“Honestly, girl.” Mom stabs a tomato like she wants to murder it. “I’d know if that was true.”

“Dad knew. And Tessa.”

Her lips purse. I’d always been closer to Dad rather than her. It wounds her, and I know that, but what can I do?

We cut vegetables in tense silence for a while, and she throws them in a pot. She’s making her wine stew, which I love, but I can’t relax.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come for Christmas,” she finally says. “You know I had work.”

“I know, Mom.”

“I’m not asking you to choose between us, honey.” She glances at me sideways as she heaps spices into the pot. “But promise me you’ll think about it before seeing him again. That boy’s trouble, always has been. You’re a good, intelligent young woman. You could have anyone you wanted.”

I shake my head and don’t answer. Because the one I want is Ash.

***

We eat, seated at the small dining table with its yellow tablecloth. Mom tells me stories about her work and her crazy colleagues, then sadder ones from the organizations she’s helping with. I didn’t know so many young people are driven to homelessness because of problems at home.

My thoughts immediately turn to Ash. At least he still has a home. Right? I frown, toying with my food. Would he go back to his father after what he did to him? Ash hasn’t said anything about that. Maybe he’ll stay with relatives?

I need to talk to him. I itch to grab my cell, lock myself up in my room and call him. But Mom’s in a chatty mood, maybe a bit forced after our discussion, trying to get me to tell her more about college and my new friends.

Then, when I’m about to find an excuse to escape to my room, she manages to distract me with presents. She’s bought me a short dress that fits like a glove, and a velvety sweater, and cute pink jammies and gorgeous high heels.

“Jesus, Mom.” I put on the shoes and I’m in love with them instantly. They’re sleek and black and make my legs look endless. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my little girl.”

I wince inwardly. We bonded since Dad died. We both made an effort, compromising, accepting our incompatibilities, laughing about them. I know she loves me with all her heart, I’m sure of it, and I love her the same.

But I’m not a little girl anymore. I know where this is coming from, I mean, she’s my mom, but she has to see I’m a woman now, and I can make my own choices.

Ash...

“Want to go for a walk?” Mom’s checking the weather outside the bay window. It looks gray but dry.

“Sure. Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

Mom sighs and clears away the dishes as I hurry into my room and close the door, leaning against it.

I call Ash’s cell, then Zane’s apartment, my heart thumping. Pick up, Ash, come on, pick up.

But no answer. The phone rings and rings, and my stomach churns. I should have told him I’d call, that we’d talk later, but Mom caught me by complete surprise, first by her unexpected arrival and then her vehement rejection of Ash. I’d been in shock, if that explained the fact I told him to go away.

Crap, that was the only thing I told him. And he left. God knows what he thought.

Disconnecting, I stare at the blank screen of the phone for a long moment. I’ll call him again in the evening. He’s probably out walking, or running errands.

Pulling on my brand new sweater, hoping I’m right, I go to find Mom.

Part III

ASH

In my memory, I must be sixteen. I know because it’s a few months after the accident that took Audrey’s dad and right after Mom died, at the end of her long battle with the sickness.

The world is a dark place.

And it’s turning darker by the day.

Dad looms over me. ‘You’re good for nothing,’ he says. ‘Can’t even learn what I’m doing my best to teach you, not like your brother. He was a quick study. Fast with his fists and legs. Made to be a champion.’

‘I’m trying,’ I say, and it’s the truth.

‘Not trying enough. Move. Dodge. Block.’ He moves faster than my eye can follow, and the pain comes before I see the blow. ‘Your brother’s better.’

‘Tyler left.’ Another truth.

‘Yeah, so I’m saddled with you. A pu**y. Can’t handle your own shit. Getting into fights at school. Failing your classes. You think I don’t know?’

‘You’re the reason I—’

The blow catches me in the stomach and I double over. Bile rises in my throat and I puke all over his shoes.

Bad idea. I hear the dreaded sound of his buckle opening, the leather slithering through the loops, coming free. He walks around me, grabs the neckline of my shirt and rips it down my back. Cool air hits my skin. I know what’s coming, and another wave of nausea hits me.

‘Dad,’ I croak, my mouth too dry. ‘Please, don’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—’

A swish and then the buckle impacts my back, slicing through the skin, and I cry out.

‘Shut your mouth, pu**y,’ he hisses. ‘Never beg. Never sniffle. You’re a man. Take it like one. That’s what you deserve.’

And he hits me again and again and again.

Chapter Fourteen

Asher

Marty isn’t at the fight club, but Carl is, as he told me he’d be. He eyes me suspiciously as I stand in front of his cluttered desk in the dark basement.

“So you’re Asher. Asher Devlin.”

I nod, my hands fisting at my sides.

“And you fought here once.”

“That’s right.”

Someone knocks on the door and it swings open. “Cooper wants to meet the new guy,” a voice says.

Carl gets up and I turn around.

A middle-aged guy walks inside, his iron-gray hair thick and curly, his arms bulging with muscles, although he’s a bit heavy around the middle.

An ex boxer. I know this guy. But from where?

