Evan came into the club that night with his head full of heavy thoughts. He was starting to get tired of this routine. It didn't seem so boring before. Every night that he walked in, he heard Isobel's words ringing through his head.

You hurt people.

Weary, he checked in with KC in the back room. There were a few lockers and things, but mostly it was a big, proper office, with a few desks and computers. This place was technically a warehouse, and it was technically a nightclub, and it was also technically an illegal underground boxing ring. Right now, it felt like a prison. "I'm fighting tonight?" he asked.

"Yeah. Rodney."

Evan knew better than to complain, but he also knew that he would rather not fight Rodney. If at all possible, he would rather not fight at all, especially Rodney. He had fought him a few times, and the guy was getting good at finding his weaknesses. But they could drag out the fight for a while and win big. He opened one of the lockers and found his gauze.

"Bare knuckle."

Evan sighed. He was going to draw blood tonight, probably his own. He considered what Isobel would think of his split knuckles. She would probably ignore them, because she was that kind of smart. But she would also figure out that his knuckles were broken on another man's face, and wouldn't forgive him for it.

"What's the matter, you don't want the chance to kick that pretty boy's teeth in?" KC asked, taking a seat in front of his computer desk. He did actually have a job.

"Getting tired of kicking people's teeth in, actually. You ever get sick of it?" he asked.

KC chuckled. "Kid, I didn't go to school for accounting so that I could fight people for money. I watch these bozos throw away their kids' college funds on you and it makes me sick. Sick. Besides, I ain't ever been as fast as you. I got hired for my brains, not my brawn."

"The hell's that supposed to mean? You think I'm stupid?"

"Yeah. You came in here eight years ago and asked Killer to make you rich. You let him put you in the ring right then, and you ain't never been able to look back. People in this town aren't ever gonna see you as anything more than a brawler."

"I'm hustling, same as anyone else in this shit hole."

"No, you're destroying your future. Every punch you throw is wrecking your wrists, your back, your bones. You'll be laid up forever by the time you're forty."

"You got anymore uninvited comments to make?"

"Yeah. I heard you got some fine young thing taking care of your grandma."

Evan stood up straight, straight as his spine would let him. He looked at KC. "Who told you that?"

"Rodney."

"And how did Rodney find out?"

"I didn't ask. All I know is that you guys make way too much money, and it ain't hard to pay someone stupid to do something bad. I would make sure granny's home security system is pretty top-notch. Rodney's been sweet-talking the boss, trying to get him to let you two fight."

The door opened. Neither Evan nor KC reacted when Rodney and Tanya strolled in.

"Hey, Lockwood! Heard we get to tussle again tonight. You ready for me to beat you down?"

"Only if you're ready to lose," he said, throwing on an easy smile.

Rodney laughed. The energy between them was electric. In a way, it was like what he had with Isobel, except in reverse: instead of warmth in his veins, it was ice.

"What's the pot look like so far?" Rodney asked KC.

"Pitiful. You boys better put on a good show."

"Don't worry, I think we can make it nice and slow," Rodney assured KC, but the whole time he spoke, his eyes were on Evan's. Evan wasn't afraid of this punk ass. But he wasn't getting comfortable, either. He knew that one slip would end his career.

When Evan left the back office, the dance floor had been emptied, and a makeshift ring had been set up. It was really barely a ring. The lights in the dance floor had been turned off and a foam mat had been laid down. Evan had always thought of it as a strange nod to comfort, but apparently they'd had plenty of guys that got knocked out on the floor before the fight could even really start.

There were plenty of drunks already. The place was seething. The energy was unbearable. It was seething and wild, and Evan was starting to feel like maybe this was a bad idea. He walked up to the bar and demanded a shot, and it was given to him. Tanya was behind the bar. He wasn't sure she was licensed for that, but then again, he wasn't licensed to fight like this. The liquor burned, hot and sour down his throat. He was ready. Or, at least, as ready as he could be.

When he got to the ring, Rodney was already there. His blue eyes were staring daggers right into Evan's green ones. He was ready.

Rodney wasn't distracted. Rodney was where he had been a few years ago, eager and ready and snarling for his chance to take down a champ, to be the best. The younger man sniffed a little, shook his head, loosened his neck and shoulders.

Evan just wished the fight was already over. He had a bad feeling about this.

He kept imagining Isobel's face, her disapproval.

You hurt people.

Yes, he hurt people. He was a monster, a bastard, a brawler. Adrenaline coursed through him.

I hurt people. And I'm going to hurt Rodney next.

Evan's blood thundered in his ears.

Why was this getting to him?

KC appeared as an official. He stood between the two. He gave some prepared speech that Evan didn't care to hear. All he knew was that Rodney was getting ready to go berserk on him. Evan actually started to get a little worried. Rodney didn't look . . . normal.

* * *

Isobel had fallen asleep on Glory's cozy armchair when she heard the door opening downstairs. She struggled to remember--Glory had gone to bed. She vaguely remembered the rumble of that horrible red sports car in her dream, so she took a breath and went downstairs, hoping she would find Evan.

