"Alright Foster," I say. "You gonna get in that ring and fight, or what?"

He laughs. "You should be a motivational speaker."

I cross my arms and notice a dark streak of face paint on my skin. I should be washing it off of my hands, but I like the way it looks covering my palms and my fingers. Actually, it makes me look pretty bad ass.

"When does the fight start?" I ask.

"No clue. I just know it starts sometime before nine." Xavier looks back at me and raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

" 'Cause. I just wanna know what time I'm allowed to leave without you stopping me."

He scowls at me, and I can spot the clench of his jaw where I'm standing. "You can't leave," he says, his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously slow in his throat.

"Yes," I declare, matter-of-factly. "I'm leaving the moment you step in that square."

He stomps over to me, anger contorting his every feature. "You're not leaving."

"Yes I am," I mutter. "You're not the boss of me." It sounds childish, but I can't help it. He's putting the game on the table, so it's my job to win it.

His nostrils flare and his lips form into a thin line. I'm looking at those dark eyes of fury, and I can see pure rage in them. I can also seem something else, something akin to desperation. Need.

"You're right, I'm not the boss of you," he whispers. "But I want you here with me, more than anything."

His voice softens, allowing room for sympathy and honesty. Something I didn't think he of all people was capable of.

"Please stay," he says. "Please."

Okay, I can't not give in. Who does this guy think he is? A lost puppy?

Thinking hard for a moment, I finally come to the conclusion that I can't ride a motorcycle or call anyone to come get me. "Fine. I'll stay. But I better not regret it," I warn.

"Don't worry, you won't—" Xavier sneakily wraps a free arm around my waist, and I feel the tingly sensation of his touch on my skin.

Despite the feeling of warmth he gives off, I back away from his clutch. "No, Xavier. I'm serious."

He pouts but gives in and backs away from me, walking over to a corner of the workout gym. He opens up a beaten duffel bag, grabbing a role of bandages and wrapping them around both of his hands.

"Now, when you're fighting someone—"

"What?" I ask, letting out a small laugh. "Are you giving me a lesson?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "You're tutoring me, might as well do the same."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Don't you wanna kick the butts of the guys that hit on you?" he asks me. " 'Cause believe me, I surely do."

I smirk, probably turning as red as my dress. "Does that mean you too?"

Past his tasselled brown hair, I see a playful smile and childish eyes. He does know I can beat him, he knows it for sure. "Okay then, go ahead. Show me how to fight."

He looks at me and smiles. "When you're going up against your opponent, you have to hit him where it really hurts."

I cover my mouth with my hand. "Like, his berries?"

"Not quite," Xavier answers, more serious than I thought he'd be. He's no longer hiding behind a playful façade; tonight, he's all game.

His body faces mine, and he points at his chest with his bandaged fingers. "Here, here, and here." He suddenly walks over to me and swiftly grabs my hand. Then, he places it on his body, and I feel the ripple of his muscles beneath my finger tips.

"Here, here, and here," he repeats, guiding my hand to the pressure points on his torso. At first I didn't think my skin could be more flushed, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

"When fighting someone—" Out of the blue, he grabs my hand and places it behind my back, securing me and place. "—never get distracted."

He breathes me in, breathes me out. Unlike the horrible stench of the room, he smells of coffee and mint. So sweet.

"You want to make sure you have him right where you want him."

I push him away, desperately trying to wriggle out of his grasp before it's too late. What is this boy even doing to me? What am I doing with him?

Just when I didn't think I could possibly get more flustered, Xavier tackles me to the ground. His arms find the small of my waist, and he expertly swerves my body around so when we land on the ground, he's on the bottom and I'm on the top.

I pant hard. My breath causes the small swirl of hair over his forehead to fall back, and I try my best to focus all my attention on it instead of on the dark eyes that lie just below.

"You have to get your opponent when they least expect it," Xavier whispers. He shifts his body around so he's on top of me, pinning my body on the ground keeping me still.

It's unbeknownst to him that I have a master plan on its way. Such ingenious makes the stiff muscles in my back relax as my lips curve into a smile.

"Xavier..." I say, placing my palm on his collar bone and trailing it down to his stomach.

"Shit," he whispers.

At that moment, I manage to push him right off of me, getting up from the floor and watching as he stumbles on his back.

"You got me, Flores," he says, raising his hands in defeat.

Before I can answer and prove to him that I'm quite satisfied with myself, I hear a metal door opening and look in the direction of the noise, seeing the old man with tattoos walk into the room. He gives me a glance and nods before turning back to Xavier, mumbling something in his ear.

I can't hear what they're saying, but then the old man orders, "No, you're staying here." and points to the ground.

Xavier makes eye-contact but leans over to his friend and says, "Make sure she stays here the entire time. I don't want her to be anywhere near those people."

"Those people", are they dangerous?

"Wait, but—"

"You're not going anywhere," he interrupts.

"Kid, maybe ya should—"

"She's gonna get hurt. She can't be up there with lunatics." He glares at the old man—Kenny—and clenches his fists.

He hesitantly nods his head, and Xavier suddenly walks towards the metal door his friend had just come through. He looks back at me for a moment before yanking it open.

Before he leaves, I muster up enough courage to talk to him, even though his fists look like they could demolish my face in 0.35 seconds. "Excuse me? Erm—why can't I see the fight?" I ask him, curiosity seeping into my tone.

