Author's Note: Well, it's not my first rodeo but it is my first Shades fic. Trust me when I say I have great plans for this story.

I own nothing but the side characters, his intentions, and for awhile your attention. For visuals, you can view my art board on Pinterest. Enjoy.

New Reign

Running a nightclub wasn't part of the plan.

Sitting at the head of a large mahogany desk, Shades Alvarez stared at the wall across from him, fingers steepled in deep contemplation. After Diamondback's failed attempt to crush Luke Cage physically and mentally, Harlem's Paradise was once again up for grabs. Just as Shades had once mentioned to Cornell Stokes, the club could be sold, gaining a cool fee. But Mariah was attached to the club, that is Cornell's memory. Not only that, but the club did have its advantages, providing a solid front for arms dealing. So, the nightclub remained, reopening for the umpteenth time with new décor and talent.

Caught by the bands smooth cover of Killing Me Softly, Shades took his gaze off the wall and glanced toward the window.

That is where Cornell had failed; he surrounded himself with his biggest distraction: music. Granted the man had been gifted on the piano, hands taking to the keys like a prodigy, fate had guided him another way. On more than one occasion Shades had tried to direct Cornell's attention elsewhere. The man wouldn't hear of it.

"I tell you what," Cornell had told him, deep baritone vibrating off the walls. "You worry about Diamondback, and I'll handle the club and all its affairs."

The bastard truly thought he could handle all the operations from drugs to weaponry and never lose focus, Shades mused to himself. Blinking, his gaze went to the piano still tucked away in the corner. That was a plan that went straight to hell!

Cornell did not lose focus per se but made the crucial mistake of placing his haven in the lion's den. He mixed business with pleasure, too many times to remain unfazed. Thus, he grew attached to the physical building, nearly blowing a previous deal and turning the business sour well before it's time.

Shades wasn't that kind of man. Business was business, pleasure was pleasure. There was equal time slotted to both parties and they did not mix, not in his book. Not ever.

So, with what little care he could muster, the club had been renovated, walls repainted, new furnishings and countertop for the bar, for no other reason than to keep up with the façade. After all, music wasn't his weakness. New hires came next, bartenders, waitresses, entertainers, security. Didn't matter how many times a gun went off in the building, people flocked to the nightclub like a moth to a flame, seeking nothing but a drink of choice and a high thrill that only his kind of living could provide.

Pushing away from the desk, he strolled toward the window on black oxfords that were polished to a shine.

Sunglasses forever in place, he looked out at the crowd.

For all that the club had experienced, make that all the deaths and destruction that had taken place, it was never short of visitors. Women danced with their girlfriends, enjoying the night and the music while men tried to make a pass for more. A rare few came for the entertainment and they could always be found either at the table off to the side, or standing against the wall, heads nodding to the beat.

Glancing toward the bar, he watched as Lawrence, the bartender, all but danced across the counter as he rushed to make the customers' orders.

Lawrence was a good kid, good looking, tall and sporting a fade. He was only 22, but by the looks of it, you would think he had been making drinks since he could walk, he had the knack for it: fast hands, flirty persona. The only problem was that he was taking more than his fair share.

The news of Lawrence's sticky fingers had come from Quincy, a close second of Shades. Come tonight, Lawrence would be given the option of returning the money, all if it including interest.

Rubbing his hands together, Shades could already hear the excuses that Lawrence would give and the promises he would make.

While Lawrence would think that returning the fee would save his life, it wouldn't. Shades wasn't one for second chances or holding onto someone who couldn't be trusted or used for personal gain. So, once the money was repaid, and it would be repaid, Lawrence would become another forgotten face. Out of sight and out of mind, forgotten by Shades and the world.

"Come in," he commanded when a knock sounded at the door.

In came Quincy, moving with a swagger that turned many a head. "My man!" He called, making the corners of Shades mouth turn up.

"What can I do you for, Splash?" Shades answered, his eyes still glued to Lawrence.

