I was a point of silence in the chaos of The Underground. I was the eye of the motherfucking storm.

Sitting at the bar, I downed the last of my beer and slammed the empty bottle down with a thud. Behind me, people were shouting and laughing, music was blaring, the bookies to my left were running full tilt taking bets for the night, and a fight had just wrapped up in the cage. It was business as usual, but I didn’t hear any of it.

All I could see were green eyes and flame. Whoever the woman from last night was, I couldn’t shake her image. Maybe it was just the life or death situation that had lodged her in my brain. A moment of high intensity had forged an obsession with a mystery. Fuck, that was some deep shit right there.

“Storm,” a female bartender said. “For a fighter with a name like that, you sure blow in on the quiet side.”

Glancing up, I saw it was Faye. The blonde haired, blue-eyed stunner that every man would kill to fuck. Every man but me, that was.

She swiped up my empty Corona bottle and dumped it into the bin. It crashed against the pile of glass within, and I thought about getting another. I wasn’t fighting tonight, and I could afford the extra calories…as long as the alcohol gave me a buzz.

“You’re always lurking,” Faye said, leaning on the bar. My gaze fell to her breasts, which she was pushing in my direction. “You never talk, and you never mingle. You just fight.”

Since my disastrous return to The Underground over a year ago, I’d made it my mission to keep clear of drama and entanglements…even friendships had been on the back burner. I didn’t talk, I didn’t confide, and I definitely didn’t let go of my heart.

“So?”

“So what happened? You used to be different.”

“None of your business.”

“No girl?” she asked, ignoring me.

“Nope.” My thoughts settled on the woman from the fire. Ash-blonde hair. It was like some kind of fucked-up metaphor.

“Then what are you doing later?” Faye fluttered her eyelashes and pouted her lips. “Need some cheering up?”

I stared at her, not surprised at her blatant demand for sex. She was the kind of woman who reveled in her sexuality and didn’t mind flaunting it, but it didn’t mean she was easy. She was the one who did the choosing, not the other way around, and it looked like she wanted to take me out for a ride.

I rolled my eyes. “I know you like trawling for dick, Faye, but everyone knows you’ve got an arrangement with Blade.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Corona,” I said, glaring at her.

Pouting, she straightened up and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Coming right up.”

Running my fingers along the edges of the mat on top of the bar, I stared at the television mounted on the wall opposite. Usually, it played a variety of pay TV sports, like live football, UFC bouts, rugby, or car racing, but tonight, someone had left it on the news. I watched absently, my gaze flicking over the closed captions.

I was really beginning to question the point of everything. Life, love, wealth, meaning, giving a fuck. Diving headfirst into that fire had shifted something inside of me, and the life I’d withdrawn into wasn’t serving its purpose anymore. That much was clear. I was fucking miserable.

The blaze erupted in the Brunswick Street store at around ten p.m. last night. Flames engulfed the fledgling business in minutes.

I straightened up, staring at the screen as Faye returned with my beer. Thumping it down on top of the bar, she peered at me.

“What’s up your ass?” she asked, glaring at me.

Not giving a stuff about her bruised ego, I said, “Shut the fuck up. I’m watching that.”

She glanced at the television, then back to me, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was too busy waiting for a glimpse of the mystery woman with ashes in her hair. Not to mention waiting for the part referencing the Good Samaritan who risked his life.

The case of the blaze was determined to be a fault with the electrical wiring. The matter is now under police investigation.

Police investigation? I frowned.

The story ended, and another began. There had been no mention of the woman or me. It was probably a good thing considering my need for obscurity, but I couldn’t help the pang of disappointment at not seeing her again. I was seriously whacked.

“A shop fire?” Faye looked me over. “Know something about that?”

“No,” I snapped, pushing to my feet. Slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the bar, I grabbed my beer and walked away.

Pushing through the crowd, I took a sip of alcohol and tried to think of something other than my stupidly heroic actions. Last night seemed a long time ago already. No one had died—otherwise, they would’ve said in the report—but police action?

It may have been my past interactions with con artists posing as beautiful women, but my first thought was an insurance scam. I would like to give people the benefit of the doubt considering I didn’t know the woman from shit, but I’d been burned in the most complete and horrific way. Even if she was legit, it was better this way.

A shoulder smashed into me, and I lost my grip on my bottle of beer. It fell to the concrete, smashing into a million pieces. Alcohol splashed over my jeans and boots, and I allowed the surge of anger I’d been holding onto to burst forth.

“Hey!” I shouted, turning to give the asshole a piece of my mind.

“Watch where you’re walkin’, Storm.”

Great, just my fucking luck. Staring directly into the angry face of Hamish ‘Goblin’ McBride, Irish asshole of the century, I sneered.

The guy hated my guts, and I hated his, but at least it was for a legitimate reason and had nothing to do with the length of our dicks. He was with Lori now. Lori being the woman I cheated on back when I was a steaming pile of shit. Lori, the woman I could’ve found eternal happiness with but had been too arrogant to slow the fuck down and appreciate what I had.

Now she’d found all that and more with Hamish. She might’ve forgiven me to some extent—after finally agreeing to hear my side of the story—but Goblin never would. I was enemy number one in his eyes and always would be.

“Watch where you leave your fat ass, ginger,” I retorted.

“Still a complete dick, I see,” was his reply. “Still fallin’ victim to con artists, limp dick?”

I took a step closer. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“I would shut yours, but you’re too coward to face me in the cage. You would forfeit the moment your name was drawn with mine.” He narrowed his eyes in warning. “You’re not worth riskin’ the Championship to fight now. I wouldn’t even give you five cents for the chance to knock your head off, let alone risk losin’ a cool million.”

“It’s all about money to you, isn’t it?”

“Integrity,” he replied, laughing in my face. “That’s what it’s about.”

My lip curled as I stared him down, struggling to keep my temper under control. No, I didn’t want to fight him because I’d made Lori a promise. She didn’t come to The Underground anymore, but her boyfriend did. If I fought him, I would be breaking it, and I didn’t want to hurt her any more than I already had. If I fought Hamish—win or lose—I would be drawn into her stratosphere once more.

I’d promised to leave her alone and never contact her again, and I intended to honor it. I owed her, not her grudge-wielding boyfriend. I didn’t need to explain myself to him.

I thought about all the things I could throw in his face—my promise, my shit existence, my misery, saving the ashen-haired woman from the fire—but it wasn’t worth it.

Hissing, I shoved him back and stalked off, the crowd parting like I was the embodiment of my namesake. A storm was brewing, and they were scrambling to get out of the way before they were steamrolled.

It was better I remained anonymous. Here, out there, and when it came to that fire. It was better for everyone if I kept punishing myself with obscurity.

I was glad the ashen-haired woman was okay. At least her life was repairable. Mine had gone up in flames a long time ago.