I'm very annoyed. It might be because I haven't slept properly in a week. It might be because my father won't stop giving me shit for taking one fucking punch. It might be because the Asesinos are definitely planning something and I need to figure out what.

It might be because I'm still thinking about her. Laura.

Something about her completely undid me. Never mind the internal battle I was fighting in her proximity, but I stupidly blurted who I was before she walked away. Why did I tell her my name was Raze? The public was only supposed to know me by Greg. She is part of the public. Why did I offer the truth about myself? She can do anything with that information and I don't know her nearly well enough to guess what she might be up to. Maybe she doesn't care but maybe she looked into me and that poses a problem. A very large one.

I have to find her.

It's why I assigned Mitch with the task a couple of days ago. It's been a week since I saw her and I'm getting impatient. You can find out a lot about a person in one week, if she's interested enough that is. Again, I don't know her nearly well enough to say. And since Mitch is doing this for me solo it's taking longer than it normally would. He is the only one I trust to get this done. If anyone else in the South Bloods discovered I'd taken an interest in this woman, she may as well be done for. I'm surprised at the surge of protectiveness that fills me at the thought.

Business as leader has kept me busy or I might have gone out of my mind by now. Taking care of shipments has been top priority since the ambush a year ago. Losing our men has brought us all on edge. Things are tense as I lead my team toward the docks to collect our latest cargo. Everyone is on high alert as we scope out our surroundings, our weapons in hand and ready for a fight. We will not be caught by surprise again.

I bring my fist up to signal them to stop and my men oblige. With hand gestures they've long since memorized, they follow my silent instructions to spread out. They take their assigned spots hiding behind the large crates and guns at the ready. I meet Byron's eye and he nods to let me know he has me covered.

With my gun tucked in the front of my jeans, I loosen my tense shoulders and make my way to the walkway where the boat is docked. I'm on edge, but the Vice Lords can't see that. We've never done business with them before but they had something the South Bloods have been looking for so it's a risk I had to take. My men are prepared regardless.

"Mike?" I call out the leader by name when I reach the boat. It's small in size so it doesn't take long to spot him rounding the corner, box in hand. A woman is with him and she holds a second box. I bend down to hold the boat by the edge while they step off to balance the weight and straighten up as they set the boxes down. "That's everything?"

"It is," Mike confirms. He points to the woman. "This is my wife, Nora."

I tip my chin. I don't give a fuck but clean business is the best business so I offer my respect. I dismiss them both just as quick as I crouch down, retrieving my knife from my boot to open the box.

"Woah," Mike waves a hand. "There's no need for that. It's all in there, boss."

I don't so much as blink. "Then you wouldn't mind me checking."

He must see the threat in my eyes because he takes a step back and gestures for me to go on. He doesn't look like the kind of man cut out for this life. He's too...pretty. And he won't stop scratching his arms so it doesn't take a genius to guess he's an addict. Probably some punk that got a taste of this life and thinks he's fit to be a leader now. I'm not impressed and I already know I won't be doing business with them again.

I get the box open and it reveals several packets stuffed to the hilt. I whistle with my teeth and Byron comes out from behind one of the crates, gun visible in hand.

Mike scowls. "There's no need for that."

"I don't wish to use it," I say without sparing him a glance. "Shut up before you give me a reason to."

He wisely stays quiet. Byron crouches down next to me to inspect the contents of the packaging, running a finger through the powder of a bag I ripped open. He's done this part longer than I have so I leave it up to him.

"Well?" I ask quietly.

"Authentic," He confirms. He lowers his voice too and turns his body toward mine. "Hell of an amount. Where'd they get it if they're a charity case?"

"My question exactly." We both look at Mike who's shuffling from foot to foot. "How did you pay for all of this?"

"Money," He smarts. Idiot. I take my gun out and point it at him. Nora screams and cowers behind him and Mike holds his hands up. "Hey, relax! Chill!"

"How did you pay for all of this?" I repeat, clicking back the lock.

He pales and I know he will take this more seriously. "A loan."

"From?"

"The Asesinos."

Byron and I share a grim look. I should not be surprised. Their plan is all too obvious now that I have the missing pieces to put in place. Give a loan to a low-profile gang and let them do the dirty work with shipments. Sell the cargo to a high-profile gang. If Mike and Nora are unable to pay them back and in the allotted time frame they were given, they can pin the owed money on us and have a reason to open fire. It would have been a smart plan if they didn't choose idiots to complete this job.

"No deal." I kick the box over to Mike, trying to conceal my anger. The Asesinos almost got away with it. This is too close for comfort. This is revenge.

