Melanie seemed to sense my unease. She made her way toward the edge of her desk and sat against it, looking at me down her nose. "Parker. You know I like you, right?"

I blinked up at her. "No."

A little smile touched the edges of her lips. "It's true. It's why I hired you. You remind me of a younger me, a woman on the verge of greatness, who only needs a little push to come into her own in this business. Ruthlessness is a learned trait, for our s.e.x, isn't it? Women are constantly expected to cater to others, especially men. That instinct has to be wrung out of us like old dish water from a towel. It isn't an easy feat. Impossible, for some."

I nodded as if I understood, but I didn't. I was still stuck on the part where Melanie Cartwright liked me.

"What I'm saying, Parker," she continued, "is that not every woman can put herself first. Not all of them have that potential, that l.u.s.t for something more than domestic bliss. I think I see the spark of an inferno in you. Pa.s.sion. Real pa.s.sion. I think you could be great, with the right tutelage. But there is only so much that even someone like me can do."

I understood now. She must have seen the conflict on my face, must have smelled the story on me, must have known that there was something I wasn't saying. This was her way of trying to get it out of me. How much of what she was saying was even true?

I knew Melanie's motto when it came to this business, probably better than anyone else. She prided herself on separating the personal from the professional, and she wasn't afraid to be brutal. She expected the same from everyone else.

It didn't matter if your great nana's reputation would be ruined by whatever story you'd gotten your hands on. You were a reporter. You were expected to tell that story anyway, nana be d.a.m.ned. And if Melanie felt that way about family, she sure as h.e.l.l didn't care about sources who weren't blood ties. She wouldn't understand my caution, my desire to ensure Kellan didn't come out looking the worse for wear in all this. I wasn't sure I even understood that compulsion myself.

After all, Kellan hadn't exactly been my knight in shining armor the other day. In fact, he'd been kind of a d.i.c.k. What the h.e.l.l was I considering his feelings for?

"I met this guy," I said, measuring my words carefully, "a few days ago at a bar. Senator MacFarlane was there, but I couldn't get him cornered to ask the questions I wanted to ask. But this guy I ran into-he's a vet. So I was thinking that I could run a story on him, too. Something that would look good alongside speculation on why the senator hasn't put his support behind this new 'jobs for vets' bill."

"Intriguing," Melanie said, though by her tone, I wasn't sure she meant it. "But hardly newsworthy if you can't get commentary from the senator to back it up. Unless there's something you're still not telling me."

"It's not a for-sure thing yet. I don't want to say anything until I'm sure. But..." I chewed my lip, then stopped before I stained my teeth the color of my lipstick. "The guy said something about having a hard time finding legitimate work when he got back from his tour in Afghanistan. And his knuckles were all b.l.o.o.d.y and bruised. I think maybe he's got a job roughing people up. Something that pays him under the table."

Now Melanie looked less bored. She even smiled. "I've heard things," she murmured, but didn't elaborate. She only pushed away from her desk to walk back around the other side of it. "Go out there and talk to Thom. Tell him what you know. He'll want in on this, too, but from a different angle. You two should be able to work it out. He's capable of putting on his big boy pants and collaborating-usually."

"Thom?" Was I being a.s.signed a chaperone? I didn't need any help with this. "But it's my story..."

"No," Melanie said sharply, "it's The Spill's story. One that could make or break your career. If you run with this, Parker, you could end up with everything you've ever wanted. But if you screw up, you're out. I don't do charity, and I can't abide journalists who refuse to put their work first. It's nothing personal," she added, eyes on her laptop screen. "This is just a cutthroat business. But if you truly feel like you don't need the help, I won't force your hand. You'd be taking quite the risk turning it down, though."

I did my best not to show her how my stomach had fallen through to the floor. Part of me had expected this. I was always on edge, always wondering when the axe would fall. But as much as I'd worried about being fired, it had never seemed like a real threat-at least not one that was close to coming to fruition. I'd always considered it a distant possibility, one that I still had time to reverse course on.

But now I knew the truth. If I didn't deliver Melanie Cartwright the most ambitious story of my career, I was done. Out. I probably wouldn't even get a reference, and I'd end up as a mail clerk somewhere, watching everyone else achieve the dream I'd wanted for myself.

I couldn't let that happen. Even if it meant letting someone else take half the credit. Even if it meant re-p.i.s.sing off the guy who'd been only too eager to tell me how dangerous he was before. Of course, that meant finding him again, first.

"We're done here, I think," Melanie said, rousing me from my thoughts. "Aren't we?"

"Yes," I replied, standing up and smiling despite the shaking of my hands. "I'll get to work."

And then I left the dragon's lair, feeling like the next time I entered it, I ran a very real risk of getting burned.

Thom was waiting for me back on the other side, brow furrowed as he laid eyes on my pensive face. "Well, I see you don't have a box to clean out your desk with, so I guess that's something," he said.

