Vander all but gave up hope the second she saw Deon's expression shift into a scowl. She knew it as well as he did...the man could have any of these girls in the bar. An offer from a terminal drug addict probably wasn't topping his list. 

As the two men entered the ring, she followed uneasily. She stood behind the initial row of screaming women, blending into the crowd. Her stomach was twisting, and no longer just because she was physically ill. She sized them each up. Both men were muscled, but it was clear which of them looked like they belonged. Where Deon had torn off his sweaty wifebeater, James had unbuttoned a clean dress shirt. He was talking to his brother, but the conversation ended quickly. And the second he straightened up, the fight began. 

The distance between them vanished, and Vander flinched visibly as the first blows sent James to the ground. He rebounded, and she hoped, just for the briefest of seconds, that he could somehow turn it around. The hits came quickly, slamming into Deon's torso and face, before he staggered back. And when he did, Deon moved in. 

The two of them slammed against the edge of the ring. They were directly in front of Vander, and she could see their faces clearly. When the sharp snaps of James' backbones cracking sounded, several women's screams shifted from adoration to terror. Vander was one, giving a horrified gasp. She looked around in a panic, torn between calling for help and attempting to intervene herself. But before she could so much as move, police and security guards were storming into the ring to split up the fight. 

She took a step or two back, breathing deeply, and watched as James walked out of the ring. Relief flooded her, seeing that his back had not been broken. The snaps they had heard were simply the innocent pops a person could inflict by twisting their torso. Although significantly more severe, as she could see by the way he now held himself. She followed, hesitant, as he returned to the bar. The eyes of everyone in the club followed them after the brutal fight, and she wanted to will the starers away. Instead, she simply slouched, her shoulders hunching and her dark hair falling into her face, until James approached her again. "It was nice meeting you, Vander. I'm sorry we didn't get to finish our conversation. Maybe, if you want, we can sometime."

He held out a card, and she took it. Reading the text on the piece of paper, her eyebrows went up just slightly. District 1. She had expected Zone A, but not the highest you could live without being in zero. When she met his gaze again, her expression was filled with concern and remorse. She felt truly awful. It was, in part, her fault that the fight had occurred. Her fault for talking to him in the first place, for not trying harder to reject Deon's initial flirtatious advances, for not giving a better incentive for him to throw the match...

"I'm sorry," she said simply, the words as sincere as possible. 

She gripped the card tight, making an effort to return James's smile before watching him and Mason walk out of the club. The cop's disapproving glance didn't go unnoticed by her, and Vander returned it with an icy glare. Even though she was grateful for him breaking up the fight, it didn't change her view of authority figures. 

She chewed at her bottom lip for a second before shoving James' card deep into the pocket of her oversized leather jacket. He was nice. Decidedly one of the nicer men she had met in her lifetime, and she would without a doubt make an effort to see him again. But not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until she'd managed to get another fix, and could present herself as a somewhat-in-control member of society rather than a craving addict. 

Her drink was still sitting at the bar counter, and she slowly walked back to it. The chatter in the club slowly started up again, as did the hard guitar chords. Vander downed a large gulp of her drink, set it down for a second, and then seemed to reconsider. She picked up the glass again, and tossed back the remainder of the dark red liquid.