"What the fuck?" Mike barks. "I brought this for our deal and now you won't pay me? What do I do now?"

"Your problem. Not mine." I gesture at Byron and we head off the docks. Mike looks like he wants to say something else until I point the gun at him, my face contorting with spite. "Don't reach out to me again. Consider it war if you come near the South Bloods. I'll kill you myself."

I don't wait for him to agree. If he knows what's good for him he won't try otherwise. I'm in a shitty mood as we head back toward our truck. Now I have to explain to father that this was nothing more than a bust. I'm ready to rip some heads off until I get a text alert and open up my phone, reading the new message.

Mitch: Found her.

***

The address is for a paint studio. I'm not surprised. I specifically asked Mitch to cross-reference her name with painters in the city and figured it would lead me to her.

I step out of the car, my eyes tracing the small building. I've seen apartments bigger than this studio. Either this woman is not talented or she just hasn't been recognized for her efforts yet. Something tells me it's the latter.

I ignore the closed sign and knock on the glass door. A few seconds tick by but I'm impatient after the day I've just had so I knock again, much harder than before. She finally comes into view and her blue eyes widen with shock when she sees me through the glass. I frown as I look over her. She's dressed in short overalls that expose her bare legs and they're covered in paint, like the rest of her. There's smatterings of red and black and grey all over her face, hair, and body. She's like a toddler.

I can tell she does not want to let me inside. She simply stands in front of the door while nervously eyeing me and shifting her weight. I point to the door handle, a silent demand to be let in. Her eyes graze over me and she looks like she visibly pulls in a calming breath before opening the door and finally poking her head through.

"Hi." Her voice comes out squeaky and a little breathless. "Um, this studio is currently closed."

"I'm aware." I arch a brow slightly. "I need to speak with you."

Her eyes widen more if possible. The shade of blue seems extra prominent because of her blue overalls. "Oh. Is everything okay?"

"Can we do this inside?

"Right. Yeah." She visibly blushes and unsurprisingly, it adds to her already endearing personality.

She opens the door wide enough to let me in and I take a look around. There really isn't much. A few paintings are propped up on canvases around the room and the room itself is adorned with flowers and interior decor to make the place more homely. There's another door that leads to what looks like a studio based on what I can see from here. It's small but full of life, kind of like her.

"So." Her voice draws my attention and I turn around to face her again. She's wringing her hands together nervously. They're stained with paint. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

Might as well get this over with so I can get back to my life, a life that has no room for someone like her. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. Greg Resnick, the professional boxer."

"I gave you another name the night we met."

"Yes." She clasps her hands behind her back. "Raze."

Hearing her say that sounds wrong. Greg sounds better on her tongue although I have no business having any sort of opinions about this woman.

"That was a mistake. I was careless to give you that information." She says nothing, simply looks at me curiously so I continue. "Be honest—did you try to look into any information about me?"

"I..." Her hesitation tells me everything.

"What did you find? Be honest, Laura."

She jolts a little at the sound of her name, blinking at me like she didn't expect me to remember it. She has no idea I haven't been able to forget her.

"Not a lot." Her voice is like an open book. Every tremble, every hesitant breath, tells me when she's lying. Right now her voice is steady so I know she's speaking the truth. "Honestly, there wasn't anything about you that dated back more than a year. It's like you were a ghost before you started boxing professionally."

"And it's to stay that way," I order firmly. "Did you try searching me up by the name Raze?"

Her cheeks flush. This woman has no poker face whatsoever. I rub a hand tiredly over my forehead.

"Was that wrong?" She whispers. She is so...innocent. Naive.

"Yes." I cross my arms. "And what did you find?"

"Nothing." Her voice wavers. Lie.

"Don't make me ask again."

Her eyes go downcast with guilt. She licks her lips and finally whispers, "One thing. I found one thing."

Her voice is steady. Truth. I nod expectantly. "And?"

"It was an article someone wrote about you. It was in a student journal that talked about crime and violence in the city. They mentioned a Raze that was notorious in the streets and had a reputation for being involved in New York's crime. They made it sound like a legend or something. There was no picture or actual name but since you told me I figured..."

"They were talking about me," I finish for her. I'm not surprised. Nobody knows me by face but I have a lot of influence over this city so the general public know stories, if they know who to listen to at least.

"Is it true?" She lifts her gaze. "What the article said?"

I choose not to answer. "Don't try to find answers about me. I am someone you need to stay away from. You'd only be putting yourself in danger."