"That boy didn't dare tell me a thin'," he answers, shrugging his tattooed shoulders.

"Can I please see it?" Even I'm surprising myself, wanting to watch the brawl despite the fact that I threw up the last time I saw something like that.

"I'd be lettin' the kid down," he says. "I can't do that."

It occurs to me that Xavier must mean a lot to this guy, and he must trust him enough to place me under his supervision.
Does this mean he cares about me? Had he been telling me the truth the entire time?

"Please, can I watch? I promise to stay out of trouble."

"That's the problem," he starts. "People up there are brutal. Vulgar. Someone like ya would be easy to spot in a crowd like that."

This is ridiculous, this man thinking he knows me when he's never met me before. I can stand up for myself, I'm sure the people up there aren't that crazy. But then again, they've done these things a lot more than I have.

Without thinking, I stomp a heeled foot on the ground and ignored the pain riveting through my entire foot. "I want to see it. Let me see it," I demand.

He sighs, placing both his hands near his head in defeat. "I can't really object ta yer free will here. I can only allow it. Very well, if ya want to."

That was almost too easy, now that I think about it.

Kenny walks over to the other metal door, opening it to reveal a steep staircase lit by a dim red light. He asks me to follow him and I do as he says, climbing the steps right behind him.

I have to cover my ears when we reach the top. The first thing I notice is the crowd of people all jumping and cheering as they stare at the brawlers in the ring. People are holding various bottles of booze and liquor in their hands. There are even a few people smoking, and I resist the urge to plug my nose and clutch my stomach before I wretch all over the place.

The actual ring I notice second. I have no idea where we are, but a dangerous feeling crawls up my back like a centipede at he sight of it. It's terribly lit, I'm surprised the fighters in the ring know what they're doing.

When I see Xavier and his opponent fighting each other in the square my eyes immediately widen, and I place my hand over my mouth to cover a gasp. Xavier is losing.

He looks like a mess. His face is drenched in his own blood, and there are bruises along his jaw and over his stomach. He's still managing to stay on his feet, but his body sways side to side, and it's not hard to tell he is just absolutely exhausted.

"Foster!" I yell, careful not to blow Xavier's cover. Shoving through the crowd of people, I try to get to the front of the group.

It's when I get to the ring that I realize, wow, his opponent is big. Not as big as The Resurrector of course (no one can top that guy,) but he's still up there. His skin is ebony-black, but I can still see the detailed pattern of a tattoo stretching over half his chest.

"Oh no," I whisper.

"This is a party!" some one yells beside me. I turn to see a girl, short and petite, with bright blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Her face is covered in freckles, and her lips are adorably heart-shaped.

She gives me her hand to shake, fixing her glasses with her fingers. "The name's Brooklyn."

I'm not really in the mood to introduce myself, kind of panicking because the boy I had come here with is currently getting pummelled in the ring.

Brooklyn doesn't seem to mind that I had ignored her gesture, and continues cheering along with the crowd.

"C'mon babe," she says to me. "Let loose, have some fun!"

Anxiety wraps its fingers around my throat, clogging the airway from my mouth to my lungs. I would let loose, I would have fun, but it's kind of hard when you're so very close to fainting.

Now Brooklyn notices that I'm ignoring her gestures, eyes glued on the two fighters before us.

"You know him?" she asks, inadvertently pointing to Xavier.

I nod, subconsciously leaning closer to the ring.

"Whatta hunk." She smirks, and I think I feel a hint of jealousy coming on. A hint! Only a hint!

I can't bare it anymore. I watch as Xavier gets beaten up in that ring, and I hate how he's getting hurt while I'm hopelessly standing here, unable to do anything about it. Why does he even brawl when he knows he'll get hurt?

Xavier's opponent lands a horrific blow on the side of his face, and it's at that moment that I'm close to screaming. He falls to his knees and starts coughing up blood.

"Foster!"

I think he hears me because his head cants my way, and I spot the furrow of his eyebrow as he catches sight of my waving arms.

Yes! He sees me!

"Stop the fight!" I scream. "Stop!"

My yells are muffled by the constant cheering of the crowd around me, and too soon Xavier's opponent advances towards him, shoving him to the ground like he's tossing a piece of garbage in the trash.

"Please," I mumble. "Please get up," I plea. Only moments ago I would've slapped any smile he'd had on his. Now I just wish he'd stop fighting all together.

"Scum," his opponent bellows, and I force back the urge to run right in that ring and rip him to shreds myself.

It's safe to say I'm trembling right now, scared out of my mind to find out what will happen to Xavier when this muscle man of fury finally finishes the poor boy off. I think I can feel tears in my eyes, running down my cheeks and blurring my vision.

Suddenly, his opponent lifts up a bulky arm, clenching his hand and aiming a fist right at Xavier's head. Target: his temple.

I want to look away. My God, I want to look away from this so badly, but I can't tear my eyes from the scene. He's going to die. Xavier is going to die!

I bring my hands closer to my eyes, trying to hide myself from the inevitability that's about to come. I watch as his opponent's arm stretches just above his head; his elbow winding high to deliver a very lethal blow to the face.

It suddenly crashes down. Fast, fast, fast.