“I have to get out of here.” I rushed out of the room and slipped on my Converse. Dad followed after me muttering under his breath, but I was already out of the door. 

Everyone watched me storm across the patio to the main house, I felt their stares, heard their whispers, but I kept going with no plan other getting the hell out of this place. 

I grabbed a set of keys from the rack and started pointing and pressing the second I was out of the door, cursing under my breath when Maverick's Audi beeped. Of course, I chose his car because I was a pawn in the universe’s cruel fucking game. But it was too late to retreat. I yanked the door open and slipped inside, realising my poorly thought out plan. I'd never driven a left-hand drive before, hell, I'd never actually driven properly before. A few laps around the local department store's car park didn't count. I managed to get the key in the ignition and fire it up. Pushing it into reverse, I eased my foot slowly off the clutch just the way Dad had showed me. But I missed the biting point, and the Audi lurched forward, stalling. My hands curled around the steering wheel as I inhaled a couple of deep breaths, but I was too far gone. I needed to get out of here. 

Now.

As I was ready to try again, Maverick appeared out of nowhere, his wild eyes narrowed right on me.

Shit.

“Get out of the car, London,” he mouthed, anger blazing in his inky depths.

I shook my head defiantly. It was the wrong answer. He stalked around to the driver's side and yanked the door open. “Move,” he barked, and I flinched at the severity of his voice. “Either move over or get the fuck out of my car.”

I climbed over the gearstick to get to the passenger seat, landing with a huff. 

“Where to?” he said, and I shrugged. “Your plan kind of sucks.”

“I didn't plan, I just ran.”

The car roared to life and Maverick nodded. “I know that feeling.”

What was happening? Again, I'd ended up with Maverick. Alone.

We didn't talk as he drove us to wherever it was he planned on taking me. So many questions lingered on the tip on my tongue. Why was he so closed off? Why did he hate Gentry? Why did he put on such a hard front?

What had happened that night last summer?

Maverick could be mean and cold and hurtful, but there were also moments like right now—like last year on the beach at the party—when he showed a softer side. It wasn't in the things he said or his demeanour. It was in his actions. He didn't have to get into the car and take me anywhere. If he hated me that much, he could have called the police. Or Dad. Or someone to try to get me to calm down.

But he didn't.

And I clung onto that one thought more than I should have.

“So, your dad is fucking someone new?” His voice punctuated the air, and I cringed at his words.

“So, it would seem.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you?” I shot back. He hadn’t seemed sorry the other night when he’d suggested it.

Maverick dragged a hand down his face. “You're not what I expected,” his voice was low and made my stomach dance.

“And what did you expect?” My eyebrow quirked up.

He glanced over at me, his eyes pinning me to the seat. “I don't know.”

He wasn't going to tell me, fine. I crossed my arms over my chest and focused on the scenery. We drove through Wicked Bay and into a neighbourhood I didn't recognise. Gone were the mini-mansions and perfectly tended lawns replaced with smaller houses and graffitied walls. 

“Hmm, Maverick, where are we?”

“Scared?” His lips curved in a smug smirk and a memory of him asking me the same question once before flashed into my mind.

I curled my fists into the soft leather. “No.”

“We’ll see.” He cast me a sideways glance. “We’re almost there.”

He turned off the main road onto a dirt track leading to a warehouse. We were by the sea. I could see the moonlight glistening across the waves on the horizon, but this was a far cry from the Bay. It looked more like a derelict industrial area.

The car rolled to a stop and Maverick cut the engine. “You sure you want to come inside? You could always stay in the car.” His eyes lit up in a challenge, and I narrowed my gaze at him in return as I reached for the handle.

“Stay close, okay?” he said with a hint of amusement.

I nodded, my heart pounding against my chest. Whatever was inside wasn't good. I climbed out of the car and ran my hands down my shorts, feeling the sea breeze nip at my bare legs. 

“Here.” Maverick appeared by my side and thrust a hoodie at me. “Put this on, the last thing we need is you being a distraction.”

A distraction? I stared at him wide-eyed waiting for an explanation. He didn't give me one. Slipping the hoodie over me, I pushed my arms through the sleeves. It hung low over my legs, and I rolled up the hem tucking it inside my waistband. Maverick watched. The intensity in his gaze made my stomach flutter. When I was done, he shook his head and started toward the warehouse.

I followed.

As we neared the warehouse, the low rumble of cheers filled the air. We slipped inside a half-open door and a wall of sweat and heat assaulted my senses. A sea of bodies took up every inch of space in the building, except for a space carved out in middle of the crowd. It was a ring, and the two men in the centre were beating the crap out of each other. My eyes widened and, for a second, I was completely paralysed. It was too much. The pulse of the crowd. The sticky heat. The deafening noise. But there was no time to freeze up as Maverick disappeared further into the crush.

“Maverick,” I hissed, panic clawing its way up my throat. A couple of men leered in my direction, but soon forgot about me when the crowd erupted into a frenzy. I pushed onto my tiptoes to see through the heads, my eyes landing on the man sprawled on the hard floor, out for the count. 

What the hell was this place? And what was Maverick thinking bringing me here? 

I stuck close behind him, careful not to bump into anyone, grateful that he'd given me his hoodie to wear. Even if it did little to hide the fact I had tits and an arse. 

“Rick, over here,” a boy called over the chaos. Although, like Maverick, he couldn't really be classed as a boy with his broad shoulders and tall stature. But I recognised him from school. His gaze went straight to me as I peeked out from behind Maverick, and he shot his friend a questioning look. Whatever Maverick mouthed, I couldn't see from where I stood. The boy shook his head and moved closer. He leaned into Maverick and they talked in hushed voices, their eyes going to the middle of the crudely formed ring. 