With that I stalk past her and head for the door. Only I don't get very far because her warm fingers wrap around my wrist. They're so small they barely meet each other. I stop from the unexpected contact and look over my shoulder in irritation.

"Is Raze who you're battling?" She asks softly. "Is he who you're forced to be?"

I take my hand out of her hold. "I am not forced to be anyone. Enough questions."

"I don't think that's true." She says it like it's a fact. "But...okay."

She clasps her hands behind her back again to obviously let me go. It's what I wanted but I feel...what? Disappointed? I immediately brush it off and go for the door again.

"Oh! I just remembered!"

That might be the loudest I've ever heard her speak. She's usually meek but when I turn around she's on the tips of her toes with excitement. It's new. It also suits her.

"I was really surprised to see you here but only because I was already thinking about you."

My brows just barely inch up in surprise and she visibly stammers when she realizes what her words might have sounded like.

"I mean, not like that. Just...um...come with me? Please?"

What could she possibly want with me? I must look as wary as I feel because she reaches an arm out and gently threads her fingers through mine before pulling me in the direction of the studio I saw earlier. I look down at our joined hands with furrowed brows. Hers are so delicate and colourful and soft. Mine are big and calloused and rough. They look like they don't belong, a representation of the two different worlds we come from. We have no business holding hands.

For some reason that's not enough to make me pull away like I should. Instead I let her guide me to the studio. For such a small person, she tugs my much larger body with a surprising amount of strength. It's kind of amusing.

We enter the studio and it's even smaller than the main room. It's nothing but a shelf full of paints and paintbrushes, a large sheet to cover the floor, and empty canvases stacked to the side. Only one canvas sits in the middle, covered by a cloth, and a stool in front of it that I presume she sits on to paint. She lets go of me and walks to the canvas with a shy expression.

"I'm an artist," She starts. "I'm used to observing people and noticing little details. I see the details in everything. It's kind of how my brain works. Anyway, you were really intense when you approached me the night of your fight and I guess I was mentally stacking up on all your features without meaning to. I got to painting the next day and I finished this morning."

She takes a deep breath like she's nervous. A moment later I understand why.

When she peels the cloth off and reveals the canvas underneath I pause in shock. It's me. She painted me. And there's no mistaking it because it's like looking in a damn mirror. It's nothing more than my face but the painting is entirely accurate. From the crease between my brows, to the way the corner of my lips point down, to my crooked nose that's been broken one too many times, it looks exactly like me. She might as well have taken a photograph.

I glance at her. She's doing it again—chewing the corner of her thumb. Her eyes search mine for a reaction but she will not find one unless I give it. Unlike hers, my poker face is excellent.

"You're very talented," I settle on the obvious. I have no idea what to say. Why would she paint me of all things?

She seems to like the compliment because she grins. It's a breathtaking smile, revealing a little dimple on the top of her cheek. "So you like it?"

"Yes," I answer honestly. I look at the painting again. "Either you've made me more handsome than I am or I had no idea I was a pretty face."

A surprised laugh bubbles out of her. It's a very joyous sound, loud and full of life as she throws her head back. I watch her for a moment observantly. I don't think I have ever laughed like that in my life. She must be a very happy person and that calms me for whatever reason. She seems like she deserves to be happy.

"I don't think you realized you have a sense of humour either." She bites her lip, teeth sinking into her plush mouth. I try not to stare. "Something tells me you're not used to making jokes."

"I'm not."

"Well, you're very good at it. You should consider stand-up comedy if boxing doesn't work out."

"I doubt that would fill the stands like my fighting does."

"I'd be there," She shrugs sweetly.

I eye her curiously. "Not a fan of fights?"

She winces. "That obvious? Not particularly, no."

"Then why were you at mine?"

"My friend dragged me—the one you saw me with? I'm kind of a homebody. I spend everyday cramped up in my studio painting instead of going out and doing things. She wanted me to try something new so it was either going to a boxing match or skinny-dipping."

Her explanation brings forth images I shouldn't be imagining. "And you chose boxing?"

"She wanted to go in the middle of the night," She defends herself. "The water would have been freezing or a shark could have bit my foot off. I figured I was safer in a room full of sweaty men that I'd have to endure an hour with, tops."

I blink. "That...sounds very dramatic."

She laughs sheepishly and taps her temple. "Too much goes on in there."

"I can see that."

"What about you?" She tilts her head. It's as cute as it was the last time she did it. "What do you do for fun?"

