Somehow he'd have to work through that, wear her down, and win her over. He wanted Cherry.

But only if he could have every part of her, including her deepest, darkest secrets.

LEESE ACCEPTED THE shot glass and tossed back the contents. It sent a fiery burn down his throat that pooled in his gut. He screwed his eyes shut, clamped his teeth together and let his breath out in a hiss.

Carver laughed. "A man who knows how to drink. Hell yeah."

Then he threw back his own shot of whiskey.

As the liquor flowed through Leese's blood, the world tilted, went fuzzy, then righted itself again. He knew he'd already drunk too much. But Carver, Mitty and Gene were so admiring, like his own personal fan club, he wasn't ready to call it a night.

They sat on the open hatch to Mitty's truck bed beneath a night sky fat with black clouds that concealed even a hint of the moon. A light glowed and he turned his head to see Gene lighting up. A red sheen covered his face as he inhaled-and then the sickeningly sweet smell hit Leese.

"Want a hit?" Gene offered, holding the joint out to him.

"No thanks." He propped himself against the truck.

Mitty laughed. "The little fighter is afraid to take a toke?"

"Afraid? No." He wasn't afraid of jack-shit. "Just not my thing."

Gene passed it to Carver, who closed his eyes as he sucked it in and held it.

Smoke hung in the thick, humid air, turning Leese's stomach. It had to be late. Or early. Whatever. He looked around at the nearly deserted streets. The last thing he needed was for a cop to show up. "I should get going."

As he exhaled Carver asked, "Why the sudden rush?"

Tension knotted up his neck; Leese clutched his stomach to keep it from pitching. Damn. He'd gotten drunk plenty of times in his life, but it never made him feel like this. He took a step away from the truck, and almost fell to his knees.

Laughing again, the sound warbling like a strobe light, Mitty caught him and held him upright.

"Pathetic," he heard Gene mutter.

Then Carver's breath was on his jaw. "Hey, buddy. You okay?"

Too close, crowding against him. He tried to push away, but got pushed back. As if from a distance, he again heard the laughter. He couldn't seem to draw his thoughts together enough to figure out why the earth kept moving or why his tongue felt so thick. He reached out, and his hand connected awkwardly with the truck, busting his knuckles. It hurt.

"Take it easy, friend."

Carver again.

A hand steered him and he found himself hefted into the truck bed, then reclining. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. So black. So endless. "I need to get home," he thought, then realized he'd spoken aloud.

"Yeah, sure," Carver said. "We'll take you. Where is home?"

His brows squeezed down. He didn't want to tell them but he couldn't figure out why.

When he felt a hand in his jeans, he panicked. Real, sick, twisting panic. He reared up, lashing out until he heard a curse.

Mitty shoved him back so hard that his head collided with the rusted truck bed. "Asshole."

Blinding pain exploded through his skull.

Carver said, "Relax, dude. Just getting your wallet so we can figure out where to take you."

Shit. Going lax, Leese closed his eyes and drew a slow breath that still didn't give him enough oxygen.

"Got it." Carver spoke low to someone, truck doors opened and closed, the world moved-this time for real.

He realized Carver was still beside him when he nudged him with his boot. "You with me, buddy?"

Leese groaned as the truck hit a bump. "Yeah."

"You need to stay awake."

Distrust was a live thing inside him, screaming a warning that he couldn't quite heed. "Yeah."

"There you go. So let's talk."

He wasn't sure if he could. But Carver was insistent, and the wind blowing over Leese, the sounds of traffic around him, revived him enough to clear some of the ever-growing cobwebs.

The boot hit him again, this time in his biceps. "Stay with me, damn it. You won't like it if I have to keep getting your attention."

Leese concentrated, but that just made his brain pulse.

"Where does she live?"

"Who?"

"Cherry." And he sneered, "My sweet baby sister."

Oh no, he didn't want them going after Cherry-not that he knew where she lived anyway. Cherry had been friendly, willing to share a fast dance and a few smiles, but nothing more.

Leese got several more kicks before he recalled that Cannon Colter and Denver Lewis were her friends, and Cherry was seeing Lewis. That meant they were probably from Warfield, Ohio. Yeah, Warfield. That sounded right.

"Good, that's good," Carver said. "What else can you tell me?"

So he'd spoken aloud once more?

This time the boot heel caught him in the ribs, then the hip. "Yes, you're talking, you idiot. Now answer my question."

Instinctively Leese rolled away, but that just left his spine exposed, his kidneys. Fuck. Between the jostling of the old rat-trap truck and the sporadic kicks to his body, he couldn't get his bearings.

He needed to fight back, but his arms didn't respond right to his brain's commands, too sluggish to do more than fan the air. Getting his legs under him was a no-go, too. He crawled up to his knees, and took a kick to the nuts that had him collapsing hard on his face.

