Alexei’s opponent rolled his shoulders across the ring, preparing for the fight. Alexei grinned, a savage baring of teeth that caused Wyatt to blanch slightly before recovering himself. The crowd beyond the cage was silent and watchful, waiting for the match to begin.

A whistle blew. Alexei charged forward, his feet hitting the concrete with heavy thumps as he rushed his opponent. Wyatt ducked and dodged, landing a solid punch in Alexei’s gut that he barely felt. He turned on Wyatt, the lust for violence coursing through him. An unexpected backhand from a closed fist struck him across the temple and he staggered back. Wyatt winked at him, knowing he’d deceived Alexei.

Wyatt was new to the ring. Alexei had never fought him before, so he wasn’t personally familiar with the guy’s fighting style, but was fairly confident he could beat him anyway. Alexei liked to watch the other matches that happened on the same nights as his fights, figure out his opponent’s weaknesses, but Wyatt was still a bit of a mystery.

He’d clearly had formal training, but didn’t seem to be that familiar with the all-out fights in the ring. He was more determined than skilled, always getting up once he’d been knocked down, as if he fought for something other than money.

But that wouldn’t stop Alexei.

He stepped forward and picked Wyatt up by his neck, intending to slam him against the hard concrete beneath them.

But Wyatt had other ideas. He wrapped his hands around Alexei’s forearm; not as a desperate attempt to claw Alexei’s hands away, but for leverage. He crunched his stomach and heaved himself up, then wrapped his thighs around Alexei’s throat and squeezed.

Alexei choked, his grip loosening. Wyatt flipped back, his legs still around Alexei’s throat, using Alexei’s own weight against him. They tumbled head over ass, Alexei landing on his back with a breath-stealing thud. Wyatt hovered over him and planted one hand against Alexei’s chest before punching him solidly in his left eye. Alexei grunted as pain speared through him, his head ringing from the impact.

Before Wyatt could do any more damage, Alexei grabbed his descending fist and twisted it out of the way. Wyatt growled in pain, shifting off Alexei to put his arm and shoulder in a more comfortable position. Alexei sat up and gave Wyatt a solid punch to the side. A rib cracked, and Wyatt let out a howl of pain that made Alexei wince. He hadn’t meant to do that.

The crowd beyond the cage murmured, but no other sound came from the well-dressed men and women who watched these fights. Alexei never knew what motivated them to come. They seemed bored most of the time, calmly sipping the champagne that long-legged women in revealing shorts brought them throughout the fights.

They placed bets, too, he knew that. But he never saw it happen. He figured the gambling occurred before the fighters arrived.

Wyatt lashed out with a savage kick that hit Alexei in the stomach, bringing his attention back to the fight.

Alexei whirled with more speed than he knew people expected of him and came up behind Wyatt. He locked his arm around the man’s throat and gave the perfect amount of pressure. Wyatt kicked and struggled, but he couldn’t budge Alexei’s tree trunk arm. He kicked back, catching Alexei’s knee so he sagged. But Alexei caught himself in time and managed to stay upright.

Soon enough, Wyatt was unconscious, a deadweight in his grip. Alexei carefully lowered the other man to the floor and stepped back. The crowd didn’t cheer, or even clap. Just eyed him through the diamond-shaped wire that stood between them.

Alexei gave Wyatt a final glance. The other man was already blinking himself awake, so Alexei stepped out of the cage with a slight limp, his leg already aching where Wyatt had struck him.

One of McCready’s men waited to escort him past the crowd. McCready owned and ran these fights, and he didn’t want his grubby, brutal fighters to get anywhere near his cash cows. It irked Alexei to know that he was just meat to this guy, but he never expressed his displeasure. If he did, he risked getting kicked out of the fights, or worse, a knife in his back down a dark alley. These men were not known for their forgiving natures.

He waited behind the crowd for Weston to appear with his money. Weston had taken over as McCready’s right-hand man while Spider recovered from his last fight. Spider was another fighter, one who had cheated in the ring on McCready’s orders. Diego, his opponent, had disappeared from the fights soon after, and hadn’t been back for the last few weeks.