Quincy chuckled at the mention of his nickname. Splash. First guess one would claim it was due to his choice of clothing: primarily black or gray with a pop of color in the form of a loud coat or patterned vest. The truth of the matter was that he was called Splash for the work he did. Behind the upbeat personality and Colgate smile, Quincy was a fighter, and brutal. Wherever he went, he left his mark, a trademark crimson splash.

Smoothing out his navy waistcoat, Quincy moved to stand beside Shades and tucked his hands into his charcoal gray slacks. "We tending bar tonight?" He asked casually.

Shades nodded his head. "Yeah, but we'll play it cool. Let him know the severity of the situation yet give him hope." Translation: beat him but let him live to work off his debt.

"I can deal with that."

Briefly, Quincy looked at the crowd before looking to Shades. "Anyone else we need to take care of?"

"Given the amount of attention Harlem's been given due to Luke Cage, most of the players are laying low. The Haitians, Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, all in search of new bosses thanks to their failed assassination of Diamondback. And with the King himself in the hospital, Harlem is as good as ours."

"What about Mariah?"

Finally, he had Shades' full attention.

Granted they had known each other for years, Quincy could never shake the sliver of unease he would feel when Shades stared at him through his dark glasses. It couldn't be helped. An enigma, Shades was a man of quiet intensity and you never knew what to expect as he could do everything: laugh, murder, maim with or without a smile, with or without reaction of any kind.

"To Mariah politics is power," Shades told him. "This," he said motioning to the club, "isn't her thing. Though if I'm to speak for her, she'll keep this place running to keep Cornell's memory, and to milk the tragic death for all it's worth.

"Just like with her cousin, a portion of what we make in our endeavors will go to her, in hopes of advancing her political career. We play this smart, though," he continued with a nod. "All of Cornell's men, off my roster. I'll be callin' up a few of the boys from our crew. I'm trusting them to keep what men we do have in line and to keep an eye on that Robo Cop, Misty Knight."

"From what I hear, she'll need more than a watchful eye to stay in line," Quincy interjected with a grin.

Having seen new bruises on his boy, Quincy had questioned him. Not thinking, or too trusting, Shades had answered him. Quincy hadn't let him live it down since. Now Shades was torn between laughing at his misfortune and pushing his friend through the window.

"I'm just sayin'," Quincy drawled with a twinkle in his eye, "I don't want her to, oh, I don't know, beat some poor man's ass!"

Shades narrowed his eyes. "Shut. Up."

Quincy held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, my bad. I'm sorry."

"Can we get back to our discussion, please?"

"Shoot."

"Like I was saying," Shades said through clenched teeth when Quincy giggled, "we keep an on eye Ms. Knight, keep the fallen King, Diamondback, in caring hands at the hospital, and make sure Luke Cage remains at Seagate. If we keep those three things in check, Mariah happy and complacent, all of Harlem will be…"

"Ours," Quincy finished.

Light splashed on Shades glasses as he smiled. "Exactly." He wasn't so pressed for power that he couldn't divide his kingdom with a trusted friend and ally.

"Well, as the new Chief of Command," Quincy began earning him a laugh, "I say we enjoy the night."

Already Shades was shaking his head no. "You know me better than that."

"I do. But have you looked at what's before you?" Quincy asked. Stretching out his arms he cried, "Beauty, rhythm, and ass as far as the eye can see!"

Laughing deep in his chest, Shades could do nothing else but smile. Quincy was someone who knew that life was short and took his pleasures when they could be found.

"See, now that right there is bad for business."

"Me?" Quincy said in mock innocence, hands on his chest. "My zest for life is bad for business? Never!"

Looking to the crowd, Shades waived a dismissive hand at everything before him. "All of this is bad for business."

Pointing to a random woman flirting with Julio, one of the many staffed with security, he added. "Since I've been here, Julio has had a different girl every night dangling from his arm when he should be watching the club. Now, because he pulls his weight and nothing has yet to happen, he's still standing. But night after night he stays longer at the bar, collecting numbers. And you know what happens next?" Quincy shook his head no. "He gets the number and catches a case; either a girl from the night before, or few days past ventures back to the club and raises hell."