I stepped out from behind Maverick, my heart hammering in my chest, and folded my arms. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

It was obvious this was an underground fight, but I wanted to hear him say the words. Maverick scrubbed a hand over his face and grimaced. “No. Keep quiet, London, and stay out of trouble.”

Trouble? Like I intended on being anywhere but glued to Maverick's side. 

My brows drew together, waiting for an explanation, but all he said was, “You’re not by my side, you're by Luke's, got it?”

Luke gave me a tight nod and went back to talking in hushed voices with Maverick. A voice echoed around the room and I peeked through the bodies in front of me, just glimpsing a man as they announced the next fight.

“He’s up,” Luke said and Maverick tensed beside me.

“Who’s up?” I asked, earning me glares from both of them.

“London,” he warned, and I rolled my eyes surprised how together I was given the size of the crowd.

“I’m not actually from London, you know?”

I was sure the corners of his mouth lifted, but then the crowd erupted again, and someone jostled into me, pushing me into Maverick. My heart lurched as the room started to close in around me. But then his hand was there, slipping around my hip steadying me. Calming me. I focused on his touch. The warmth of his fingers against my skin. When he realised what he’d done, he snatched it away as if the idea of touching me repulsed him. Ruining whatever had just passed between us.

Bastard.

Two men entered the ring: one wearing dark shorts, the other in shiny white shorts. My eyes couldn’t help but drift over their sculptured stomachs and taut abs. They definitely didn’t look like high school kids. The referee beckoned them forward, and the crowd settled, anticipation and blood lust crackling in the air. Both men stared at the other, fists clenched at their sides. It was then, I realised they intended on fighting fist to fist, no gloves. Jesus.

“Scared yet?” His voice was low in my ear and I shook my head, letting my hair cascade over my shoulder creating a barrier between us. Maverick was blowing so hot and cold, I didn’t know which way was up. My stomach flipped with nervous energy and I didn’t know whether to be excited or mortified … I went with both.

Luke chuckled, craning his head around Maverick’s solid body and shooting me a wide grin. I gave him the middle finger and turned back to the ring, pretending not to notice him nudge Maverick and say, “She’s feisty.”

The referee yelled something and jumped out of the way. The two men danced around one another, testing the waters, throwing a bunch of mislaid jabs. Half the crowd cheered when White Shorts landed a painful upper cut. The other man’s head snapped back, but he quickly righted himself, stretching his neck from side to side, shaking off what must have been a bolt of pain.

“Get him,” someone close by me yelled. “Get him good, Sav.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Maverick watch the fight. He stood, arms folded over his chest, unmoving. He didn’t flinch as the men in the ring landed punch after punch on one another. Blood trickled out of a cut on White Shorts’ eye but it didn’t deter him. He jabbed harder, quicker, catching the other man a couple of times to the ribs and once to the jaw. I winced with each hit. Imagining the crack of bone on bone. It was over quickly. White Shorts thrust his arms in the air, roaring with victory while the dazed man on the floor tried to stagger to his knees. 

“He's quick, and did you see his right hook?” Luke said, launching into a dissection of the fighter's form while I watched the two opponents leave the ring. 

The noise simmered while they got ready for the next fight, and I craned my head around Maverick’s shoulder. “So, what happens now?”

He cocked his eyebrow at me. “You care?”

“Well since you kidnapped me, I might as well as pretend to give a shit. When will I get to see you in action?”

“I like her.” Luke stifled a laugh and flashed me a grin. I smirked back but it melted away when Maverick expression turned thunderous. He leaned in close, out of his friend’s earshot, and whispered, “Be careful what you wish for.”

My body hummed at the warning in his voice but the moment passed when the announcer’s voice boomed through the warehouse. “And now the one you've all been waiting for, the main event, Damien Lacroix versus Lyndon Ford.”

If I thought the crowd was crazy before, this was something else. The roof seemed to blow off the place with the ferocity of the cheers and roars. I pressed closer to Maverick, trying to keep a sliver of space between us. And then I spotted the first contender. My heart lurched into my throat, my body rigid with shock. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. But God, it looked just like him—Elliot.

“London?” Maverick’s voice barely perforated the looming panic attack as my mouth dropped open. But I couldn’t breathe. I gasped, fighting for air, clutching my chest. I needed to breathe. Just one breath to kick-start my system. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t move.

“I’ve… I’ve got to get out of here…” I stumbled back, pushing through the crowd. Angry yells and catcalls rolled off me as I ran out of the warehouse. Salty air hit me and I ground to a breathless halt. My hands dropped to my knees as I gasped for air.

“You okay?”

I hadn’t realised he’d followed, but Maverick’s form loomed over me and I shrank into myself further. Hating he could see how upset I was. 

“London...” My name on his lips punctuated the air. Incomplete. Heavy with inclination.

“Just take me home, Maverick, please.” My tear-stained eyes collided with his. He didn't speak, but I didn't really have him pegged as the kind of boy who knew how to deal with a girl mid-emotional breakdown. Not that I wanted to talk about it. Least of all with Maverick.

“Come on,” he said, pulling out his phone and sending a text message. When he was done, he motioned for the Audi, turned and strode away. 

In a way, I was glad he didn't ask questions. Questions led to answers, and answers led to memories. Memories I fought hard to bottle away. 

We rode the whole way back to his house in silence.