To get into one of Breaking Point's fights takes a certain kind of commitment. Despite being all buddy-buddy with the police force, they still try to keep it very low key, so the only way you can be a spectator is through a recommendation from someone already affiliated with the underground. And the person who recommends you must swear in good faith that you won't bring any unwanted attention. A permanent ban from the premises and a brutal beatdown awaits both you and your friend if you snitch.

Beth and I were recommended to be spectators about three years ago by my now ex-friend Dakota, whose brother used to fight in the underground. He doesn't anymore because he was shit at it and got severely beaten within fifteen seconds of the fight.

It so happened to be the exact same night I first saw Jax fight in the cage. The second I watched him emerge from the shadows, clad in his signature black robe, every muscle in my body locked up. I fell so hard for him then, with his dark, unrelenting eyes and thick, loud confidence as he danced around his opponent like he'd just found the easiest prey to feast on and was going to relish ripping him apart.

Looking back at the moment, I can't help but feel a black stain forming over the memory, along with the many others I made with Jax. Did Jax know early on he intended to cheat on me with Beth? Or was it Beth who planted the seed of doubt in him? Who came on to who first? Whose willpower was the first to break?

I guess it shouldn't matter, as both of them are equally damned in my eyes. But still, I can't push away all these questions floating in my head. It's difficult not to feel this way when I feel so massively duped.

Staring up at the neon red Breaking Point sign this time around is enough to turn all my feelings about Jax into cold determination. I thought about going back to Kayden's apartment since I know his address, but I figured since he kicked me out the other day, I might just piss him off by going there again. If I attend his fight tonight and try to find him afterward, at least we'll be on neutral ground.

The underground is his playground, just as it is mine.

I can feel the vibrant energy thrumming from within the gym as I head toward the front doors. There are two lines to get in: one for first timers and the other for seasoned spectators. Thankfully, the latter is much shorter, so I get through within minutes. The bouncer checks my ID along with the small bag I brought with me, rummaging through my things before grunting with approval and stepping aside to let me in.

I haven't been here since Jax won his title last year, but I know that Breaking Point runs one-off underground matches every other weekend. Most of the time, Jax is here. And when he's fighting, he earns bank. All good fighters here do. Apart from entry fees, they also get a cut on any bets placed. If you're entering for the season, the farther you move up in the tournament, the more dough you rake in.

And if you're a reputable fighter who has fought in the underground for several years, fans may even bet on you based on blind faith. Which is why fighters usually engage and connect with their fans whenever they can during these events.

Jax has a ton of fans. He has a natural charisma, so it's no surprise he has a lot of loyalists under his spell. The income from the fights will provide him with enough financial security for the next decade.

The pungent stench of smoke and sweat hits me when I push through the doors to the basement. Rowdy patrons collide with one another, screaming final calls to place bets. A small group of people flock toward the betting table, waving their money, hungry to cash in on their favorite fighters.

It's a struggle to push through the mammoth crowd. Perched in the center, in all of its glory, is a raised octagonal cage, and it's the only thing that the overhead lights are directed at. It looks like it was quickly put together and easy to disassemble if the cops were to raid the place.

I glance at the time on my phone. Five minutes until the fight begins. Good.

The quicker Kayden's match is over, the sooner I can talk to him.

I call the bookie over and chuck one of the two remaining fifty-dollar bills I have left at him to bet on Kayden. I have a feeling I'll double my money. I want to prove myself right in case he's as good as I think he is.

Someone accidentally pushes against me, and I stumble back slightly.

"Sorry." The guy's voice is cut off when his eyes flare in recognition.

"Brent?" I shout, immediately recognizing the thick-rimmed glasses and shaggy brown hair. I didn't think he was the type to come to these kinds of events. He always felt like a board-game-night-with-friends kind of person to me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He echoes the question back to me.

"I'm here for Kayden," we say in unison. When the joint statement clangs in the air, Brent and I both make a weird face.

He expression turns quizzical. "Wait, why would you be looking for him here? Didn't you find him at his apartment the other day?"

"I did. But he kicked me out," I mutter.

I expect Brent's face to fall, but the expression remains nonchalant. "I'm sorry. You're not the only one he's done this to so far."

I want to press him further about Kayden's cold behavior, but as I open my mouth, the sharp bleating of a horn pierces my ears. Brent and I turn our heads toward the cage as a thunderous roar vibrates from the crowd.