As if on cue commotion sounded from below.

Both men watched as a busty brunette pushed at a Julio before turning on the redhead beside him. No doubt words were thrown, which wouldn't have been a problem until they saw the brunette reach for a bottle.

"Oh, damn. Girls got an arm on her," Quincy observed when the bottle missed the target and knocked out an innocent bystander.

"See what happens when you find your pleasure in your place of business?" Sighing deeply, Shades moved past Quincy, heading for the door.

"I'm beginning to understand," Quincy returned, exiting the office behind Shades. Closing the door, he caught sight of a waitress in the VIP area. "Yet then again… Life is short."

Ignoring his friend's exasperated sigh, Quincy rested his arm on his Shades' shoulder. "You've always had your head deep in the game, man, playing to win. There's nothin' wrong with that. All I'm sayin' is that you need to loosen up a bit, enjoy the halftime show that goes with the game."

His pearls of wisdom had no effect. "Wonderful," Shades exclaimed. "Beautiful analogy, really, Splash."

Waiving his comment away, Quincy changed the topic and asked, "Need me to help you downstairs?"

"No, I'll take care of it." Shades moved through the VIP section. "Enjoy your distraction," he called over his shoulder.

"Will do, brotha. Will do."

...xXx... ...xXx... ...xXx...

Serving trays skidded to the floor as Julio tumbled into the kitchen.

Work came to a standstill as the kitchen staff watched with horrified eyes as Shades disciplined Julio.

"L-look, I didn't know that would happen,' Julio stuttered, too afraid to even pick himself up off the ground.

Gliding across the immaculate floor, Shades stared down his nose at Julio. "Don't try it," he warned. "Don't tell me a lie you can't make me believe."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Julio opened his mouth to issue an apology and snapped it shut. What could he say? He knew the word on the street, knew how Shades operated, his temper. Hell, he knew that he had been pushing it with his girls, that sooner or later he would be pulled aside. Though sadly that's all he expected, a warning. That was a stupid thought; no warning would come from a man like Shades, just a death certificate or a punch in the face if he was feeling generous. And as horrifying a thought a punch to the face would be, from someone who could illicit so much damage, it was exactly was Julio was hoping for, that is if things had to truly get physical.

Scrambling up to his feet, Julio made to put distance between them and came up short when he bumped into a metal table.

"I'm s-sorry, Shades," he rushed to say, sweat dotting his brow. "It won't happen again."

It was so unnerving, that silence. It had to have been a dozen people in that kitchen, all of them frozen. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Julio could just see Shades' eyes, be given that bit of insight into the man's state of mind. Was he annoyed or pissed? He couldn't tell. No one could tell.

"I'm going to need you to tell me that again," Shades said breaking the tense silence.

"Tell y-you what again?" Julio blurted out, fear making him dimwitted.

Removing his sunglasses, Shades rubbed at his brow. "What you said just seconds ago, that you're sorry and it will never happen again." With a single blink, his eyes clashed with Julio's making the man's spine go ramrod straight as fear clutched at his heart.

"Go on," Shades persisted, "tell me again."

Eyes were the gateway to the soul. Shades lived in a rough and tough neighborhood, growing up before his time. Hell, he even spent time in prison! He had seen things: murders, theft, pimps and their whores working the tired streets. He had seen the best of liars and heard the worst of them. Yet here he was, with eyes that had lived for several lifetimes, seeing their fair share of horrors, looking at Julio with an unblinking gaze, telling him without words, 'I already know you're telling me the truth, I just want to scare you, to drive the point home.'

Licking his dry lips, Julio nervously eyed the small crowd around them. When Shades eyebrows went up he snapped his attention back to him. "I'm sorry, Shades. I'll never do it again."