Nothing. I can't afford to have fun. I've known my duties since before I could walk and I was trained to fulfill them. I don't say any of it out loud but it's a reminder that I shouldn't be here, putting a woman like her in danger no less. She's too kind for an ill fate and that's all she would get just by being in my presence like this.

"I need to go." I check the time on my watch and straighten out my leather jacket. "Thank you for hearing me out today. And the painting...I'm glad I had the opportunity to see it."

"Oh." She seems disappointed, nibbling her mouth. "You really have to go?"

"Yes." My voice comes out softer than I intended. She wears her heart on her sleeve, this one. She has no reservations, openly showing me that she's enjoying our time and clearly wanting me to stay longer. It thaws me.

Her thumb finds its way to her mouth again. "Do you think...could I maybe see you again?"

My brow creases. "For what?"

A flush takes over her cheeks and nose and she looks down, socked foot messing with the sheet we're standing on. "I don't know. Anything. I paint at the park just down the road sometimes. Maybe you could meet me there. We could eat food and talk."

I blink when realization hits me. She wants to go on a date? With me? I feel a surge of annoyance. Not at her but at myself. If I could be anyone except who I am, I would say yes. Laura is beautiful and kind and I have no doubt men act like idiots to be with her. That she wants to spend time with me hails a very obvious answer—yes. But it's an answer I can't give because she doesn't belong in my world. I couldn't offer her the things she deserves.

"That's not a good idea." They're not words I want to say but I say them. Something odd stirs in my chest at her clear disappointment. "My only business was to make sure you stayed away from me. Seeing you again doesn't help."

Her arms go around her waist almost protectively. She's refusing to meet my eyes. "Oh. Alright. I thought...never mind."

I should walk away. I should. But I'm too curious and maybe a little desperate knowing I won't see her after this. "You thought what?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head.

She looks embarrassed. It bothers me more than it should. I liked it better when she was laughing, brilliant blue eyes twinkling at me. Before I have a chance to think about what I'm doing, I step into her space and catch her chin gently. She sucks in an audible breath when I lift her head up so that she's looking at me.

"Say it," I command softly. "Be honest, Laura."

I might have imagined it but I think her eyes just dropped to my lips. They're back on mine too fast to tell. "I...I thought you might have been interested in me. That's why I asked to see you again. That and...I like you, Greg. I really like what I've seen so far and I want to see more."

Her vulnerability is refreshing. I've never had a woman openly tell me what she thinks about me. I'm not a monk—I fuck when I have the time. I've been with enough women to know what I'm doing. But I only get physical for one purpose and the women I'm with happen to share that purpose. It's get in, get out. Hardly an exchange of words unless they are orders about how I want her to position herself. But that's all women want from me too. Never have I had someone admit they like me. It's so...schoolgirl. But endearing, just like Laura.

"Not in this life, darling." I sweep my thumb across her lip without meaning to and her mouth parts in shock. "We're too different. It would never work. But if this was another world, we would be sharing a very different conversation."

"We could try," She whispers, eyes big and hopeful. She is far too sweet to be at the hands of someone like me.

"We can't." My hand slides to cup her cheek, her skin soft against the roughness of mine.

On a whim I lean down and my lips brush hers. She gasps softly, a sound laced with enough pleasure that I know I can continue, and I add more pressure, kissing her. I'm not sure why I did it but I'm glad because it feels incredible. She feels incredible. She melts into me immediately, warm and inviting and trusting. The way she kisses me back, tentative but excited, makes me forget all the reasons I should stay away. I keep it as appropriate as possible or I know I'll lose control. It's just a gentle caress of my lips on hers but it makes every intimate moment I've had with other women pale in comparison. She's dangerous, this one. I knew she would be.

I pull away too soon. It was a short kiss but one I know I won't be able to forget. Laura's cheeks are flushed, almost glowing with contentment. A little kiss like that was enough to satisfy her. So, so innocent.

"Goodbye, Laura." I keep my eyes on her and raise her hand to my lips, kissing the stains of red and black and grey, the same shades she used to create the painting of me.

"Bye, Greg," She smiles but it looks sad. Unwilling. If I wore my heart on my sleeve like her, I would look the same.

I let her go before I make the mistake of kissing her again. The first one shouldn't have happened either. But I couldn't help myself. One kiss doesn't mean anything anyway and it's all I repeat to myself as I leave her studio, refusing to look back.

__________________________

A/N

SWOOOOON! I usually don't believe in love at first sight but with these two, I'm feeling all of it! So much cuteness. I definitely need more.

Please VOTE, comment and share if you liked this chapter.

Happy Reading :)