"Welcome to the Vortex, fuckers!" The announcer screams like the megaphone isn't already helping him amplify his voice to the entire city. "THE ONLY RULE THAT EXISTS HERE IS THAT THERE ARE NO RULES! SO LET'S. GET. REAL. TONIIIIIIGGGHTT!"

More screams from the crowd.

"You come here a lot?" Brent asks, his face tilting toward me. "I probably should have put two and two together with you being into MMA and all," he tells me.

"Yeah, but this is a whole different ballgame, so I get why you didn't," I reply, looking at him with mild skepticism. "But I'm surprised to see you here, though. This doesn't really feel like your scene."

I peer down at his attire—a blue button-up shirt and black slacks. He looks like he's about to walk up to the front of the class and deliver a presentation about quantum mechanics.

"It isn't." He shakes his head. "But Kayden's my brother. I come to every fight he's been in."

"Wait a minute." Confusion ripples across my face. "Kayden's your brother? Why didn't you tell me that?"

Brent merely shrugs. "It's easier to say he's a friend than having to explain the alternative."

I scoot closer to him, curiosity getting the better of me when I recall Kayden's facial features filled with sharp lines and comparing them with Brent's chubby cheeks and round button nose. I also note the different colored eyes, with Brent's seaweed green a wild contrast to Kayden's grey ones. "You guys look nothing alike."

"Yeah, we get that a lot. We're brothers, but not by blood. My parents adopted Kayden four years ago, when he was seventeen," he explains to me.

"Oh." Is all I can say to that. "But if that's the case, why don't you live with him?"

"Kayden doesn't go to BU. I wanted the college experience so I applied to be in the dorms," he murmurs, sifting his fingers through his hair. "I still go over a lot just to check up on him and make sure he's okay."

Brent's comments about Kayden puzzle me even more. "Why wouldn't he be okay?"

Before he can shoot back a reply, our conversation gets cut off by the announcer again.

"All right! Let's get on with the fight, shall we?" The man screams again, and cheers reverberate through the crowd. "On your left, we have fresh meat—Murphy 'Menace' Davisssssss!"

When Murphy emerges from the shadows, a slew of boos and insults get hurtled his way from the crowd. It's a response that I'm familiar with, as it's their fucked-up way of humbling newcomers. As much as the underground welcomes fighters from any kind of background, it feels more like an elite club than anything else. If newbies don't leave a strong impression in the community, they usually don't last very long.

Which is why Kayden is all that more intriguing to me. He's one of the newer fighters to enter the underground, yet still causes quite a stir.

"And ooover to your left, we have one of our crowd favorites, the relentless, powerful, penultimate gatekeeper of death: Kayden 'The Killer' Williamssss!"

I watch as Kayden, draped in a dark-red satin robe, materializes from the shadows in the corner opposite from Murphy. Usually MMA fighters don't wear robes—only professional boxers do—but the underground has a flair for the dramatic. And boy, does the robe fit Kayden well. He looks like a phantom king, ready to take his place up on the throne.

I've never heard a more energetic, deafening roar from the crowd as I do upon his entrance. He's serious, his gaze hard as steel as he lifts his fist up to acknowledge the cheers, and then does a little jog around the perimeter of the cage, knocking people's fists and waving to others. All of the girls within a mile radius of me jump excitedly, screaming all sorts of nasty, sex-fueled one-liners at him.

When Kayden finally climbs into the cage, he shrugs off his robe, chucks it to the side, and walks to the center of the cage. His opponent does the same. They touch fists briefly before moving in the opposite direction and easing into their stances.

There's two types of guys in any fight: the one who comes out guns blazing with all that he's got and the one who calmly waits for his opponent to attack first, picking up his strengths and weaknesses along the way.

Unfortunately for Murphy, he appears to be the former.

Because the second the referee yells "Fight!" he is immediately pouncing on Kayden. He swings a right hook at Kayden's head but Kayden anticipates it easily, locking his arms tight over his ears. Murphy is relentless, though, choosing to go on the offensive, his fists darting at Kayden, but Kayden expertly manages to evade blow after blow. Murphy, frustrated that he has little effect on him, swipes his right leg over to trip him. It catches Kayden's foot slightly but he sidesteps him at the last moment, undeterred. In retaliation, Kayden strikes with an effective jab-cross uppercut combo, catching Murphy off guard.