Coming in even closer, Shades stared the man down, gazing at him until Julio lowered his gaze to Shades chest in defeat.

"Hmm," Shades hummed. Sunglasses back in place, he gave Julio a small grin. "Remember what you said, Julio because I won't forget it. That bottle, that bystander's injuries, all of it is coming out of your pay.

"Starting tonight you'll be switching positions with Victor. I think a cold alley is just what you need to get your head in the game, correct?"

"Yes," Julio answered quickly.

Taking a step back, Shades gifted him with a smile. "Then I guess we're all finished here." Turning on his heel he took two steps forward and paused. "Oh, there is just one more thing."

Every gangster had their weapon of choice and for Shades it was his fists. One punch, just one, sent Julio's head snapping back with a loud crack! As the kitchen staff cried out in alarm, Shades watched as Julio slumped to the ground, out cold before he even touched the floor.

"Drag him out into the alley," Shades instructed turning on his heel. "Let the chill of the air be his wake-up call."

Making his way back down the hall and out onto the dance floor, Shades glanced once more at the bar, pleased all commotion had died down and the guests were once more enjoying themselves. Catching Lawrence looking at him, he forced a grin, giving a slight head nod. You're next.

With the swagger and innate charm that all gangsters were famed for, he moved through the crowd. Knowing who he was, the crowd parted for him like the red sea. A few people called out to him, security nodding their heads while a few women sending flirtatious smiles his way. That, all of that, had been the call, the bittersweet lure that pulled him into this way of life. How quick one outgrew it when you realized that the higher up you moved, the dirtier the jobs were, the uglier the people. It became apparent that the only thing to be valued was the loyalty of a few good men, and I mean a few good men, the strength of your fists, and the ability to weave the truth with a clever lie.

Licking his lips, he made to head for the stairs leading to the VIP section and made the sweetest mistake ever by turning his head and glancing up to the balcony.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The only thing better than black is gold. High up on the balcony a woman stood with her hair pulled back into an intricate twist, her rich dark brown skinned beautifully illumined by the overhead lights, wearing a gold dress that stole his breath away. The dress itself was finely made with thin straps that crisscrossed across her chest and neck, form fitting, ending just before her knee. One hand on the railing, the other holding a glass, she rocked her head to the beat of the music, becoming in that moment the epitome of neo-soul.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Shades felt his feet moving, hurrying, in her direction before he could even register what he was doing. Perhaps she sensed that, that invisible connection that happens so rarely in life because she turned her head in his direction. Their eyes clashed.

Everything went silent.

No longer could Shades hear the band or the clicking of women's heels on the dance floor. Nor could he see anything except for her. Lips parting in surprise, Shades felt a delicious thrill run up and down his spine, making him roll his shoulders back and lick his lips in reaction. Just who the hell was she? He wondered to himself. Not only had she stolen his attention, made him stop dead in his track like some lovesick boy, but she had—his eyes widened in disbelief. Did she just…? She did. With a single blink of her eyes, she looked away, dismissing him silently and returning her attention to the stage.

Well, that was a mistake, he concluded. He wasn't the type of man to be ignored, especially after experiencing what had just passed between them. No, he went on to himself, lips curving into a smirk. That kind of feeling deserves an introduction.

"I think someone has his eye on you, Jo."

Joanne 'Jo' Williams couldn't hold back the spark that entered her eyes at the words of her friend Annett. While she, Jo, wasn't a vain woman, she knew her appeal. A few men had taken a chance, tried to garner her attention yet she brushed them off, wanting to enjoy the night out with her girls to celebrate her return to Harlem from Los Angeles.

Because Annett knew one of the bouncers, she had gotten them upstairs to the VIP section. Everything had been well, that is until she felt eyes on her.

Harlem was small in the way that gossip could spread. Didn't matter how long she had been away, Annett and the others, Shondra and Diane, were quick to fill her in: telling her about the death of Cornell Stokes, a bulletproof man by the name of Luke Cage, and the new ownership of Harlem's Paradise by one known only as Shades.