I nodded and pulled up a chair to sit beside him. He turned to me, looking more skeptical than ever. "What happened? What's up?"

"I need a favor," I said. "A professional one."

Thom pursed his lips. I liked it when he did that. It really brought out his cheekbones. Thom was a very attractive man, with piercing green eyes and chestnut hair cut short on the sides but longer on the top-very fashionable. He was the epitome of a hipster, but had no equal when it came to sports reporting. At least, not here at The Spill. I'd even considered dating him until I found out he was gay. Seemed like all the hot ones were.

Except Kellan. I was pretty sure he wasn't gay, and he was the hottest guy I'd ever seen. Thom studied me as I reflected on how Kellan and I had run into each other at The Sly Fox, and for a moment, I worried that he could see right through me to all the naughty thoughts swirling around my brain, and I blushed.

Finally, Thom said, "Okay. Why?"

"I have this story," I began. "Or at least, the makings of a story."

"The senator thing?" Thom wrinkled his nose. "Not exactly my area of expertise, Parker."

"It's not that," I said. "At least, not this part of it." I quickly recounted most of the detail of my meeting with Kellan. Minus some of the more embarra.s.sing, less relevant parts.

Thom turned his chair all the way toward me. "Hmm, could be some sort of bareknuckle boxer? That's the kind of s.h.i.t you hear about in those underground fighting rings."

"Underground meaning 'illegal,' right?" I asked. It made sense. Kellan had alluded to as much when I'd pressed him about it at the bar. That would totally fit his story.

Thom rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Parker. Underground as in 'illegal,' rather than literally under the earth. Though sometimes if you've got a bas.e.m.e.nt big enough..." He shrugged. "Anyway, how does this guy tie in with your story? Sounds more like my territory."

"It might be both," I told him. "This guy was a veteran, having trouble finding work ever since he got back from overseas. That's my angle with the senator, and this could tie it all together. a.s.suming it's what we think it is, but it all fits, right? His knuckles were all banged up and he kept going on about how he was dangerous and the only job for him was one that wasn't exactly legal. He looked like the MMA-type, too. Grizzled, lots of muscles."

Thom sat forward, a brow raised. "Lots of muscles, huh?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Give it up, Thom. He's straight. Besides, aren't you engaged?" I nodded to the simple band on his finger.

"That doesn't stop me from looking," Thom replied with a grin. "But yeah, could be your guy is part of some glorified Fight Club, especially if he's looking to make a buck. Those pay out pretty good. Or they do, if you have the right manager. A lot of the guys in charge skim a hefty fee off the top, whether their fighters know it or not. It's a corrupt business-happens, when you don't have any regulations to worry about."

"They fleece their fighters? Isn't that dangerous?"

Thom shrugged. "Only if they get caught. Besides, most of these guys are desperate. They're one accident or act of G.o.d away from living on the streets. And if they've come out of the military, they're used to following orders. When you've got someone in charge telling you that you need them, who is seemingly taking a chance on you, doing what no one else would, that tends to breed loyalty, however inappropriate."

I wondered if that was the situation Kellan was in. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd let anybody get one over on him, but if he didn't know it was happening...

"How many of them are veterans, do you think?" I asked Thom.

He considered for a moment. "Probably more than few," he came up with at last. "So, your angle is that Senator MacFarlane's failure to support this bill has doomed these veterans to putting their lives on the line again?"

I nodded emphatically. "That's exactly it. And if I can get this guy to talk, I can put a real face to the problem." A real handsome face, I added inwardly, though I was betting Thom had picked up on that already.

"This could be good for both of us," he mused. Then he grinned. "All right, Parker. I'm in. As long as you understand I'm getting a slice of the pie, too. From a sports angle, anyway."

"Not my department, not my problem," I said, holding out my hand for us to shake on it.

Thom clasped my palm tightly, then stood up and grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair. "I'll tell Melanie we're taking off early," he told me. "We'll need to gather some intel before we can find your guy." He eyed me. "You might want to change. If we're headed into the belly of the beast, you'll be much safer if you don't stand out."

Thom was right. In my work attire, I would look suspicious as h.e.l.l. But what was I supposed to wear? It wasn't as if my closet was teeming with halter tops and leather pants.

Something low-cut, I thought as Thom walked down the hall to Melanie's office. Kellan likes that kind of thing. I think.

There was only one way to know for sure. And in just a few hours, I was going to find out.

~ Five ~

Kellan

"You got this, Killer. Make it happen. I don't have to tell you there's a lot at stake."

I glanced at Vic as I finished taping up my hands. They'd taken a real beating lately, and I probably shouldn't have agreed to another fight so soon after my last bout, but I had a lot on my mind lately, and planting my fist in some sucker's face was a great way to forget about it all.