When she turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, she paused, looking across the sitting room to see Evan leaning heavily against the counter. In the dark, she couldn't see much, but she could see that he was hurt.

"Hey, Evan?"

He turned his head, and when he saw her, he reached up and flicked on the kitchen light. "Isobel?" he asked.

"Hey, you okay?"

His head fell, but he busied himself by digging around in a first aid kit.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Go back to sleep. Or you can go home."

Isobel looked at her watch. "It's only midnight. My shift doesn't end for hours."

He sighed angrily. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was the one that decided when your shift ended. My bad."

Isobel winced when she saw his knuckles. They were split open and bleeding. His hands trembled as he cleaned them with alcohol wipes. The rest of him didn't look much better. His face was bruised to the point where she was concerned for his eye, which was nearly swollen shut. If she took off his shirt, what would the rest of him look like?

She walked closer, crossing her arms. "Do you, like, want some help?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because you're shaking, dude."

He dropped his hands and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. "Isobel. Please. Leave."

"Evan. Please. Let me help."

Evan looked at her. His shoulders were dropped and hunched forward. He looked like a kicked dog. A German shepherd or a pit bull, but kicked nonetheless.

Approaching cautiously, because she hadn't forgotten the mental image of him knocking her out, she took the wipes from his hand and quietly pulled out a seat, gesturing for him to sit in it. He sat in it backwards, resting his hands on the back of the chair. Isobel was quiet, and gentle, but it still hurt, and he still winced. Every time he did, she felt her heart pang a little bit with pity.

"So. Punch somebody harder than you?"

"You know I fight, right?"

"Yeah."

"I lost."

"Jesus, the other guy did this to you?"

"The other guy? Ha. Not quite." After a moment of unpressed silence, he said, "My boss did this to me. Because I lost."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Well. Somehow word got around that I'm not as committed as I used to be, which is bullshit. Well, I was distracted and I lost my fight."

"What distracted you?"

He didn't answer. He just looked at the floor to his right. Isobel could taste the shame in the air. She tried to figure out how the hell she was going to bandage this, but settled for just smearing triple antibiotic ointment on the knuckles and wrapping that part of the hand in gauze.

"I'm so tired, Isobel," he whispered, so quietly she wondered if she'd even heard it. But she knew she had, and when she did, her heart wrenched in her chest.

She walked to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas. Laying a towel over it, she carefully pressed it against Evan's face. He raised his head, so that it was level with her chest. While she held the bag there, he rested his head against her breasts.

Isobel tried not to let her breathing change, but she couldn't stop it either. She reached out with her other hand and ran her fingers over his scalp. His hair was cut short, like a buzz cut. Upstairs were photos of a younger Evan with a longer, shaggier haircut, which suited him much better.

A thought crossed her mind, and just as soon as it appeared, she wished it hadn't. Her knees quivered. Her hands too. She gently pressed her palm against Evan's bruised jaw so that he looked up at her. Those sparkling eyes were dull and tired.

She kissed his forehead. He didn't look down. She didn't stop. She kissed between his eyebrows. She kissed the tip of his nose.

Her mouth hovered over his, indecision making her hesitate.

"Isobel," he whispered, making her legs weak beneath her. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Her breasts ached and her nipples grew hard.

"Evan," she whispered back.

He reached up and snagged her necklace, pulling her mouth against his. For a moment, neither breathed. Neither moved.

Isobel exploded.

Her arms wrapped around Evan's neck, pulling him tighter against her chest. Evan's hand let go of her necklace and snagged her hair, and he winced even as he twisted his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. He stood, pulling her arms off of his neck. The chair, the chair was in the way. She needed him closer. She needed him inside her, all around her, she couldn't breathe without him.

Evan's arm snaked around her, lifting her like she weighed nothing, and he slid her onto the counter. His grip on her hair tightened, and it hurt, but it also drove her crazy with desire. His mouth was on her throat, biting and sucking and turning her skin red. He began to suck, hard, on the skin where her neck and shoulder met. He was going to leave a mark.

She gasped, "Evan, no, don't."

He stopped, but he didn't move. His arm was around her waist, pulling them together so that she felt his hard cock behind his jeans.

"God, Isobel, it's torture when you squirm," he sighed, and he pressed the side of his face into her neck. He ground his hips into hers, and she took a sharp breath. "Let me touch you. Let me fuck you."

How long had it been since someone touched her? Wanted her?

"W—we can't," she said, her voice weak. "We can't . . ."

"We don't have to breathe a word. No one has to know."

No, no one did have to know. That made it tempting, more tempting than it already was. She didn't want to be a loose string. It would hurt. It would hurt when she had to leave. She wasn't sure she believed everything she'd been told about sex, but she knew she couldn't exactly ever forget Troy, even after everything he'd done to her.

"Evan . . ."

She put her hand on his chest, and lightly pushed him back.

"I don't want to be another notch on another man's belt."

Evan reached up and touched her face. He kissed her, gently. Her lips were puffy and sore. She was wet, and uncomfortable in her jeans.

"Kiss me one more time," she asked.

"And then we never speak of it again," he said, and they both nodded.