Eyeing him from the corner of her eye as he stalked toward the staircase, she had to admit then and there that he oozed confidence and charm, that he was as handsome as he was feral in that all-black three-piece suit. But that's where her interest had to end. She simply didn't have the time to for a relationship and didn't want a one-night stand with one whom she assumed was a notorious heartbreaker.

Jo turned to Annette who was dressed nicely in a black bodycon dress, hair cute in a cute pixie. "I'm sure I'm just one of many," Jo returned coolly before taking a sip of her mojito.

Annette wasn't so sure of her friend's words. "Mmhmm. We'll see about that."

"What is that supposed to—?"

"Excuse me," a smooth voice said from behind Jo. "I don't believe we've met."

A tingle ran down her spine.

Turning around slowly, Jo came face to chest with Shades himself. Raising her gaze she caught sight of his lazy grin and caught herself just before she returned it. Licking her deep red lips, she arched a brow. "No," she said coolly, returning his question at last, "we haven't."

He extended his hand. "Shades."

Not wanting to be rude, she tucked her clutch under her arm and shook his hand. Heat shot through their palms. "Joanne."

"Joanne," he repeated silkily, loving the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Joanne." Still holding her hand, he surprised her by leaning down and kissing the back of it.

He was most definitely a heartbreaker.

"You too. Tell me, what kind of name is Shades?" She looked him over. "Peccant, perhaps?"

Sinful. She had called his alias, sinful. He cocked his head to the side, his grin stretching into a smile. "It's somethin' like that."

"I see."

She had the softest skin imaginable. Trailing his thumb along the back of her hand, he clasped his other around it. "You seem familiar, Joanne. Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"If we had, I'm sure you would remember me."

He chuckled darkly. Yea, he liked her.

"You can let go of my—"

Quickly he fringed interest in the women around her, resulting to a mindless folly so that he could hold her hand a bit longer. "Are those your friends?"

Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, Jo narrowed her eyes slightly to find all her girls watching her with amused grins. "Yeah."

"Good evening ladies," he called.

"Hello," the girls greeted in unison, their sickly sweet voices making Jo roll her eyes. She just knew Anette was over there silently planning how best to go about the role of matchmaker.

"I take it it's ladies night?" He commented when she met his gaze once more.

"You could say that."

God, she was gorgeous. Her complexion was flawless, rich brown with golden undertones that shone in the light. Taking in her dark almond-shaped eyes, full nose, and shapely lips, Shades had no idea that she spoken until he felt her tug at her hand. A hand he still had a firm grip on.

Eyes soaring from her lips, he said a quick prayer that he wore shades and met her eyes. She was none too pleased. "I'm sorry?" He asked slightly confused and breathless.

Nodding to her hand, she repeated, "I said, 'can I have my hand back please?'"

"My bad," he apologized suddenly bashful, nothing like the killer he was. "I forgot myself." Truth be told he had. Something about her was throwing him off, and he didn't know if it had to do with her immense beauty or something more. All in all, she had an edge; she didn't exactly shy away from him like other women did. Nor did she flock to him. If anything she possessed, like him, a cool indifference that made her a well sought-out prize. A prize that, in this moment, was maddening.

"Here, let me make it up to you. How about a drink for you and your friends, a bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold?"

Jo felt three distinct pairs of eyes on her back as her friends silently screamed at her to say yes. "That won't be necessary." The three pairs of eyes quickly turned to daggers.

"Are you sure?" He asked gently, trying his best not to laugh at the disappointed looks her friends were giving her.

"I'm sure."

Giving him a small smile, she turned to face the stage and took another sip of her cocktail.

From the corner of his eye, Shade saw Quincy motion to him, mirror a dance, and hitch his chin to the dance floor. Shades scoffed. As if he needed pointers from him.

"Hmm," he hummed, leaning against the railing and shoving his hand into his pocket.

"What?"

"Just figuring you out."

Jo gave him her full attention. "Oh, yeah? And what information have you gathered in less than ten minutes?"

