What the fuck was he doing? He shouldn’t be following Rosalyn back into her apartment. Not after his confession. But she was a lure he couldn’t resist. He would destroy her, all that brightness. Taint it with his dark past and dark future. And then he’d leave her behind, because he couldn’t stay. Not here, in this city, not even in the US. Soon he’d be off to South America to live a new life below the radar, on a beach where he could be free.

But he still couldn’t stop himself from following her up those stairs.

“Why are you doing this, Red?” he asked as she shut the door and moved into the kitchen. He watched her graceful hands as she extracted their bear claws from the bag.

“Doing what?” she asked, glancing at him with innocent eyes.

“Keeping me in your life when you know I’m—”

“You’re what?” she demanded.

He didn’t know how to answer. He’d told her time and again, and she was simply refusing to listen. What was it about her?

“I’ll stain your perfect little life with my past.”

Rosalyn rolled her eyes, her jaw set firm. “I don’t know what or who you think I am, but I’m not some delicate, naïve flower. I’m not as pristine, as closed off from the darkness of this world as you seem to think.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure.”

She took a deep breath and levelled him with a challenging stare. “When I was thirteen, my parents and I were in a car accident. I was trapped in the backseat and they were unconscious in the front. It took hours before we were found. I had to watch them die, slowly, and bit by bit—watch their blood drain away.”

Shock sliced through him like ice, but she wasn’t done.

“I went into foster care after that. There were no other family members to take me in. And I’m sure you know kids that age never get adopted. I was in there for five years. And every horror story about the system you might have heard? The reality is a thousand times worse. It’s hell in its purest form.”

He stared at her, read the truth in her eyes. He’d misjudged her. Misjudged her strength.

“I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t. Because you just assumed. I managed to claw my way out of there. At eighteen I applied for every scholarship on the planet and managed to get through college. I made something of myself, and never looked back. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about that time in my life every day. That it doesn’t still effect everything I do.”

She stepped forward, holding his gaze. “You can’t taint me, Diego. I’ve seen the worst this world has to offer—and it’s not you.”

All the breath left him in a rush. The words settled into his soul, cleansing the edges of the black stain that corrupted everything he did. She didn’t—couldn’t—know the truth, but the lonely part of himself clung to her words. The part that had been trying so hard to move on, to be better, be different.

But still, that nagging voice told him that he’d drag her back to the hell she’d fought so hard to leave. That was what he did. He made things worse.

“Bear claw?” she asked as she offered him the plate. He took it, still in a daze, his head thinking through all she’d achieved, all her triumphs. She hadn’t let her past destroy her.

Unlike him.

They settled on the bed, the only place to sit, and ate in silence, sipping the last of their quickly cooling coffee.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said eventually.

Rosalyn shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. And it made me who I am.”

He nodded at that. She was fearless and smart and empathetic. He wouldn’t change that about her, even if he wished she’d lived an easier life. He wanted to ask about foster care, but even as she’d talked about it a sheen of tears had sprang up into her eyes and he knew it wasn’t the right time. Whatever had happened to her was something he hadn’t earned the privilege to know.

He surprised himself by wanting to, though. He’d purposefully kept to himself for the last year, not making any friends or getting close to anyone. What was it about this woman that made him break all his rules?

“So this trouble with the law you mentioned…” she began. Diego tensed, waiting for the question. “Is that why you fight in this underground ring thing?”

He let out a breath in relief that she didn’t ask what he’d done. He wasn’t sure he could face telling her, face the censure in her eyes once she knew. He wasn’t a hero, he knew that. But some part of him enjoyed playing one for her. “Yeah. I’m trying to avoid some bad people from my past—people that might be looking for me. And the cops…well, they might be looking for me, too. I don’t know. There are only a few opportunities open to a guy like me, and none of them are good. This was the only one that didn’t put me right back where I’d come from. Same shit, different city.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes a little distant, and he had the odd feeling she was making mental notes to help her remember later.

“And the other guys? Are they all in a similar situation to you?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I never asked. We kind of operate under our own ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy for our criminal pasts.” He gave her a sly smile at the joke and she grinned quickly in response.

“So how does it work? You show up and get told who you’ll fight?” She chewed on her bear claw, eyes watching him.

“Yup. It changes every time. They don’t want you to fight the same person too close together. The crowd gets bored of that.”

She frowned. “I was reading up about MMA when I was awake last night and it seem very different to what I saw at the warehouse. They have weight classes that you fight within, and rounds, and referees. Why is this so different?”