While pain dug into his consciousness, he tried to understand. He was good in the cage. Why the hell couldn't he fight now?

"Because you stupidly drank what I gave you, you trusting, pathetic ass." Thump. "Now stop wasting my time. You said something about a gym. Where is it?" Thump. "Who runs it?" Thump.

Curling in on himself, Leese accepted his own weakness. If he could, he'd go down fighting.

But he couldn't fight.

Still, he tried to keep silent, to deny them the answers they wanted, but whatever they'd given him left him babbling. Carver kept prodding him, and with each reply his apprehension grew. It didn't take this long to make it to his apartment, damn it. Or did it?

Finally they stopped and he awkwardly, with Carver's help, sat up.

"This is it. Time for you to go." Mitty hauled him out with a complaint. "Jesus, he's a heavy fucker."

Leese tried to get his feet under him, but something was wrong with his legs. Mitty half carried, half dragged him to the front of his apartment building, banging his shins up each concrete step to the landing. He got callously dumped against a wall, arranged more upright than supine, with his shoulders wedged into a corner beside the door and the railing.

Someone said, "Good enough. If he wants the rest of the way in, let him crawl."

A rough palm slapped his face to regain his attention. "It's been fun, man. Thanks for all the info."

Info? Oh God, they'd been asking something about Cherry- A meaty fist slammed into his jaw, and a welcome blackness closed in.

WHEN DENVER KNOCKED very early the next morning, Cherry answered the door. She'd called half an hour ago to say she was up, feeling much better and on the mend. He'd just finished showering after his jog, so he threw on jeans and headed over, anxious to see her.

Taking her in head to toes, he believed she felt better. Lingering shadows remained beneath her dark eyes, but she stood stronger, steadier. Still no makeup, but with her looks she didn't need it. She must have washed her hair; the scent of hyacinth filled his head when he bent to put a kiss on the side of her neck. He breathed her in and didn't want to stop. Thoughts of stripping her clothes away so he could again touch that sweet, curvy little body tested his better intentions.

That wouldn't suit his agenda, so he shored up his resistance and took a step back. "How'd you sleep?"

Her gaze skittered away from his. "Okay."

Another fib. Had she gotten any rest at all? "No more coughing?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Only a little."

"Still taking the medicine?"

"It makes me sleepy."

Meaning no. "Sleep is the best thing for you."

Rolling her eyes over his excess concern, she moved back. "Come on in."

When he said, "I can't stay long," he saw a subtle tension release from her posture. Had she dreaded his visit, assuming he'd press her for explanations?

She was right, he would.

Holding out a bag, Denver offered an olive branch. "I brought you breakfast."

"You didn't need to do that."

He absently tugged at his ear. Things were definitely different today. Less intimate.

He'd have to see what he could do about that. Yes, he'd get some answers. But he'd like her to be willing to talk, or at least not so resistant.

The way Cherry held herself now, the careful way she watched him, he could tell she wanted to act as if nothing had happened, as if she didn't have three psycho punks hunting her down for some reason.

Would she try to derail him by claiming herself well, by rushing him out the door? Did she want to call Carver now? Or was it that she felt she had to?

He looked around at what he could see of the empty house. "Where's Merissa?"

"Gone to work about ten minutes ago."

He checked his watch. It was barely seven thirty. "Already?"

"She said she had an early meeting at the bank. I should have gone to work, too. I'm well enough today-"

"One more day off won't hurt." He well knew the level of energy it took to deal with young boys. With preschoolers? He didn't want to find out. Taking her elbow, he said, "Couch or kitchen?"

"That probably depends on what you brought me."

"A muffin and juice."

"Kitchen, then, I guess." As they headed that way, she peeked into the bag and the scent of warm blueberries escaped. "Mmm, that smells so good."

He pulled out a chair for her. "Got your appetite back?"

"With a vengeance." She didn't sit. "Can I get you anything?"

"I already ate." He'd have to be at the rec center within the hour. Workouts and keeping up with his remaining accountant duties severely strapped his time. But thanks to his success in MMA, stellar endorsements and good investments, he'd been able to pare back on the job enough to dedicate more effort to growing his fight career.

So far, so good-but still time-consuming.

Getting involved hot and heavy now with Cherry put a slight kink in the works, but it was a nice kink, one he'd definitely enjoy working through.

She sat, opened the juice for a sip, then bit into the muffin with a look of rapture.

Denver smiled. "Good?"

"Heavenly."

Pulling a chair out, he turned it around and straddled the seat. He waited until she had her mouth full. "How long did you live with the foster family?"

A vague dread froze her in place. For a few seconds, she even stopped chewing. Time ticked by. She swallowed, picked up a napkin, patted her mouth, set the muffin aside. Took another drink.

Stalled.

"Cherry," he whispered.

"Four years."