CASSIUS

The days all start blending together when you stick to a steady routine. I've come to enjoy the consistency of that but, to avoid losing my mind, I decide to switch it up a little today. Instead of going to the gym again this morning, I'm running around the paved pathways carved out through the small town of Redwood Park. It's the same route I used to run with Chris Clay every Sunday morning when we were on the team together.

Redwood University stands as the focal point, nestled at the heart of a vast, circular walkway from which straight paths radiate out towards an array of shops and diners. The school's vibrant red brick exterior makes the surrounding area appear to be stuck in the season of fall all year long, even when the landscaping dies off in the cooler months.

In the bustling small town, I navigate through dog walkers and couples enjoying their leisurely strolls, all moving in the opposite direction to mine. As I make my turn to run the circuit, I swipe the sweat from my forehead with the crease of my elbow.

As I round the southern edge of the building, a flash of black catches my eye. It's moving quicker than anyone else outside today. I turn mid-stride to get a better look and spot Quinn darting across the courtyard, her curls bouncing wildly. Some guy is practically jogging after her.

She twists her neck to glance back with widened eyes and quickens her pace, still staring at him. He speeds up as well, a determined expression etched on his face, lips pressed into a firm line. They both swing their elbows like those old ladies that powerwalk through the neighborhood.

I stop dead in my tracks, watching what appears to be an awkward, creepy game of tag. Why is she staring back at him while running away? I'm actually amazed she hasn't tripped or collided with anything yet, since she's not even looking where she's going.

Shit. She's coming this way.

I pivot away from the duo and start walking in the opposite direction. I want no part in whatever weird shit they're engaged in. And I know it's weird because it involves Quinn. If what I'm witnessing doesn't make sense to me now, her explanation will only confuse me more.

If I believed she was in danger, I would intervene, but we're in a public space. It's unlikely anyone would maliciously stalk a girl in broad daylight with dozens of witnesses lingering around.

Once I make it back around the circle and scan cautiously, they're nowhere to be seen. I let out a sigh of relief, happy I managed to dodge the situation. Maybe Quinn escaped too, if that was even her intention.

After going home and taking a shower, I spend the remainder of my day at Shadow, setting up for the fight. The massive stage is converted into a boxing ring twice a month. Max lays EVA foam strips on the ground as I assemble the ropes along the perimeter.

Once that's out of the way, I place a blockade in front of the infamous conference room where people will be placing their bets. Silas, another security guard, will be manning this particular area, making sure everything runs smoothly.

Billy will be at the front entrance as usual, making sure no unauthorized guests make their way inside. Shadow is a weird place. It's a secret, but not. You only find out it exists if you have the right connections and nobody unknown gets inside unless they can prove they were invited by one of the regulars. It makes me wonder how Quinn ever managed to gain access, especially with fake IDs. I'll have to talk to Billy about that one.

I, however, grew up in this place. The owner, Max McKinney, was good friends with my dad. Dad helped him with maintenance and played a big role in finding and scheduling the fighters. He had me signed up to train with Micky from a pretty young age so, as soon as I turned eighteen, Max asked me to fight in his club.

I agreed without hesitation, fighting twice a month and moonlighting as a security guard every night. When things went south the year after I graduated college, Max agreed to put me on the club's payroll full-time. Being convicted of assault and spending six months in prison doesn't look good on a resume, so I jumped at the offer. I owe him big time for giving me a soft place to land when I got out.

I head back to the office and unlock the gun safe, pulling out five pistols. After checking the safety on each and every one, I make sure they're fully loaded before handing them out to Billy, Silas, Gio, and Rita. The last one gets tucked in my waistband for easy access. Billy and Silas will do the same. Gio and Rita always stash theirs under their respective bars.

Fight nights can be unpredictable. Best to be prepared for anything.

I help Rita stock the small bar that she tends while Gio paces the main one, making sure everything is exactly where he wants it. Nights like tonight leave no room for breathing, let alone walking away to grab a bottle of liquor from the back. The smallest inconvenience can permanently set you back. Gio's the quickest and most efficient bar hand we've got and borderline OCD when it comes to his workstation.