Ever since I'd met that woman at The Sly Fox, I hadn't been able to get her out of my head. Parker Jones, the goody-two-shoes with her pretty blonde hair and soft, full lips. The sweetness of her breath haunted my dreams, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw those perfect t.i.ts of hers gleaming in the dim light of the bar. f.u.c.k, my c.o.c.k ached just thinking about it. I ground my teeth. I didn't need to get hard-not now.

It was no use. Thinking of Parker got me hard every single time. Vic must've noticed, because he chuckled and shook his bald head at me. "Get your head in the game, Killer. You can get your d.i.c.k wet after you've won."

I grunted and adjusted myself on the bench. He was right, obviously, but that was easier said than done. I hadn't so much as jerked off since I heard I'd be going up against Herman "The Herminator" Gomez. It was a stupid-a.s.s name, but the guy was a beast. He'd been undefeated in his weight cla.s.s so far, but then again, he'd never come up against me.

Still, it was bad luck to f.u.c.k before a fight. So I'd kept my hands to myself. And if everything went the way I planned, I'd see Jasmine or some other ring chick in the winner's room tonight. I could quench my thirst then.

It wouldn't be as good as banging Parker, but I could use my imagination.

f.u.c.k, what was wrong with me? I'd known that girl hardly two minutes, and I was obsessing over her. We were no good for each other-I was definitely no good for her. Maybe that last f.u.c.ker I'd KO'd had hit me harder than I thought. Maybe I should've seen a doctor.

Vic sat down next to me. "What's goin' on with you, huh? You got girl trouble?"

"Not exactly," I muttered. Vic was an all right guy. He'd practically saved me from the streets after my last bouncer gig fell through, and he'd never asked for much in return. But I wasn't the confiding type, and talking to anyone, even him, was hard. "It's not important."

"It is if it makes you lose," Vic replied, but I shook my head at him.

"I'm good, Vic. Promise." I stood up, planting my fist into my palm. "I just need to get in a good hit or two, and I'll forget all about it. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about."

"That's my boy," Vic said, standing up beside me and clapping me on the back. He only came up to my chin and I winced as the blow jarred one of my kidneys. I'd taken more than a few shots to my flanks during my last fight, and I was still recovering. "You get out there and show this dumba.s.s 'Herminator' he's not the big-shot he thinks he is, huh?"

"Will do," I said, once again adjusting my shorts. I couldn't walk out there with a semi. At least thinking of that d.i.c.k bag's face was enough to cool the blood rushing downtown. "Hear there's a nice purse on this one."

"It's d.a.m.n good money, Killer. d.a.m.n good," Vic affirmed as he walked me to the door. "And hey, I hear Jasmine's back in the ring tonight. You must've done a number on her. She picked up this shift just for you. Lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Yeah. Lucky. I could have whatever girl I wanted-or at least, whichever one had signed up for this kind of party tonight. Any girl except Parker Jones, the one who got my d.i.c.k hard like n.o.body else. I ignored the smarting in my b.a.l.l.s and took a deep breath as I let Vic drape my hood and robe over me.

The crowd was thick tonight. That was no surprise. The Herminator was an underground celebrity, and I was coming into my own right along with him. We were both undefeated, but Herman had been at this a lot longer than me. My guess was that the smart money was on him, which meant I was going to disappoint a lot of people tonight, because I had no intention of breaking my winning streak.

I'd been doing this for months, and still the short walk out to the ring made my insides twist. Hearing my name and Herman's chanted among a cacophony of whistles and unintelligible shouts made my pulse pound in my ears. It was all so deafening, and not at all unlike the chaos of a battlefield.

I swallowed thickly and tried not to let my nerves get to me. I was a weapon. A machine. This was what I was born and bred for. What I was meant to do.

I stepped into the makeshift ring and tossed my robe aside in Vic's general direction. I flexed, refusing to wince as my bruised ribs protested the movement. I was still sporting my last fight's injuries whereas Herman, across from me, looked like he hadn't seen a fight in weeks. I wasn't sure who had the advantage there: him, obviously well-rested, or me, more freshly experienced.

"Good luck," Jasmine said. She was on my left, leaning over the ropes of the raised ring. She blew me a kiss. She had way too much eye makeup on tonight. "See you in the winner's room, Killer."

I gave her a noncommittal shrug in return, and that seemed to only make her panties wetter. I shook my head. I'd never understand chicks like that. Not ever.

There wasn't a whole lot of fanfare in underground fighting, not like you see on pay-per-view boxing matches or in legit MMA. There's no announcer to get the crowd going, no pomp and circ.u.mstance, no profiles of each of the fighters. That s.h.i.t all gets hashed out while people are still placing their bets, and since this s.h.i.t is illegal, time is usually of the essence. No sense wasting precious minutes blabbing when the crowd could be getting what they came for, not to mention we were less likely to get busted if we didn't hang around all G.o.dd.a.m.n night drawing attention to ourselves.

