HALEY

The boy getting his ass kicked in the ring looks like he does not want to be there.

I get it.

I don't want to be here either.

I don't know why I came at all, to be honest. It's not safe for me here.

John could be anywhere, around any corner. Waiting for me.

Not a single person in the crowd would do anything to intervene if he chose tonight to try and drag me back into his world.

Underground fights like this one aren't exactly a breeding ground for Good Samaritans.

If John did pounce out, they'd probably all cheer. Like this was just another fight on the undercard.

Haley Cochran versus her abusive ex-boyfriend, John "Bumper" Whitley! Watch as this hundred-pound girl desperately tries to fend off the leather-clad douche bag who's made her life a living hell!

Shit-not only would they stand around and watch, they'd probably start betting on the outcome.

I'm seated at the top of the bleachers looking down at the boxing ring in the middle. Sunglasses on and hoodie pulled over my face so nobody recognizes me, even though it makes me look like a total diva bitch since it's, ya know, nighttime.

But even up here, I'm still close enough to see the blood spattering the canvas of the ring down below.

One of the fighters is bigger than the other-taller, broader, thicker-but something about him seems unsteady. Ready to crumble at any moment.

Probably because it's almost entirely his blood that's been spilled.

His opponent, a stocky boy with light brown hair and a distractingly muscled back, is fully in charge of the match.

Even worse-he knows it.

He's so arrogant that I can't sense it from here.

It's in the way he walks around the ring. Hands down by his side, inviting his opponent to strike. Taunting. Sneering. Laughing.

It's in the way he grins. The way he spits. The way he waves his arms at the crowd, egging them on to get louder, rowdier.

And they do. They love him. They envy him. They want him.

Caleb Wilson is a god here...

To everyone but me.

Dread coils in my stomach like a snake. I take a deep breath to try and shake off the nerves that have been clinging to me like static electricity all day. My clothes feel too tight, my hair keeps brushing across my nose, and I'm suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands.

I shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake.

It's time for me to go.

I adjust my hoodie lower and start to clamber down the bleachers. I keep my head down and move fast.

But not fast enough.

"Haley?" comes a shrill, drunken voice.

I freeze. Fuck. I should just keep going. Run out into the parking lot, get in my car, and get the hell out of dodge.

But it's too late. I've been spotted.

"Haley Cochran, is that you?!" the girl repeats.

Sighing, I turn around and lower my sunglasses.

"No fucking way!" shrieks the girl-Anna McCauley-in a bastardized New York accent that is as fake as the long lashes she's wearing. Anna always has her lashes on.

I give her a tight smile. "Hi."

"Are you slumming or what?" She takes a long sip of whatever spiked drink is inside of her gas-station Styrofoam cup and smacks her lips. "I didn't think you ran with us anymore."

"I've been busy. We moved this summer and-"

"I know. Big castle on the hill. We've all seen it."

My stomach flips. "You know where I live?"

She nods, looking dangerously unsteady on her high heels. "If you thought you could disappear after the way you left Public, you're batshit crazy. Crazier than I thought, actually."

Shit. No bueno. If Anna knows where I live, then John certainly does, too.

Hell, she's probably the person who told him.

That's not good. Not good at all.

Anna leans forward, eyes as wide as possible considering the weight of her lashes. "Is it true you tore his place to shit? I heard you trashed his house after he dumped you?"

"After he dumped me?" I bark out a laugh. "I broke up with him."

She purses her lips and nods, but I can tell she doesn't buy it. No one does. Not a single one of the Public kids I used to call my friends.

Not that I care. If I had it my way, I'd never see any of those people again.

Anna shrugs, takes another long sip of her beverage, and then totters away without even bothering to say bye. I watch her go.

"Bitch," I whisper under my breath.

She takes a seat amongst a cluster of Public girls on one of the front bleachers. They all start whispering and cackling. A few of them throw mean glances my way.

"Bitches," I correct. Wouldn't want any of my former so-called friends to feel left out of that term of endearment.

Even though it's a bad idea, I let myself search their faces to see if Estefania is among them.

Estefania-my actual former best friend. Who is also the girl who hasn't returned a single one of the many, many text messages I've sent since my family moved across town and I switched schools from Public to Ravenlake Academy.