Max steps into the far corner and surveys the club, admiring all our hard work. He nods in approval but suddenly squints at the sign above Rita's bar – a steel sign framed by arched metal rods that span the entire bar length. Letters that spell out SHADOW are illuminated in pink and blue neon lights. But the letter 'h' is intermittently flickering.

Pursing his lips, he glares a moment longer before heading to the supply closet, returning with a ladder. He may be the owner, but he doesn't shy away from manual labor – trying to be as hands on as possible. He climbs the ladder and gets to work on fixing the electrical issue.

By six, the first few people start filing in. It's the same three guys that always handle the cash flow for the wagers. Once they make it past Billy, they head straight for the conference room, stopping in front of Silas.

Silas pats them down, taking inventory of anything that can be considered a weapon. After pocketing a couple small blades, they exchange a few words, planning out the night, before he lets them through.

When seven rolls around, the club is filling with actual customers. Gio is already swamped, and Rita has a few stragglers in her section. There's a steady flow of people entering and exiting the back room, lips buzzing with speculation on who will win tonight.

The heavy metal ballads emanating from the jukebox, projecting out through the speakers, are a stark contrast to the bands who have been playing here over the weeks. It instantly gets my blood pumping, ready for possible disarray.

QUINN

This morning, I really wanted coffee. But not the kind I can make at home. I wanted the kind with extra pumps of flavored syrupy goodness topped with fluffy whipped cream. So, I went to Roasties, the campus coffee shop.

I'm two sips in when Ethan walks through the doors, sauntering up to the front counter to place his order. My eyes bore a hole in his back while I glare at him from my table by the window. He must have supernatural abilities or something because how in the world did he find me?

Is it my scent? Can he sniff me out like some kind of dog? I inconspicuously sniff my pits to see if I'm excreting some kind of pheromones. But they only smell like cucumbers. At least I know my deodorant is working. Can deodorant block pheromones, though? What else am I paying for when I buy this stuff?

Echolocation is a possibility. Maybe that's how he discovered my hiding spot. Clicked out sounds until he was able to tell where I'm at. I slump down, only my head peeking over the table, and start making a series of clicks with my tongue, studying him to see how he'll respond.

The girl at the table across from me glances up and stares in my direction. Man, a lot more people must have this ability than I realized.

"I'm not talking to you!" I whisper-hiss at her, annoyed that she's eavesdropping on my insulting message to Ethan. She raises an eyebrow and then decides to pack her things up and leave.

Wait...echolocation isn't use for talking to people, is it? Just object detection. No wonder she looked at me like I was some kind of weirdo.

As soon as Ethan turns from the counter, he observes me scrunched down in the chair and starts heading my way. I slide under the table and start running again, trying to lose him as I weave around the trails on campus. After I dive behind a tree, he gives up the chase.

When I arrive home later that day, I'm heavily debating if I want to go to fight night at Shadow or not. I haven't missed a single one since I was eighteen, but something doesn't feel right. Or maybe I'm just being a coward, knowing Ethan and Cassius will be there. One that I'm avoiding, and one that seems to be avoiding me.

Or maybe I just don't feel like changing into something more socially acceptable. Running for my life earlier really wiped me out.

I examine myself in the mirror, picking my appearance apart. It was fine for a quick coffee shop visit, but not for a night at the club. My hair is messy, some of the curls matted together because I didn't brush my hair before falling asleep after my shower last night.

My bright blue sweatpants are ripped at the pockets, rendering them useless. I wipe smudged mascara off the top of my eyelid. Who knows how long that's been there. My black shirt has bleach stains on it for some odd reason.

The shirt is what bothers me the most, and I end up on a thirty-minute side quest, trying to hunt down the bottle of bleach that attacked my poor clothes. After searching the cabinets, the tiny pantry in the kitchen, and even under the couch, I can't find it. Because I don't own bleach. Which means there is absolutely no logical reason for the little orange splatters of discoloration on my shirt.