He scoffed. “It’s an illegal fight. The only thing they care about is keeping the crowd happy, nothing else.”

“But there are unsanctioned MMA matches, right? But they’re not illegal. How is this different?”

He considered her question. “Well, first of all, the betting on our fights is unregulated. So people can bet what they want and win without having to pay taxes on it. But there’s also the danger of it. Anyone could die in that ring. People have. And Spider—you met him—along with his buddy Weston, deal with the bodies.”

She gasped, eyes wide with shock. “Seriously? They dump the bodies? But what about the men’s family and friends? Surely people miss them?”

He laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “The men who fight in those cages are at the end of their rope. They have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, nothing left to lose. No one will notice if they’re gone. No one will care.” He tore off a piece of his pastry, jaw clenching at how much he’d revealed about his own pathetic excuse for a life. Not for long. Soon, he’d be free.

She swallowed as sadness welled in her eyes. “That’s so sad. And brutal. Even if you think of it like a business, you still wouldn’t think the man who runs the fights would want his fighters killed, right? I mean, they’re what’s making him the money.”

Diego shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. There are always more fighters. Trained, and untrained. But McCready wants the crowd to bet big. That’s how he makes his money. And they can bet on who they think will die, if anyone. Bets are always huge after someone dies in the ring. They love the unpredictability of it. It’s a bloodsport, primarily.”

“Have you…” she hesitated, swallowed, and tried again. “Have you ever killed someone?” Her voice was soft and anxious, as if she didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I’ve never killed anyone in the ring,” he told her. Despite the technical truth behind the words he still felt like he was lying.

A lie by omission was still a lie.

“What’s with all the questions?” he asked suddenly, his heart beating harder at the thought that she might discover the truth—discover his secret shame.

She sat back, blinking. “I’m curious, is all. It’s a fascinating and unfamiliar world to me.”

He studied her face, some instinct telling him that wasn’t the whole truth. But he couldn’t imagine what she might be hiding. The light slanted in through the window at exactly the right angle, illuminating her hair in a halo of fire, distracting him from his thoughts.

She looked so beautiful, sitting there like that. Relaxed, comfortable by his side. It was intoxicating.

“It’s like the gladiators in ancient Rome,” she said eventually, leaning back against the pillows.

He frowned. “How so?”

“Well, gladiators fought in the ring, sometimes to the death, for people’s entertainment. Sometimes senators fought, for glory and fame. But mostly it was slaves, fighting for their freedom.”

Her eyes were fixed on him, penetrating into his soul. She could see him, see that hidden part of him that yearned for freedom, for a fresh start.

She continued softly, “Most gladiators didn’t live past thirty.”

Diego’s heart squeezed. He feared dying in the ring before he had a chance to make his escape.

“Well, I have a year to go, then,” he told her with a half-smile.

She tried to return it, but her jaw cracked open and she yawned. Guilt hammered into him.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I fell asleep in fits and starts, but kept jolting awake to check you were still breathing. It wasn’t very restful.”

He scowled. “You should get some sleep now.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t trust that you won’t stop breathing. Not until the forty-eight hours is up.”

He studied her, noting again the dark smudges under her eyes, the paleness of her face.

“Come here,” he said.

Her brows tugged down in confusion. “What?”

“Trust me.”

He held his breath as she shifted towards him unquestioningly.

“Lie down,” he told her. She did, stretching herself on her back next to him. Her side pressed into his.

“Like this?” she asked.

“Put your head on my chest,” he told her, his voice getting low and rough as she got closer. His skin heated where she touched, but he ignored it. She needed sleep more than she needed his lust.

She moved onto her side and carefully place her head on his chest. Her hand fluttered briefly, then it, too, settled against the fabric of his t-shirt. He was thankful his broken ribs were on the other side, so he could simply enjoy her presence.

He took a deep breath, and her head rose and fell with the expansion of his chest. He felt her lips curve into a smile.

“There, now. You’ll know if I stop breathing, right? So sleep.”

“You’re a clever man, Diego.” His name trailed off in a yawn. The tension drained from her muscles as she got closer to sleep. He shifted his arm around her to cradle her shoulder, drifting his fingers along her bare arm. She snuggled further into his chest, already near sleep.

Yeah, he was clever. He’d arranged it so he could touch her, have her close against him. He spent long minutes enjoying the sensation of her in his arms before he, too, drifted into sleep.

And dreamed of her.