I'm desperate to see her. To hear from her. For her to say something to me, anything at all. Even just a "hi" or a "fuck you." She's the only person left at Public that I care about.

But it seems the feeling is not at all mutual.

The crowd noise picks up. I look over to the ring to see what's happening.

Between the ropes, Caleb is doing what he does best-pounding his opponent into a pulp. His back is facing me, so I can see how his muscles flex and shine under the spotlights.

Slicked with sweat.

Dangerous and deadly.

Also, absurdly gorgeous.

I shake my head and stick that thought where the sun don't shine.

Caleb hates my guts. With good reason. After everything that happened between us...

No! I think to myself. Noooope. No way, Jose. Don't even go there.

The past is the past. Nothing good can come of revisiting the things that John did while I was with him. The things he made me do.

I shudder and turn away as the crowd roars behind me.

I've overstayed my welcome. It's time to get the hell out of here.

This part of my life is over.

HALEY

I take a deep breath when I push through the rusted side door and emerge into the parking lot.

It's summer in Ravenlake, Texas, so the air is humid. But it feels good anyways. Calming. Soothing.

Out here, the roar of the crowd is hardly noticeable. It's just crickets. Distant cars passing on the highway. The drone of the single fluorescent streetlight in the far corner of the parking lot. The sounds of South Texas at night.

Until, when someone reaches out of the darkness and grabs me, I add my scream to the mix.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" someone snarls.

I whirl around, still caught in the man's grasp.

I'm expecting to see John.

He found me. He came to finish what he started. To shut me up. Silence me for good.

But it's not him.

Instead, it's Levi-John's best friend.

Not quite as bad as I feared. But not much better, either.

"I'm leaving," I snap. I wrench my arm free of his clutches and take a step away from him.

"Why did you come here tonight?" His breath is thick with the scent of alcohol. So much that I feel a little drunk just smelling it. "Not smart, little Halez. Not smart at all."

I ball my hands into fists. "Thought I'd put some money on the Wilson kid."

He growls between clenched teeth. "Don't be a smartass. No one has heard from you in months. If you knew what was good for you, you'd be hiding."

I roll my eyes. "You don't scare me, Levi."

That's a lie.

I do a quick survey of my surroundings. I'm alone in a parking lot with a drunken asshole who's best friend with my abusive ex. Fact is that I'm not just scared-I'm fucking terrified.

Everyone inside is screaming their heads off as Caleb Wilson, the Fighter Prince of Ravenlake Prep, beats another idiot into submission.

Which means none of them will hear me if I start screaming for help.

All of which means one thing: I'm fucked.

Levi stands taller, puffing out his thin chest. I always referred to him as "the rat," which amazingly he didn't care for, despite how accurate it was.

Like a rodent, he scurries around gathering intel on everyone and everything to take back to his nest of Hell Prince scum. And if you give him the chance, he'll shit all over you. The only person he is loyal to is John.

Still, rat or not, he is bigger than I am. Stronger, too.

He reaches out and grabs me again. His hand is an immovable cuff around my forearm.

He pulls me close, his breath hot in my face. He must see me glance around, hoping for some last minute savior, because he smiles.

"You aren't under John's protection anymore. You know that, right? No one gives a shit what happens to you."

"Let me go," I say evenly. "Even if we aren't dating, I'm sure John wouldn't appreciate this."

The fluorescent light makes Levi's skin look yellow and sickly. When he smiles wider, a shiver moves down my back.

"You've been gone almost the whole summer, honey. You don't know the first fuckin' thing about what John wants anymore."

Before I can really react, Levi yanks me into a small alcove in the alley behind the abandoned building where the underground fight is taking place.

I try to pull against his hold, but I can't break free.

He's got me.

Levi flings me against the rough brick wall and pins me there with his hips. My head cracks hard against the bricks. I see stars.

My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, but I can't move. Can't breathe.

My entire body is frozen in panic.

Then, suddenly, Levi's mouth is over mine.

His lips are dry and thin, and his kiss is crushing and unrelenting. There is nothing warm or sensual or pleasurable about it at all. It feels like my teeth are being ground into dust and the smell of alcohol on his breath is so strong I want to gag.

I slam my hands into his chest, surprising him enough that he stumbles back a step and breaks the kiss.

"What the hell?" I curse, wiping at my mouth with the sleeve of my hoodie. "What are you doing?"

