In the beginning there had only been one goal; put a knife in the bitch and be done with it.

The beginning.

When, precisely, was that? Honestly, he didn't know anymore. Elsie had been the catalyst, and he had truly felt something for her. At least at first.

How many times over the years had he tried to change? To suppress his baser instincts and push away other, darker, urges? He had tried for Elsie. Her smile and laugh had been infectious. Her child-like naivety were at such odds with what she did.

Professional wrestling.

Of course he had heard of it. It had never held an interest for him until she bumped into him at the pub, however. A compliment, a little idle chatter, and she poured her entire world out. Not because she was intoxicated—half a beer wasn't enough to do the trick even on the lightest lightweight—but because that was who she was. Honest to a fault.

Then he had gone and mucked that all up. He'd underestimated her dedication to the sport. They'd fucked on the first night and he was sure he could convince her to stay anytime he needed her to go for a ride. But she'd insisted on going home that night, he'd grabbed her arm and left a mark, and she'd run.

That was the end.

The end of what he might have had with Elsie, but the prologue of the last eight years of his life. He should have let her go, but he could never just cut a loss like that. So he'd followed her, hoping to explain himself and try to convince her that he wasn't what he was, but she was never alone.

Mason had told him to move on. What had that little prick known anyway? Didn't know shit now that he was dead. He had been angry for a few days, out of obligation. The more time passed, though, the more relief he felt. Sure Mason had cleaned up a mess or two for him. But he'd cleaned up far more, like when he got saddled with the laundry. What kind of man still had wet dreams half way into his twenties?

He didn't move on, though. He still wanted to try to fix what he had broken with Elsie, hoping she could fix him and he could be the way he was supposed to be. It had been a mistake to approach her with her friends there. It escalated quickly. The brunette was a spitfire, riding high on adrenaline from earlier in the night and feeling invincible. She managed to push all his buttons in the right order until he went over the edge.

Was that the beginning?

On top of him with blood running down her face because he had slapped her, she threw a punch like no woman he'd ever met. Not that he'd met many who could. The look on her face as she broke his front tooth and drove his head into the pavement was one he'd only ever seen on a woman when his cock was inside her; all control abandoned and utterly lost in the moment. The sight had been so impressive he'd stopped fighting back.

He went home angry that she'd gotten in the way of getting Elsie back. But his real anger for her came because he couldn't get her out of his head. The moment he laid down, whether his eyes were open or closed, all he could see was her on top of him. It was a power no woman had ever had over him. It wasn't the same as his attraction to Elsie. The solution was simple: just get rid of her.

So he did, or so he had thought. The fight in the alley was short-lived, but she had surprised him again with her tenacity and ability. She had struggled until he put the blade in her belly, or thought he had. The taste of her had lingered in his mouth for days. Cigarettes and liquor couldn't burn it away. Fear was there, but it was just a garnish. The real flavor was adrenaline, and something he hadn't learned to recognize yet.

Imagine his shock when he had seen her walking around a couple days later. The intention had been to give Elsie a few days and then be the shoulder to cry on over her lost friend. But no, there the bitch was, alive and well. He kicked himself thoroughly for not breaking the cardinal rule of confirming the kill. It wasn't a mistake he would make again.

It hadn't taken much to learn her name and then learn her real name, where she had come from, all about her estranged family. What a sordid little history that was. She'd grown up everything he would have despised, but she'd run from it and that raised the intrigue. She run from wealth and comfort and security headlong into the unknown with no plan, right into the arms of violence where they waited in the gray area between light and shadow.

He'd taken control back in her favorite little coffee shop. The fear in her eyes when she saw him was nothing short of exquisite. The taste of it when he made her kiss him was better than any top shelf gin. But the kiss and the feel of her body reignited all the thoughts of her on top of him that he'd just managed to get out of his head.

He'd made another mistake outside of the club. Too much of a crowd, all three of them there. He'd let her get his ID. It was fake and it didn't truly matter, but he'd gotten Mason involved anyway. Having another puppeteer pulling the strings would make things easier. A few little incidents drove her to trust the good Constable.

She started digging. She started getting too close for comfort. Mason was right when he said they had to get rid of her, even with that basset hound sadness in his eyes because he was starting to catch feelings. He'd known his little brother's dick was starting to do the thinking when he made excuses to go check on her. At least he'd pulled his head out of his ass when she'd gone to see the old woman.

But he had misjudged her again.

She had baited him to the river that night, with the intent of putting an end to him. It stirred something in him so much more dangerous than his anger: desire. She wasn't his equal, but she came far closer than anyone ever had before. She didn't have an instinct to kill, but clearly she had the will when she drove the blade between his ribs.

That was the beginning, wasn't it?

Mason was livid, but he didn't have a leg to stand on when he had failed to finish the job too. One of them was supposed to take care of her, whoever got the chance. Mason had the chance, a little something in her coffee and he could dispose of her, but she'd got one over on him too and called her friends instead of letting the Constable take her home.

They both had to suck it up and let go.

So he had.

Until Anton Sala had sent that smug message. The man had already been fucking up his new business, but to see Elsie in his lap when she'd slipped through his fingers all those years ago? It was a slight he wasn't going to let go unanswered.

Had he known from the start it would eventually lead back to Aidan Carlisle? Maybe he had. Maybe that was why he didn't let it go even though he felt nothing for Elsie now but unfinished business.

New York was a clusterfuck of proportions he hadn't anticipated. The way Aidan had run from him the day he revealed himself she was every bit the scared girl she'd been in England. Because he'd caught her off guard.

But she had grown. So, so much. Not outside, other than the natural progression of years, but inside. She was a creature evolved far beyond expectation. She knew her limits, so she used others to achieve her means. She took out Sala by getting his rivals to do the job with the information gleaned from Frankie Mendoza, and she'd even cleaned up Frankie for being the one to tip Sala off to her.

