Blood sprays; I’ve cut his lip. He growls and throws himself at me, dropping me to the ground. He punches my jaw and stars explode in my vision.

No. I push him off and kick at him until he falls back.

He launches himself at me again and we roll on the floor, each one of us trying to get the upper hand. He punches me in the mouth, splitting my lip, too.

We’re even, I have the time to think, before he punches me again, and I lose track for a second.

Raising my hands to protect my head, I brace.

Have to get up, push him off. I know that, and for a long moment I’m back at home, Dad looming over me, the stench of alcohol mixing with the smell of sweat and blood.

The crowd roars and that snaps me back.

I twist and manage to push him off me. Rolling, I get on all fours and shake my head, trying to clear it. The sweet metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

The cage. The fight.

He’s back on his feet. I see him coming and I lurch upright, letting experience drive me, the instinctive knowledge of what I have to do.

Go on the offensive.

I move toward him, getting into his space, throwing a right hook followed by a left cross. They don’t connect, but they force him to retreat, to lift his taped hands to cover up his face. Not hesitating, I advance, throwing jab after jab, not leaving him time to mount his counterattack.

An opening, and I throw a powerful hook, my body rotating, feeding all my force into the punch.

It connects. I feel the impact in my hand, my wrist, traveling up my arm to my shoulder socket.

Shady Sam drops like a stone, more blood spraying on the floor.

The crowd goes wild, the roar rising like a tidal wave, drowning me. I stagger backward, my head swimming. A hand claps me on the back and I turn, ready to defend myself.

“Good work, kid,” says a bass voice, and the face with the sagging jowls finally registers.

Johnny.

I let him grab my hand and lift it, causing another wave of cheers and hands banging on the cage bars. Johnny turns me in a circle, so everyone can see me.

I’ve won the fight.

Holy shit. It’s a heady feeling.

After what feels like a lifetime, Johnny finally leads me out of the cage and back to the dressing rooms, where he proceeds to push me into a chair and wave at somebody.

Carl arrives with a first-aid kit and pulls a chair beside me.

“That was a good fight,” Johnny says. “You’re a fine one, kid. Maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

That irritates me. “And where should I be?”

He shrugs. “Legal fighting. Boxing or whatever strikes your fancy. I’m sure your dad—”

“Leave my dad out of this,” I snap.

“He’d want you to be a professional.”

I’m too tired for this conversation. “He never cared about me one way or another, and I doubt he’ll start now.”

Carl gives me a pad of gauze to press to my bleeding lip and I take it, wiping the blood from my chin.

“Okay, whatever you say.” Johnny lifts his hands. “It’s your life on the line, boy. Be here tomorrow, same time.”

I nod as he walks away. The crowd is cheering again. The next fight has to be starting.

I get dressed, snatch my small wad of money and drag my sorry ass out into the cold.

Chapter Fifteen

Audrey

Mom stays until the next day. I hate to admit it, but I can’t wait for her to go, so I can drop by Zane’s and check on Ash.

He won’t answer the phone. I called until late at night, and then again in the morning—the apartment phone, then his cell phone.

Where is he? Is he avoiding me? Or did he go out last night and forgot his cell?

As soon as Mom leaves, with promises to call me later and visit next month, I run out of the apartment and head straight to Zane’s. It’s midday, so I stop by my favorite Japanese take-out place and get some food.

Now I have an excuse to visit him.

I ring the doorbell and wait, jumping from foot to foot. Wait some more. Ring again. The plastic bag with the food cuts into my palm.

He’s avoiding me. It’s official.

I knock on the door with my fist. “Ash! It’s me, Audrey. Are you there?”

Disappointment presses on my chest like a stone and I’m about to turn about and go, when I hear a sound.

Footsteps? And a crash.

God, what’s happening?

Then the door unlatches and opens, revealing Ash. A battered-looking Ash, his lip split, his chin and jaw bruised black, his eyes bloodshot.

“Ash?” My heart stutters. I’m horrified. “Was that...? Did you...?”

He blinks at me, looking confused. “Did I what?”

“Go back home. Did you dad do that?”

His eyes narrow, and he pulls back. “Nah. Wasn’t him.”

Realization dawns. Oh crap. “You’ve been fighting again?”

He shrugs.

Annoyed, I push past him and drop the bag with the food on the coffee table. “Who did you beat up?”

He closes the door and follows me into the living room, a corner of his mouth lifting in an amused smirk. “Worried about him?”

Is he dense? I’m worried about Ash, but I’m also upset. On top of my mother’s words against him and my defending of him, he’s gone and done what I said he wouldn’t: he’s been fighting. He’s gone back to his old ways.

“Why are you fighting again?” I ask.

“Because I like the pain,” he growls, and it’s so not funny.

“I brought food,” I say, so angry that I consider turning around and leaving.

“That why you came?” He eyes the bag on the table, then his gaze returns to me, sliding over me, hot like fire.

I need to go, I know that. If he refuses to stay out of bar fights, then there’s nothing for us to talk about. My last boyfriend was like that and I don’t need a repeat of that relationship.