He spits on the ground. "Seeing what the big deal is about. John was pissed when you left, and I didn't get it. What's so special about you?"

He lurches towards me again.

I try throwing a knee into his balls, but my aim is off and he takes it in the thigh instead. He grunts in pain, but it's not enough to stop him.

Especially not when he rears back and slaps me.

The stars in my vision double. I taste blood.

And still, no one is coming to help.

"Don't make it worse for yourself," he slurs. "Relax and this could be real nice."

His hands wrap around my wrists, and his body is plastered to mine so thoroughly that I can't even try to knee him again.

His body rolls against mine, pressing the hardness at his center against my hips. I cringe away from him and try to pull myself free, but my arms feel like limp noodles compared to his.

This is real. This is happening. I can't think straight. Can't fight back.

I'm fucked. I'm fucked. I'm fucked.

Suddenly, the door next to us swings open. A sharp triangle of light shines out, momentarily blinding me.

We both look towards the door. Levi curses.

"Fuck, sorry," the intruder says. It's a Hell Prince I recognize but don't know well. "I didn't know anyone was out here."

He starts to close the door. Just before it shuts, I gasp, "Help! Please."

"So dramatic," Levi sighs, cutting me off. "We're fine."

The Hell Princes aren't good guys, but they are still human beings. I expect the guy to step in and see if I'm okay, to check and make sure I want to be here.

Instead, he just chuckles to himself. "Have fun, you two."

Then he pulls the door closed, plunging us into darkness once more.

3

CALEB

This kid never stood a chance.

He came into this match thinking that being a few pounds heavier and a few inches taller gave him the upper hand.

Big fucking mistake.

It took him a while to realize it, too.

It wasn't until the third or fourth time I cracked him straight in the jaw that he started to understand he was in very, very deep shit.

I dance around the corner of the ring as he lumbers towards me.

The spotlights are bright. The crowd is roaring. It's a good night for fighting. A good night for winning.

The big idiot takes a huge, loping swing that misses by a country mile.

I swerve around it, then deliver a crunching uppercut right under his chin.

He hits the deck immediately, square on his ass. The crowd goes apeshit.

"Stay down, moron," I hiss at him.

It's for his own good. He oughta just stay down there and take his loss. That way, he'll go home intact. I can't promise what will happen if he tries to keep this going.

But he's not the type to take friendly advice, it seems.

Growling like a wounded ape, he plants his knuckles on the canvas and lumbers up slowly. I sigh, wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of one glove, and get ready to do this again.

He brings his hands up in front of his face. Takes one step towards me. Feints high with the jab, then tries to bring that big old roundhouse through again. Trying to take my head off.

If I were anyone else, the feint might've fooled me. I might've eaten the roundhouse right to the chops.

But I'm not anyone else.

I'm Caleb Wilson. I own this fucking ring.

It's time to remind him of that simple fact.

I duck under the roundhouse. It goes whistling over my head like a meteor.

Then, two lightning-fast punches to his gut. The wind whistles out of his lungs. He doubles over, giving me that big, ugly face as a perfect target.

Another uppercut. Crunch.

Two crosses, one right and one left, send his head snapping in either direction. Pop! Pop!

Blood flies. Sweat drips.

And then he hits the turf.

He's out cold before he lands. I'm already turning to the crowd, mounting the rope, hands held high in victory.

The crowd was deafening before. Now, they're like a sonic boom. Packed to the rafters, chanting my name.

"Ca-leb! Ca-leb!"

I'm famous here. Undefeated prizefighter. The surefire bet who never loses.

If only they knew what the rest of my life is like.

4

CALEB

After the fight, I'm mopping the sweat off my face with a towel when a girl approaches.

"Do you train every day?" she asks in that faux-curious voice that hides the real question underneath: Do you wanna fuck?

She's a card girl. Not one I've seen before, and I don't know her name.

More to the point, I don't need to know her name. She is just the girl who lets the crowd know which round it is. The only requirement for the job is "extremely fuckable." There isn't a need to go into further detail.

"Most days," I answer. If football practice and beating down any idiots who come for me and my friends counts as training, then definitely.

She drags a finger from my shoulder to my bicep and pokes at my arm. "That's hot."

She is hot.