So now that I was on the mat, robe off, fists clenched, the fight was about to begin. The Herminator stood up and we both came to the center to quickly b.u.mp fists, the ref reminding us of a few ground rules.

"No eye gouges. No kicks to the b.a.l.l.s. And what I say goes. Got it?"

The Herminator and I both nodded. Easy enough to remember. We'd only heard it about a thousand times.

The Herminator was a big d.a.m.n guy up close. I couldn't believe this f.u.c.ker and I were in the same weight cla.s.s. He was taller, with shoulders the size of my head, and a mean look in those black eyes of his, something that seemed not even human. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, even more than I did. I guessed my advantage would be agility. I couldn't let him get in a hit, otherwise this was gonna be a disaster.

We backed up a respectable distance and I put my hands up. Don't let 'em drop, I reminded myself-elementary s.h.i.t that was easy to forget when you got tired or were in the moment. You had to protect yourself at all times, 'cause n.o.body else would, and you didn't wanna miss an opportunity for a knockout because you'd let your guard down.

I heard the bell and let Herman come for me, first, dancing around him on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet as we sized each other up. He feinted a right hook and I dodged, which earned me some jeers from the crowd. f.u.c.k those guys. I bet none of them ever took a hit to the jaw like I had. It f.u.c.king sucked.

The Herminator kept his eyes on me, seemingly an endless font of endurance. He was sharp, too, studying my every move, adjusting his tactics and position based on my reactions. I was going to have to stay light on my feet and switch it up if I wanted to make it out of this one with the purse. I kept my breathing even and tried to move a little less. This guy was giving me one h.e.l.l of a calisthenics workout.

Herman swung high and I ducked, putting me at the perfect level to shove my fist into his ribs. The crowd roared as I knocked the wind out of his lungs-a d.a.m.n lucky hit-and came in a second time on the other side while he was stunned. He stumbled back and I kicked his knee hard, dropping him to the mat. A chorus of shrieks met my ears as I dove to pin him, but Herman swung a leg over me and rolled, forcing me onto my back.

s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t!

I raised my arms up over my face and let him whale on me a while. They weren't easy hits to take, even on my bulky forearms. I still took a few to the head, though they were glancing blows. When Herman reared up for a much harder strike, I flinched out of the way and let his fist hit the mat, throwing him off balance enough for me to bring in a hit to his kidneys.

Herman hissed and I scrambled out from beneath him, rolling to my feet. I put my hands up again and was glad I did, because this f.u.c.ker was fast. I just barely blocked a right cross that would've dropped me for sure, and if he got me on the ground again, I wasn't sure I'd be able to get up. He was heavy and a G.o.dd.a.m.n powerhouse. And he didn't look like he would tire out anytime soon.

Just keep moving, I told myself, dodging another swing. I heard the force of it whistle past my ear. Make him work for it. Don't let him pin you down.

Herman got in a couple more body blows during the first round. They hurt like h.e.l.l, especially on my injured ribs, and I was desperately trying not to favor my right side and show him any weakness. The pain was distracting, though, and I knew I was losing steam. Herman, on the other hand, was cool, calm, and collected as ever. He was a machine.

But G.o.ddammit, I was an animal. I could do this. I had to do this. Killer Kellan wasn't gonna lose to some dips.h.i.t with a name as stupid as the Herminator. So when round one ended, I sat down on the stool in the corner of the ring and took a breather, ignoring Vic's pep talk and focusing instead on what I had to do.

Focus. Focus. Focus...

I was staring so intently at my target that I barely even heard the bell. I let myself fall into that trance I used to get into during weapons training. When you fired a gun, you had to let your target consume you. All that existed at that moment was you and them-your weapon was just an extension of your willingness to maim, to kill.

I let my fists be that desire now, and when I leapt full-force at Herman f.u.c.king Gomez, that monster's blank slate of a face actually looked surprised.

I wasn't f.u.c.king around anymore. I had to drop this b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and soon, or I was going to get dropped. I came at his face, at his belly, at his legs, never striking at the same place twice. Herman was off his guard and trying to keep up with my lightning-quick precision, and the crowd was loving it. They were screaming their f.u.c.king heads off. I went in for the kill.

Putting everything I had behind it, I slammed my knuckles straight into the underside of The Herminator's jaw. His knees buckled and he went down hard, head bouncing off the mat. I surged down to pin him.

I straddled his hips so tight there was no way he was getting his legs over me and started the ground-and-pound, giving him no quarter. A few blows connected and blood sprayed over my mouth. I tasted it and felt that rush of joy, like I used to feel back in the days of my drug binges. I was alive. I was fulfilling my purpose. I was downright murderous.