It looks like Kayden's strategy is to get Murphy to gas out so when the time arrives, he can knock him out easily. I'm impressed. Most fighters don't understand that fighting is just as much about pacing as it is about skill.

Kayden controls his distance well, hanging back only to block Murphy's attacks or to score a couple of hits of his own. Strong, precise movements. I nod approvingly. A definite sharpshooter. However, I can tell Kayden is getting a bit antsy, his footwork already faltering, which gives Murphy the brief opening he needs to tackle Kayden by lifting him and flipping him over in a massive takedown, sending them both crashing to the floor.

From beside me, I hear Brent suck in a nervous breath.

Red flares in Kayden's eyes. Murphy has him pinned against the floor, but Kayden pulls himself into a better position and rams his knee straight into Murphy's ribs. Murphy immediately doubles over and Kayden seizes the opportunity to mount him and crash his elbow straight into Murphy's nose. But before Murphy can recover, Kayden's fists explode, knocking into him over and over.

Murphy grits his teeth to keep from crying out in pain as he sloppily blocks Kayden's blows. He's looking nauseated, drowning in his own blood. A more experienced fighter would be able to reverse the position by getting a grip on his opponent's body and entangling his legs, but because Murphy has spent so much of his energy keeping up with Kayden at the beginning of the fight, he's got little to no strength left. Kayden now has his arm pressed hard against Murphy's neck, his legs caging his opponent as he bashes his fists against the guy's bloodied face.

At one final blow from Kayden, Murphy taps his hand against the floor weakly.

"Annnnnd the winner is the one and only . . . Kayden 'The Killer' Williamssss!"

The crowd detonates into blaring cheers. From around me, cash changes hands. Some people writhe in frustration as they cough up their money, and others wave their winnings in the air smugly.

The host starts announcing the next fight. I swivel back towards the cage and notice that Kayden's no longer in it, which means he's gone backstage to cool down. That's my cue.

"Hey, I'm gonna set off," I tell Brent. "Gonna go find your brother."

My response earns a frown from him. "Is this about the apartment thing? If it didn't work out, there's no use asking him again."

I shake my head. "This isn't about the apartment anymore. Or at least, it's less about that now. I just need to talk to him. He'll want to listen to me."

"You're stubborn, you know that?"

"Some would say it's persistence."

He gives me a quiet stare before sighing.

"Fine. He's probably in the back corridor, far left."

I send him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"Good luck, Sienna."

I'm not going to need it. I know Kayden will want to hear what I have to say.

I follow Brent's instruction and pivot to my left when I find myself in the hallway. A couple of fighters lurk around the area, and I'm acutely aware of them watching me with predatory eyes. It takes a lot of willpower to hold myself back from decking each of their faces. Any other day I'd be glad to, but I'm on a mission tonight, and I won't let myself get distracted.

When I reach the end of the hallway, I find Kayden leaning against the door of his room, icing himself down. I hate to admit it, but he looks really attractive like this, with his ripped body covered in a thick layer of sweat and his hair all messy and disheveled. However, the thought soon crumbles when a familiar scowl returns to his face, making his displeasure known.

"You really can't take no for an answer, can you?" Kayden huffs. "I told you to stay away."

"Technically, you told me to never come back to your apartment again," I say chirpily. "So I thought maybe you'll be a bit nicer to me if I came to one of your fights instead."

"And why do you think that would make any difference?" He lowers the pack of ice and tilts his head to the side. Despite his annoyance, there's no mistaking the curious gleam in his eyes.

"You knew who I was. When I came to your apartment. Didn't you? You knew I was with Jax."

His gaze falls to the floor briefly. "I was trying to be nice."

"That was you trying to be nice?" I say, baffled.

He ignores me, loosing an impatient breath.

"Sienna, what do you want?"

"What if I told you that I want the same thing you do?" I say, stepping forward.

He laughs hoarsely. "I doubt that."

"I remember you too. Last season. During the finals against Jax," I tell him. "I watched on the sidelines as he battered the shit out of you."

A dark, untamed look crosses Kayden's face. I've clearly hit a nerve. Which is exactly what I wanted.

"Enough," he warns. "Sienna, I swear—"

"I'm here to make you an offer," I interrupt. "I can help you destroy Jax this season and help you claim your championship."