Her denim shorts are so tight they look painted on, and her tits are bursting out of a low-cut tank top. Barely-there clothes are the mandatory wardrobe for any card girl, which is why I've slept with most of them.

Another perk of the business.

"Wait while I pick up my money, and I'll show you how hot."

She gnaws on her plump lower lip, and I know she will service me just fine. I don't need to connect with her on a spiritual level. I just need a place to dump the adrenaline still pulsing in my veins.

I need a release. There's no reason we can't be that for one another.

She nods, and I hold up a finger as I turn away.

A few people stop me as I make my way to the kitchens, congratulating me on another win, but most people steer clear.

No one from Ravenlake Prep is here. It's not their scene.

Most of the kids are from Public or other towns entirely. The Hell Princes run this joint, which means my Golden Boys don't want shit to do with it.

We've been in a truce with the Hell Princes for almost a year, but tensions are still ... tense. Anything could go to shit at any moment.

Best to stay on guard.

There's another reason I need to remind myself of that fact: no one at Ravenlake Academy knows I fight here.

To a select group of Public kids and Hell Princes, I'm a fighting god.

But to the kids at the richest private school in the state, that part of my life is a complete and total mystery.

I intend to keep it that way.

I push open the swinging kitchen door and step into the stainless-steel shell of what was once an operating kitchen.

Felix, the fight promoter who arranges these underground events, is standing in front of the sink with two brawny guys on either side. The basin of the sink is full of cash.

He looks over his shoulder at the sound of my footsteps.

"I should start paying you in advance," he remarks.

"I wouldn't mind." I cross my arms and lean my hip against the counter. "It would save us both some time."

All three men turn, standing shoulder to shoulder to block the sink from my view.

"I bet against you tonight," he adds with a wild grin.

"Why would you do something stupid like that?"

He frowns. "Because you can't win them all."

"History would disagree," I laugh.

Felix reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a bundle of cash bound with a rubber band.

I take the time to eye the guys on either side of him. They're Hell Princes, which means they're wearing their leather jackets.

"You know," I drawl, "for an outlaw motorcycle club, you guys seem to have a very strict uniform policy."

"The fuck did you say?" the one with the shaved head growls. His buddy, a goon with eyebrows thicker than caterpillars, tightens his fists and takes a half-step towards me.

I chuckle. "I'm just saying, it's Texas. Hot as hell down here, in case you haven't noticed. Have you considered switching to something else? Linen, maybe, or seersucker? Maybe then you morons wouldn't stink like sweaty shit all the time."

I'm still laughing as the pair of Hell Princes flanking Felix look like they're ready to throw down here and now.

Felix rolls his eyes. "Easy, idiots," he snaps at the two bodyguards.

They growl, but relent. Even dumbass Hell Princes know the pecking order around here.

He tosses the money across the counter to me. "Count it if you want. It's all there." He says that every time.

And every time, I unbind the cash and count it anyway.

He sighs. I ignore him.

When I first came to the fights, Felix almost tossed me out on my ass. There are high school kids in the Hell Princes, but Felix is in his mid-twenties, and he was worried the fights were turning into an after-school program.

He especially wanted me gone when he heard I came from Ravenlake Prep.

"Get your pansy, prep school ass out of my face" were his exact words, if I remember correctly.

Before he could even finish the sentence, I'd twisted his arm behind his back and had my fist poised a centimeter from his eye.

From then on, I was allowed to fight.

It's been extremely worth his while. I don't lose-ever. Week after week ends with me on top of the ropes while the crowd screams my name.

He lost money on me this week for being stupid enough to bet against me, but the rest of the Hell Princes no doubt made a pretty sum.

I'm their cash cow.

Which is why, even in the midst of the drama between the Hell Princes and the Golden Boys, Felix wants to keep me around. It's also why none of the Hell Princes ever mention my fights to my best friends.

They respect my wishes because it's good for their bank account.

And also because I'll beat the fuck out of any of them who don't.

When I finish counting the last crumpled bill, I shove the five hundred dollars deep in my pocket and tip an imaginary hat. "Thanks for your time, as always, gentlemen. And keep in mind what I said about the linen. Very breathable material, you know?"

And then I'm gone, leaving behind two very pissed off Hell Princes who couldn't lay a finger on me if they wanted to.

Because if they did, I'd put them in the fucking dirt.