I wanted to ensure he was never coming after me and mine again.

Not only because I wasn’t going to put up with his bullshit, but also because I wanted my girlfriend back.

This time, she was going to be safe.

From him.

From me.

From anyone who wished her harm.

I parked my trashed Ducati in front of Max’s house. Christina was at the shop for days, and still looked like shit.

I’d never been to Max’s place before. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know who he lived with. By the nice, Craftsman-style digs and manicured front lawn, I bet he lived with his parents. Sad, because he didn’t need any more obstacles standing in his way on his quest to lose his virginity.

Baked leaves crunched beneath my boots as I made my way to the door. Max opened up with a somber face, glancing behind my shoulder, to see if I brought reinforcements.

“Is he here?” I stepped into his house without technically being invited.

Max nodded quickly. “Told you I’d make it work.”

“Alone?” I stressed.

He tugged his shirt down his round belly. “I ain’t stupid. Don’t want you to kill me.”

“The former isn’t true, and the latter is still fucking likely.” I sauntered into a neat living room full of flowery furniture and family pictures that proved Max wasn’t the only person in the family who was grossly unfuckable.

I found Kade slumped on the couch, smoking a blunt, watching a football rerun on a flat TV screen, a can of beer in his lap.

“Somethin’ stinks.” He sniffed the air, refusing to unglue his eyes from the screen.

I took a seat on a recliner to his right, studying him. He fidgeted, his fingers dancing around his beer. I noticed a tic in his right eye.

“Heard you were in the hospital.” He made a show of flexing his muscles as he rearranged himself. “You sure look fine to me.”

“Thanks for the medical assessment, Dr. Shit-for-brains.”

He took a sip of his beer, trying to appear calm. But his knee was jerking, and his lower lip trembled. He knew as well as I did that I could thrash him right here, right now, and end things the way they were intended to happen if I wanted to. There was no dispute I was a better fighter. The fact of the matter was, I’d thrown the fight for him, and he’d greedily decided to almost kill me, punishment for my being better.

I stared at him wordlessly, watching him unravel.

“Why’d you call me in here, anyway?” He huffed. “An apology?”

Max slouched next to him, shoving his face between his own knees.

“Just want y’all to know my parents should be here in an hour, so dirtying up the carpet with blood …”

“Better spit it out, then, St. Claire.” Kade ripped his eyes from the screen, eyeballing me. “You wanted to do this without the buffer of our boys. That means whatever’s gonna go down should stay between us. Tell me why I’m here.”

Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as a brick. Maybe he was just as stupid as a rock. Still an object, but half as deadly.

“I want half the money from the fight—and a promise you will never go after me, my friends, my parents, and most of all …” I raised an octave, my tone cutting the air like a blade. “My girlfriend.”

Grace and I weren’t together, but a guy could dream.

Kade rolled his head on the couch, a metallic laugh slipping between his lips.

“You ain’t getting a dime of my money. I won it fair and square, and while you have my word I won’t hurt your girl, I can’t promise I won’t hit on her. A nice piece of ass, you got yourself there. And I hear she’s newly single now. Well, whaddaya know? I happen to have lost my Vegas contract and moved here permanently. Can’t think of better entertainment than pounding into your sexy ex.”

“Now, Kade, let’s not—” Max started, but Appleton hurled his half-full beer can across the room at the TV. The thick, white fluid rolled down on it, foam hissing on the floor.

“Shut your suck, Riviera, the men are speaking now.”

“I …” Max stuttered.

“Go clean it up,” Kade barked. “Pretty sure Mr. and Mrs. Fugly don’t want beer on their carpet just as much as they don’t want blood.”

I choked my armrests, feeling my jaw flexing. I needed to play this right, even if my natural response was to kill the bastard. Getting dragged into his hysterics would be amateur and unconstructive to the end goal.

“You might want to rethink that, Appleton,” I said serenely.

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He shot me a stony glare.

I hunted my phone out of my front pocket, found what I was looking for, and held it out for him to see. He crouched forward reluctantly, watching.

It was a video of him and Shaun, launching two pit bulls at each other. The dogs ripped at each other savagely, with Kade and his manager cheering them on, laughing and making faces. There was a circle of people around the bloodied canines. You could see their faces clearly, and you could tell none of those assholes knew they were being taped.

One of the dogs plowed its teeth into the other’s neck, producing so much blood, the injured dog whimpered and plopped sideways, fighting violent spasms as it bled out. It didn’t stop the winning dog from tearing into it.

One of the pit bulls ate the other one alive, while it was crying for help.

It was so brutal, even my desensitized ass couldn’t watch it. When Kade’s ex-girlfriend agreed to send me those videos, I’d promised I would put an end to his dog-fighting days. That wasn’t a promise I intended to break. In fact, I was going to make sure that from this point forward, every time I promised someone anything, I’d see it through.

“Where’d you get this?” He sat up straight, looking alert now. He tried to snatch the phone from my hand, but I swiftly tucked it back into my pocket.

“None of your goddamn business. Now, just so we’re clear, you arranging dog fights with the human brick also known as Shaun, on top of the probation you’re on for beating up your ex-girlfriend? Yeah, that’s a big ol’ pile of offenses. Me thinks your fighting skills may be handy in prison, unless you’re fine with being everyone’s little bitch.”

“I’m not doing that anymo—”

“Spare me the bullshit. I have copies of these videos all over my cloud. These videos are recent. That’s your new gig, now that you can’t get into the ring anymore. I’ll make sure this is all over YouTube and on the sheriff’s desk by nighttime if you don’t listen very carefully. Now, I’ll ask again—half the money from the fight, plus a promise you never get close to my people. Ever. That especially applies to Grace Shaw. If I hear you as much as farted in her direction, I will kill you twenty-six times, a death for each of your birthdays. Am I clear?”