But I hesitate. “I’m here because I thought you wanted to talk. My mom left. I didn’t know she was coming. Sorry about all that.”

“Your mom doesn’t like me.” He says it quietly, and it’s such an understatement after all the acid she threw at him I have to smile.

“She doesn’t know you. If she did, she’d like you.”

“So you like me, then?” The half smile is back, and it’s hard to remain angry at him.

“If you haven’t guessed that much, you’re dumber than you look.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, peering into the bag with the food. “That you like me, I mean. Not the dumb part.”

I don’t want to smile. I’m still mad at him, dammit! So I turn toward the kitchen to grab some water and hide my face. “When is Zane back?”

“Tomorrow.”

Ash’s voice makes me pause at the kitchen door. He sounds unhappy. Which is odd. “And Erin?”

“And Erin,” Ash says, and suddenly he’s right behind me, startling me. His hand trails down my back, sending shivers through me, and his breath caresses my neck. “What are you really doing here, Auds?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

“Didn’t your mom tell you not to hang out with me?” he goes on, his hand slipping around my waist, resting at the top of my leggings. “That I’m bad for you. That I get into fights. You shouldn’t be here. Or do you like going against the rules?”

I need him to touch me. I suck in a sharp breath when his fingers dip under the waistband of my leggings, brushing the top of my panties.

“We should talk,” I manage as his fingertips move further down, slipping under my panties.

“I don’t wanna talk right now,” he whispers, his lips branding the back of my neck, while his fingers stroke me, pushing inside me.

Oh god. “Ash...”

His other hand caresses my arm, then moves to my breast. I hiss in a breath when his thumb brushes over the hardening peak, while his other hand strokes me from the inside. Sparks of pleasure shoot through me; my blood runs hot in my veins.

I’m coming apart so fast my mind is spinning.

He presses against my back, his arousal hard and thick, and the feel of it pushes me over the edge. I shudder and moan, rocking on his hand, the world dissolving into mind-blowing pleasure.

My knees won’t hold me. I lean back on Ash’s strong chest, and he wraps an arm around me, supporting me. He slips his fingers out of me, making me shiver again, and trails them up my belly.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs in my ear. “And you’re so hot.”

“You, too,” I mumble, my thoughts slow and lazy.

He smiles against my neck. “You think I’m hot?”

“Uh-huh.”

His arm still around my waist, he tugs me toward the sofa. “Be honest. You like being with me because I make you come so hard just using my fingers, and you can’t imagine what I can do with my cock.”

I laugh as he settles me down on the sofa. “I like you anyway, Ash.”

He frowns, taking a seat beside me. “What’s there to like?”

“Idiot.” I close my eyes. “You’re cute, and funny, and you take care of me. You’re strong but you’d never hurt me. You’re really great.”

“Great?” He’s smiling faintly, though his eyes look sad. Why is he sad?

I lift my head and touch his bruised jaw. He winces when I stroke the scab over his split lip. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, until my head rests against his chest. I listen to his heart race. He swallows hard, and his hand caresses my hair.

Then he strokes the line of my cheek and lifts my face to kiss me. His lips close over mine, rough and warm, and his tongue slips into my mouth, tangling with mine.

He devours my mouth, both hands coming to cup my face. He’s breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling, pressing on my br**sts. I don’t know how it’s possible to want him again, to want more when I’ve just come undone under his touch.

“Fuck, Auds...” He pulls back, licking his lips. His eyes are dark with desire. “I want you so bad.” He groans deep in his throat. “You should go.”

“Why?”

“Because if you stay, I can’t guarantee I’ll hold back like last time. I’m not sure I can.”

I kiss him again. His taste is amazing—like mulled wine. The idea of getting him naked, touching him until he gets lost in pleasure... I want to see that look on his face again—the wonder, the pleasure, so intense it borders on pain.

“What do you have in mind?” I whisper.

“I’m gonna take off your clothes, piece by piece.” He lifts my hair, trails his fingertips down my neck. “I’ll kiss you everywhere, every inch of your bare skin. And then I’m gonna sink inside you so deep.” His lashes lower. “I’ll make you come until the only word you can speak is my name.”

My heart races. My whole body throbs with excitement and a bit of fear. I know, if I can admit it to myself, that I’ve waited for him. And now that he’s telling me what he’ll do, I need him more than ever.

Then he lowers his mouth to my exposed neck, sucking on my pulse, and the fear flees. I love him. Always have. Even when I tried to hate him.

His hands drop to the hem of my T-shirt and skim up my ribs. I know he’ll take care of me, like every time. I trust him.

No matter what, when he’s with me, he puts me first.

He caresses my br**sts through the flimsy fabric of my bra until they ache and heat pools between my legs, while his lips still trail over my neck, raising goose bumps.

God, he smells good—of sexy boy, musk and soap.

“Your mom won’t like this,” he whispers, and I start laughing, but he slips my bra down and his hands are on my bare br**sts, stealing my breath. It’s as if lightning has touched me, electric currents zipping from the tips of my br**sts to my core.