Playing with Fire

“Shaw! There you are!” Karlie jumped into my vision, holding two Solo cups in her hands. She pushed one into my palm.

“I made sure the guy opened a brand-new beer and poured it in front of me, so it’s not spiked or watered down. Well? Did you find lover boy?”

“I did,” I hissed. “And without gettin’ into detail, lover boy loves having sex with Tess, so I guess now we know where I stand.”

She gasped, a glint of curiosity lighting up her eyes. “You caught them together?”

“No, I overheard him declaring his intentions toward her.”

“Told you he was bad news.”

“You also told me to come here.” I sighed.

“True.” She shrugged. “We’ve never done this before, and I really wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

I shouldered my way to the first row of viewers as Karlie trailed behind me, changing the topic to her workload at school. I tried to tell myself that it was better that way. West wasn’t mine. His body belonged to everyone else, and his heart was unreachable to anyone on the planet, himself included.

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.