Alexei didn’t know for sure, but he assumed that Diego had either been killed for his refusal to follow the rules, or he’d gone into hiding. He hoped the latter.

Weston appeared and reluctantly handed Alexei his envelope of money with a sneer. He was a big guy, but Alexei still dwarfed him. He had a mean face arranged in a perpetual scowl and he wasn’t particularly bright. Worse, he had a lust for violence which spoke to some significant defect in his character. It reminded him a little of the look in Jimmy’s eye as he’d stood over Evie.

Evie. He’d barely been able to get her out of his head since he’d burst into her apartment. He’d tried to apologise by getting her busted door fixed, always having been better with gestures than with words, particularly since he still struggled with English. He was improving, considering he hadn’t spoken a word of the language when he’d first arrived on US soil, but it was slow. He never had much of an opportunity to practice, since he never really spoke to anyone.

But even his clumsy attempt to make it up to Evie had backfired. He’d known immediately that she was angry, and once she explained, he’d seen she was right. It had been a stupid gesture, even if he’d meant well.

He knew from now on it was better if he just stayed away from her. She was trouble, he had no doubt. But no matter how many times he’d told himself that, he’d still been unable to get her out of his mind. He’d spent the last two days cleaning his apartment from top to bottom. After seeing how much pride she’d taken in her small corner of the world, he’d felt vaguely ashamed of his own neglect of himself and his living quarters.

Now, it was cleaner than it had ever been, but he still had a sense of dissatisfaction he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t like he could get any place better. He needed somewhere that didn’t ask too many questions about its tenants, and accepted rent in cash.

Annoyed with himself, Alexei tucked the money in his back pocket and strode towards the back room. Doc was already treating Wyatt, checking his eyes to make sure Alexei hadn’t done any permanent damage. No one knew Doc’s real name, which was not an uncommon occurrence in these parts. He was an older man with a shock of white hair and thin-rimmed glasses. If it wasn’t for the grimy room that passed as his office, and the constant shake of his hand, Alexei would have said the guy looked like every stereotype of a kindly doctor.

The only thing was that Doc wasn’t a doctor, at least not anymore. Rumour was he’d lost his license after he’d screwed up somehow, and now earned his money by treating fighters once a week off the books.

It wasn’t because McCready cared about them that he provided this service. He just didn’t want them to keel over outside the cage because he made a lot more money if they died in front of his hand-picked crowd.

Alexei hovered in the doorway to the makeshift surgery, waiting for the verdict on Wyatt, and breathed a sigh of relief when Doc finally spoke.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, man,” Wyatt said, and clapped Doc on the shoulder. He stood, then glanced over to see Alexei hovering in the doorway. Wyatt’s gaze frosted over as he strode in Alexei’s direction, and Alexei couldn’t help a surge of disappointment that welled within him. He knew he won a lot, and the other fighters didn’t exactly appreciate that, but it was hardly his fault he was so big and strong. If these fights were run properly, then there would be weight classes for them to fight in. But McCready liked the mismatched fights for some unknown reason. Alexei suspected it gave him a greater control over the winner, since he could hand pick who each fighter competed against each week.

Alexei wouldn’t call the other fighters his friends; he knew better than to expect that considering they punched each other in the face each week to compete for a payday. But he felt a certain comradery with them. No one else knew what it was like to do what they did—step in the ring each week for a fight that might be their last, and try not to die in the process. It was brutal, and difficult, and isolating in a way the licensed MMA fights he’d competed in when he’d first arrived in America were not. There, they had proper doctors, and referees, and safety measures. Here, it was a cruel free-for-all where no one cared if anyone else lived or died.

By the time Wyatt had made his way to Alexei, the chilly look in his eyes had disappeared. Instead, he held out his hand to shake and Alexei took it in confusion.

“I suppose I had to lose eventually,” Wyatt said. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

He smiled to lessen the sting of his words, and Alexei smiled back. “Good fight,” he said.

Wyatt nodded in agreement, then stepped around Alexei and headed in Weston’s direction. Alexei watched him for a moment, wondering if there would be a confrontation, but instead Weston smiled when Wyatt approached. The two men looked friendly, chatting together. Alexei scowled in their direction. He’d thought Wyatt might be better than that, smarter than to get into McCready’s pocket, but apparently not. Nothing good could come of his association with that crowd.