It was dumb luck that she'd almost cleaned up him and his brother the same night.

Mason had never known she was there. He was as observant as a brick when he was heated. He hadn't smelled the perfume in the air or heard the little squeak of shock from behind the dumpster. He was going to let Mason leave before he caught her for himself, but Sala's arrival had put an end to that.

The whole incident had only thrown the fuel on his need for her. As soon as he'd recovered from the gunshot he had started following her again. The first hint in Florida. So quick that she questioned whether it had happened at all. Then in the gym, leaving her looking questionable to her partner.

He delved into everything then. Embarrassing as it was he became obsessed with wrestling, or at least with Aidan Carlisle's wrestling. He dug up every single match she'd had that had been put to video and watched them all no less than a dozen times.

He could see it growing inside of her with each passing match: that thing he had first seen with her on top of him. She'd revealed it to herself that night, and over the years she struggled with it constantly, even though she didn't know it. He could watch her let it out and reign it back in again.

He knew exactly what she felt in those moments at the end of a match where she had pushed herself half way over the edge of death just to best another human being for “sport.” When she would close her eyes and her head would tip back... It was a moment he'd had himself, again and again. It was its own type of climax, built on a lust for pain and destruction rather than sexual release. But just as satisfying.

She knew. She understood.

She floundered through her personal life like a hooked fish on dry land. She dove headlong into mistake after mistake with too much pride to turn back until she had to be dragged out by someone else. But inside that ridiculous ring she was a valkyrie, a shieldmaiden; Artemisia I of Caria, Queen Boudicca, or bloody fucking Grace O'Malley. In there was was where the real Aidan Carlisle lived, not the pretty picture she painted for everyone to see.

He wanted that woman that lived between the ropes. The way she had walked out on the Mick so she could explore depths of desire she'd suppressed with the bald fuck, the way she turned her back on the bald fuck to bed the addict, a man who'd tried to assault her—twice—just to twist the knife in him like he'd done to her...

He was sure that there was a way he could make her his. He just needed to feed that thing inside of her until it never went back into hiding. That thing knew its own, gravitated toward the dark places where its kind lived. It just needed let out.

And then Mason had discovered his obsession. And like almost everything, they shared the obsession. Mason still had a hard-on for the woman too. Any other woman he would have shrugged off and just told his brother to pursue. Mason was inept in that area, he would have failed anyway. But not this woman. Not Aidan Carlisle.

They had a glorious fist fight over it. Bloody knuckles and bloody faces. Until they laughed at the fact they were fighting each other over a woman. But Mason’s laugh couldn’t hide the truth, and he knew what was behind his own. It was Mason that said if she was going to come between them, then she had to go. Ballsiest thing his brother had ever said.

At the time he thought maybe Mason had been right. His interest in Aidan Carlisle was driving him to distraction. But maybe she was what he needed. Maybe someone who understood, someone who fought so valiantly against her own demons would know what he needed to fight his. She made him want to not be what he was, even as he continued to stalk her.

When she was on top of him in that alley it wasn’t like the first time. It was better. She was in full control. She was more than ready to kill him with that brick. It would have been painful and messy and knowing what she had done would have been a part of her forever. He would have been a part of her forever, and he’d have been gone where he didn’t have to deal with himself anymore.

But that was not how the day had ended. It was not how he had ended. When the big Mick came to clean up his girl’s mess, it should have ended. It ended for Mason. Good riddance.

But it was not his end. That twisted luck stuck its own knife in him and let him live. Bad ammunition, the Mick’s desire to leave no trace of himself. It all came together against astronomical odds. He had almost decided to end himself. Even a bad bullet to the head would have been enough.

But he had not.

Almost four months later now and he sat in an ancient sedan outside of that picturesque house in Delaware. He had watched her kiss the Mick goodbye that morning. The way she clung to him in the hopes that he might not leave was painful to watch. It wasn’t a jealous pain, but because… because he hurt because she hurt?

How fucking stupid was that?

She had stood on the front porch long after the Jeep had left. From the distance he couldn’t see the tears on her face, but he knew they were there. If she was that attached to the Mick, what good was it to… plead his case? What the hell did he even think he was going to do?

He drove for hours to get away from Wilmington. Then he turned around and drove back. He tried to convince himself that he was going back to put an end to her. She’d been a thorn in his side for eight years. She’d twisted him up in a knot no one should ever have been able to. Unless she was the woman...

No. She’d cost him Elsie, cost him his business, cost him his brother. She’d cost him too much. As long as she kept breathing, she was just going to keep costing him more. He needed to be free of her.

He punched the steering wheel a few times to pull his head into the present. He needed to stop thinking about the look in her eyes after that match in England, the way the blood was pouring down her face from the gash on her head and she could barely stand but she'd still climbed a ladder and done... whatever she did to that other woman. He needed to stop thinking about that thing he wanted inside of her.

“Man up. There's always another woman.”

There had been several over the years, ones that he could have and move on from. Ones that didn't make him feel like Mason felt about every minge that crossed his path.

“There's been plenty of clunge, hasn't there?”

Plenty he'd dipped his wick in, yes. But never the one he wanted.

“There will be another one. One that doesn't make you feel...”

How did he feel? He searched for the word as he pulled the handgun out of the glove box and chambered a round. So much easier to get one here than in England.

“There will be another woman.”

He was still convincing himself as he crossed the street.

“A woman more predictable. One with a little less fire and a little less fight.”

Because that was what he wanted, right?

“One who's not going to look at you like that.”

With equal parts fear and hate and unwanted intrigue she refused to acknowledge.

“A safer woman.”

Because a man like him wanted safety, yeah?

He heard her running down the stairs inside.

“There will be another woman.”