“So this is Asher.” The guy’s bushy brows dip over his dark eyes. “Jake Devlin’s kid. I know your dad. I’m Johnny Cooper.”

He’s buddies with my old man. Fuck.

Will he tell my dad I’m here? I somehow don’t think my dad will come round looking for me, but you never know.

“Your dad know you’re here?”

“I fought here before,” I say again, hoping that’s enough. Has to be. I have no other credentials.

“I bet Jake trained you well.” He nods. “But the time you fought here, kid... That was a friendly fight. A test. Before real opening times. This is the real thing. Big business. Rich guys from all over coming to let out some steam and place their money on bloody fights.”

“I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He looks at Carl, then back to me. Rubs his chin. “All right, boy. Let’s see what you got. Carl, take him to the cage.”

I let out a long breath. This is my chance. I’ll show them I have what it takes.

***

Johnny stands outside the rusty cage, arms folded over his massive chest. I’ve changed into shorts and taped my hands. After the warm-up, I enter the cage and spring up and down as I wait for my opponent, not to let the muscles cool.

I didn’t expect Carl to show up. He’s in shorts, his torso gleaming. The man’s built like a brick shithouse.

The cage door closes behind him and he grins at me. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“So your daddy taught you how to fight.” He sneers.

I roll my shoulders. “That’s right.”

“This isn’t formal boxing, boy. It’s ugly and it’s dirty, got it? All tricks allowed.”

I tense up and rotate my arms to unlock them. “Got it.”

Then he springs forward, forcing me back, and the fight is on. He tests me, jabbing at my head, distracting me with a kick to the side of my knee.

Shit. Dirty tricks. Gotcha.

My dad has trained me alright. They have no clue how thoroughly.

Forgetting the rules—like my dad had—I kick and elbow and punch Carl, countering his every move. I send a right hook to his head he barely manages to block and follow through with an uppercut.

He doesn’t hold back, either. He gets through my defenses, landing a punch to my solar plexus, winding me.

My vision blurs; I see my dad’s face. Springing forward, I throw another right hook, followed by a left cross. I throw a flurry of punches, breaking through Carl’s defenses. He falls back, raising his fists to protect his face.

I kick his shin, move closer, throw a right uppercut he blocks, then fall back a step when he breaks his defense to jab at my face.

Then I’m attacking him again, raining punches on him. On my dad. I kick the legs from under him and follow as he goes down. I throw myself on him, grappling with him, pinning him down with my body weight and my left hand, using my right to punch his jaw.

Hands grab me, pulling me back up, and I jerk like a fish on the line. Takes me a moment to realize it’s Johnny, dragging me away from Carl.

“Okay,” he says, turning me to face him. “Good enough. Calm down.”

I draw shuddering breaths, trying to ground myself in the here and now. The cage. The fight club.

Carl, bleeding from a cut under his eye, one side of his face darkening into a giant bruise.

Shit.

Johnny pulls me out the cage door, a massive arm around my aching shoulders. “Boy, were you planning to kill Carl?”

A shiver goes through me. “No.” I’d never kill anyone. But anger got the better of me. I have to get a grip on it.

“Good. I’ll put you on the roster tonight. Just remember not to kill anyone. Okay? The rich guys got a thirst for blood. They want their violence. But no one dies. That would complicate things.”

I nod, still trying to catch my breath. “How much?”

“Payment? Not much, kiddo. A hundred dollars tops, if the betting’s good. You’re a newbie. Payment goes up the more fights and victories you got under your belt.”

Not much, but I have nothing. It’s a start.

***

The club starts filling after nine. My opponent is one Shady Sam, a lean, grim guy with a huge tat covering his back. A winged skull.

I focus on stretching and warming up. We’re to open the evening, being the newbies—though Shady Sam doesn’t look like a newbie to me, at all. New to this scene, perhaps, but I know a seasoned fighter when I see one.

It comes with having been raised by one.

Shady doesn’t acknowledge me as he does his own warm up and his rituals. Every fighter has them, I know, and his are nothing short of a full pagan celebration. He bows and chants and grimaces. All that’s missing are black candles and incense.

I’m done with my warm-up long before he is. My only ritual is to think of Audrey—to regret being here, to long to be with her, then to remember what happened and let it fuel my anger—and then I’m ready.

The bell for the fight rings.

Show time.

Swallowing down nerves, adjusting my groin-pad, I follow Carl through the small crowd to the cage. They’re pressed against the bars—well-dressed men, their eyes shining in the low light, their teeth glinting white. Waiting to be entertained with blood.

I don’t hit people for fun, but everyone inside the cage is here willingly. They’re trained fighters. I have to remember this and not hold back.

You can do this.

I enter the cage and spin around to face my opponent. No more surprises. I’m ready for everything—the violence, the pain, the impact of the blows.

And a good thing, too, because another bell rings and Shady Sam comes at me like a hurricane, punching and kicking.

I fall back, protecting my head with my taped hands. Then I see an opening and descend on him, twisting my body as I throw my punches, putting everything into the movement.