Which leads me to believe that someone may have snuck into my apartment and decide to ruin my clothes, taking the bottle of evidence with them. That's some real psychological warfare right there. I wouldn't put it past one of my exes – cough Hunter cough – to do something like that. Little terrorist.

And just how far does Skylar's evil go? She looks like the kind of person who would own lots of bleach. I don't know why, but she just does.

No, that's silly. I was here last night because ASSius kicked me out. Nobody would have been able to sneak in and torture my innocent clothing.

By the time I get my brain back on track, I decide to just stick with the shirt and change into some jeans. At least I'll look halfway presentable. The matted curls get twisted in a bun on the top of my head and my eyelashes are coated in the third fresh layer of mascara. They keep sticking together, so I give up. I stare at myself some more and shrug, accepting my fate as I walk out the door.

When I start to cross the street, I remember I forgot to lock my door. Damn it. I jog back, run past the dildos in the main lobby, fly up the stairs, and lock the door. I arrive back at the club entrance and there's only five people ahead of me.

It's almost my turn with Billy and I suddenly get the urge to check the time on my phone. I shove my hand in my pocket and... no phone. Back to the apartment we go!

I repeat the same routine but take the stairs two at a time this go around. Unlock the door, search for my phone, find it in the silverware drawer – don't ask – and leave. Halfway down the stairs, I stop myself. The door, Quinn. Lock. The. Door.

While sticking my key in the deadbolt, I whisper to my door triumphantly. "Not this time, bi-atch."

Now I feel bad. I don't know if inanimate objects have feelings or not, but I'd rather have a Toy Story situation than a Chuckie one. I don't like taking risks with my life, so I pat the knob and quietly apologize.

I'm rocking a light sweat by the time I get back to the club. My calves are burning as Billy greets me with the same usual smile, but I grow suspicious when it transitions into a hearty chuckle while he stares at my feet. I look down to see what's so funny.

Damn it! Slippers. I'm in my freaking slippers.

"Shove it, Billy!" I grumble, backhanding his shoulder as I push my way past him and his stupid, obnoxious cackling.

I was a mess when he found me in the alley three years ago and I'll be a mess until I'm in the ground. He should obviously know this by now, but he still always has a good ol' time hassling me.

All I know for sure is that I am not going back to the apartment again. There should be enough people in here that my fashion faux pas will go completely unnoticed.

The music blasting through the room is deafening and my body is immediately smashed between human bodies. I can't see anything over the behemoths lurking around. Damn my little legs.

I try to shove my way through the flesh pit, only partially succeeding. With every person I manage to make it past, another one pushes me back. I'm used to fight nights being packed, but there's only one person who brings in this amount of business. Based on the crowd, I'm assuming Logan Campbell is one of the opponents.

When I finally burst through the crowd and make it into the small open area around the back bar, I dramatically gasp for air. Rita – the back of house bartender – laughs hysterically when she sees me, so I make sure to give her a sarcastic grin in return.

When she pours a glass of water and slides it across the bar, I lunge forward. Snatching the cup, I chug the liquid gold as fast as my throat will allow.

"You look poised as always." She taunts.

I flip some imaginary hair over my shoulder and bat my eyelashes at her.

"You know me. I never leave the house without looking my best."

Her laughter fades out as she realizes I'm grimacing down at the ground. At my feet, to be precise.

"What's up, Quinn? You okay?"

I slowly look up, meeting her eyes before I let out a long, very unattractive groan that sounds more like a strained battle cry. The noise has Rita's neck retreating from her body.

My left foot is encased in a black slipper while my right foot is sporting nothing but a white sock. I spin to face the bustling crowd and scowl at the floor for personally betraying me by stealing my other shoe.

Ol' righty is somewhere in that swarm, and I'm determined to rescue it. No man – or slipper – gets left behind. Not on my watch.