Alexei turned back to Doc, who tilted his head in the direction of the chair sitting in the middle of the room. Alexei eased himself down and held himself still as Doc examined him. A bruise was blooming on his cheek where Wyatt had struck him, but other than that he felt fine. His knee was a bit sore, maybe, and if he wasn’t careful it might swell.

Eventually, Doc pronounced him well enough to leave.

Alexei stood and moved towards the door, then turned back. “Doc?”

“Hmmm?” Doc glanced towards him with a frown.

“When you practiced, were many patients from domestic violence?” He scowled, knowing his English was fairly garbled and annoyed at himself for even asking the question. He almost told Doc to forget it, but the other man tilted his head and studied him for a moment.

“A few,” he said eventually. “More than I’d like to see, but so many less than I knew were out there.”

Alexei pressed his lips together in displeasure at that truth. His own mother had never sought help, had never tried to leave. Once, Alexei had searched the internet for anything that might get her to leave his father, but all he’d found were statistics showing the most dangerous time for a woman leaving an abusive relationship was right after she’d fled. So many died when they tried to escape. And in the end, his mother had died because she’d stayed.

He cleared his throat, refusing to succumb to the memories. “Anything I should know?”

Doc gave him a slight smile. “Go slow, be careful, and listen to what they need.”

Alexei nodded. “Thanks.” It wasn’t that he couldn’t figure out that advice for himself, but it helped to have the reminder. After his attempt to help Evie by having her door fixed without her permission, he knew if he saw her again he’d have to be more considerate, even if it was against his nature.

He avoided women, particularly small, delicate ones. With his size and strength, it was so easy to hurt them. And he refused to become like his father.

Alexei left the warehouse they used for the fights and walked in the direction of his apartment. His knee was already hurting, making him limp slightly, but he ignored it. It was about an hour away, but he could do with the walk to clear his head. He had to stop thinking about Evie, or he could get himself into some real danger.

But a long-latent protective urge had already grasped ahold of him. He hadn’t saved his mother. He hadn’t been big or strong enough yet.

Now, he could protect another woman in a similar situation, save her from the pain and heartache.

She didn’t want his help, he knew that. But he knew he couldn’t stop himself getting involved again if Jimmy came back.

And this time he might not let the guy walk away.

Alexei turned down his street before he even knew where he was. He had been so wrapped up in thoughts of Evie that he hadn’t noticed he’d come so far. It was dark, the moonlight barely shining through the cloud cover. The streetlights were still broken, and probably always would be, at this point.

Alexei crossed the street, passing the alley where he’d dumped Jimmy a few nights ago. He kept walking, right into the apartment building. As he started up the steps, a guy in a dark hoodie barrelled past him. Alexei couldn’t see his face, but the scent of alcohol rolled off him in waves. Alexei turned back to watch the guy push his way through the door and out onto the street. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn that was Jimmy.

He stepped down, intending to follow the man out, but a noise sounded above him. He glanced up to see Evie staring down at him from two flights up.

“Did you see someone?” she called down.

He nodded.

“Was it Jimmy?” she asked.

He gave an exaggerated shrug, big enough that she could see from a distance in the muted light. She wrapped her arms around herself in what he now recognised was a sign of nerves and a gesture of comfort for her.

“I’m so paranoid,” she muttered to herself.

Alexei didn’t reply to that, didn’t tell her of his suspicions. Instead, he jogged up the two flights of stairs, forcing his gait to be even despite his swelling knee. Evie didn’t retreat into her apartment like he expected, but waited until he was in the hall.

“I’m sorry I was ungracious about the door. I appreciate you paying for it.”

He shrugged. He hadn’t done it for her gratitude. The door in question was a lot more solid than her previous one. He’d made sure the repairman had put in the best lock he had available, and reinforced the frame. If Alexei managed to kick it down, Jimmy could, too.

It was then that she noticed the bruise forming on his face, and her eyes narrowed.

“Anyway. Thank you.” Then, she backed up towards the door and slipped inside, keeping nervous eyes on him the whole time.

Alexei was left standing in the hallway, suddenly feeling like a brute.