The fight in front of us came to an end.

Then the drumrolls came.

Max Riviera stepped onto an actual soap box and cupped the sides of his mouth.

“And now, ladies and gents, to our main event. Knox Mason against the one and only. The man, the legend, the panty dropper who gives King David a run for his money”—he allowed a comical pause in which people snickered—“WEST. ST. CLAIRE!”

People pumped their fists in the air as both men entered the ring. West’s shoulder brushed mine, the familiar scent of winter and male trickling into my nostrils, but he didn’t notice me. I clutched my Solo cup to my heart.

Karlie elbowed me. “Well, if nothing else, it’ll be fun seeing him getting bitch-slapped a time or two.”

“West’s goin’ to annihilate the poor guy.”

But I was wrong.

West didn’t annihilate Knox.

He dang near killed him.

Every time Knox tried to throw a punch, West dodged it and countered with something to knock his opponent out for five to eight seconds. A kick. A jab. Sometimes he grabbed the dude—and there was a lot of that dude—and threw him on the mat WWE style, for funsies.

Fighting wasn’t a sport to West. It wasn’t even a hobby. It was akin to him changing his sheets or brushing his teeth. Just another mundane act that didn’t require any special effort. His body language was bored, languid. At some point, when Knox was on the mat folded into himself, holding his stomach and shaking in pain, West turned around and strolled in my direction. His eyes skimmed over the audience like he was looking for something—probably his fling for the night—and halted on me.

Everything stopped.

The room went quiet.

Or maybe it didn’t, but I certainly blocked all the background noise as his eyes widened, first in shock—and then in anger. His brows drew together. Every muscle in his body tightened.

Now he was looking like he was ready for a fight.

“What the fuck are you doin—” He began with a low, gravelly hiss so dark and depraved it sent chills down my spine, but he never got to finish the sentence. Knox took the opportunity and threw a hook to the back of West’s head. It snapped sideways from the impact, and blood began to trickle out of his mouth. I yelped. West swiveled on his heel, and with a swift kick to the liver, followed by a sucker punch to the side of his face, sent Knox across the ring. The fighter hit a few crates, rolling around several times before falling headfirst onto the mat, undoubtedly knocked out.

The crowd burst with cheers and whistles as Max ran toward Knox and crouched down, counting to ten.

West didn’t bother staying in the ring to be announced as the winner. He charged toward me like a bat outta hell. I stumbled back, bumping into people as I tried to retreat. A tanked guy behind me burped, shoving me into West’s arms carelessly.

“Dang, St. Claire’s horny tonight. Usually he waits until he splits the cash with Riviera.”

“Whoa,” Karlie whispered, her eyes growing impossibly large.

I was now tucked firmly in West’s arms, courtesy of the drunk guy. West shoved me back with open disgust, looking at me like I’d committed the worst crime on planet Earth.

“Who let her in?” He let out a roar that ripped through the air and made everybody take a collective step back.

Gingerly, the guy who’d sold us the tickets took a step forward, lifting his arm. “I … I did, bro. I recognized them from Sher U?”

West’s eyes were still on me when he spoke. “You’re fired.”

“But I …”

“Fired,” West repeated with icy venom.

My eyes burned with humiliation, and my entire face was so hot I felt dizzy with anger. “You promised not to draw attention to me,” I gritted between my teeth, barely a whisper.

West threw me an impersonal glance, tsking. “I don’t promise. I told you not to come here. The moment you stepped foot in my realm—you fucking asked for attention, and now you’re going to get the wrong kind of it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re un-fucking-welcome.”

“Too bad you don’t own this place.” I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and hating the eyes on me. “I’m staying. In fact, I’m going to go top off my drink. So if you’ll excuse me …”

Metaphorically picking up the scraps of my pride, I turned around and began marching to the other side of the floor, knowing Karlie would follow.

Guess I’d gotten my answer. West and I weren’t friends. Not even close.

The crowd parted for me, mesmerized glares following my movements, when I was snatched and lifted in the air from behind.

“You big pain in the ass.”

West scooped me up, fireman-style, hurling me against his shoulder as he dashed up the stairs to the third floor. “Management” as he called it.

“Where are you taking her?” someone in the crowd yelled, laughing.

“Giving her a good spanking, then hurling her out the window.”

Rage pulsated in my bloodstream. Not only was he screwing other people on a weekly basis, but he thought he owned me in some way. Picking me up, ordering me around, making me feel like a reject publicly.

I rained fists on his back and shoulders.

“Let go of me, you asshole.”

He ignored me, climbing up the stairs. It scared me, just how light I was to him. He breezed up, like I was nothing more than a six-pack of beer.

I heard Karlie crying out my name and saw Reign and Easton blocking her way up with polite smiles. It looked way rape-ier than it actually was, and, knowing West and I weren’t going to do much more than fight, I felt inclined to give my best friend a secretive thumbs-up, indicating that I wasn’t going to die in his hands.

“Karlie will call the police,” I said anyway, pulling at his hair now. Lord. I was behaving like a wild animal. At the same time, I didn’t want to be alone with him. I knew I’d yield to temptation. Take whatever he’d offer me.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Not until you let me down.”

“No thanks. Enough people have done that in your life.”

“Who the hell are you to judge?”

“The only person to notice your existence.”

“I don’t want you to!”

“You don’t have a fucking choice in the matter, and, unfortunately, neither do I.”