"Well, for starters, you don't have a Harlem accent and you're here with your girls who do, which leads me to believe that you've moved. And now, for whatever reason, your back in town, and your friends have taken it upon themselves to show you a good time."

Knowing he had her when her eyes widened in surprised, he suppressed his smile and continued. "Now, you're standing in the V.I.P. section of the most popular club in Harlem, off to the side with a drink you've been sipping since before I approached, telling me that you're a social drinker at most. More than that, you have your pride, you're not going to accept an apology with an expensive bottle of champagne, and I don't think you would be the type to dance with a man who made the blunder, correct?"

She fought to hold back her smile. "That's correct."

"Furthermore, you're not even conversing with your friends, which begs me to ask," he purred leaning in close, seeking out her eyes through his dark lenses, "what exactly are you here for, Joanne?"

It was hard no to wither underneath his scrutiny.

Granted he didn't seem vexed by her silent dismissal when she had faced the stage, she knew that he was truly out to get her now. It was almost laughable. Almost.

"Adrian Younge," she stated with a smirk. "He's headlining tonight."

As if on cue, Adrian appeared on stage and the crowd went wild.

"So you're a fan."

She nodded her head yes.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Anette appeared beside Jo. "Me and the girls are gonna call it a night," she began feigning tiredness. "I have an early day tomorrow," she explained to Shades.

"No problem," he returned playing the role of the gentleman. "Are you all ok to drive home, or do you need a ride?"

"Oh, we're good," Anette rushed to say, shooting Jo a look when she made to interrupt. "Don't worry about us, we have a ride. You and Jo just have fun." Before Jo could argue with her, Anette shot Shades and her a smile and hightailed it out of the V.I.P. section with the others.

Staring at the empty space Anette had vacated, Jo swore she was going to kill her. Slowly.

"Excuse me," she stammered, setting her drink on the table and rooting through her clutch for her phone.

"Everything alright?" Shades asked.

She gave him a tight smile as she searched her phone for the Uber app. "Yeah, it's just that I have any early day tomorrow, too, so..."

Shades saw the well-known icon flash across her screen. "If you need a ride, I'm more than willing to give it to you."

Jo felt her body flush at his words. Snapping her gaze to his she expected a cocky smile, but his expression was neutral. Cheeks blazing, she cursed the fact that she couldn't see his eyes and fully read him.

"It won't be necessary."

Normally he would take the L and move on. So why was his jaw suddenly clinched, the hour blazing brightly in his mind as he told himself it was too late, much too late for her to call an Uber or even a cab to go home? This wasn't him. It wasn't him.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist," he heard himself say. "It's late. I think it would be best if—" Glass shattered.

Shade's gaze flew to the dance floor to see that a fight broke out.

"Wait here," he instructed while he motioned for two of the security guards to follow him. "I'll be back shortly. Don't leave."

Shades was so used to people following his orders that he didn't even wait for her to agree. Turning on his heel, he bounded down the steps, oblivious to the fact that Joanne was just a few steps behind. And while he headed for the mayhem, she headed for the exit.

Twenty minutes later Joanne found herself wishing she had taken Shades up on his offer.

"Give me your purse, bitch!"

Heart leaping up to her throat, Joanne's eyes darted to the club entrance. It was so late that the crowds had dispersed, only one bouncer at the door who was doing his best to score with a long legged blonde.

"Hey!" The man shouted, waving the knife in his hand erratically. "I ain't playin' with you ass, give me your fuckin' money!"

Carefully she inched back in her heels, putting as much distance between herself and the blade as she could. Stay calm, Jo. Stay calm. Don't lose your head.

"You think this a fuckin' game!?" He roared, alerting the attention of the bouncer. "Bitch, I will fucking kill you."

She took another step back.

"I'm warnin' you…"

Jo turned and ran.

No sooner had she taken three running steps when strong arms grabbed her from behind. Faster than she could blink, Jo was hoisted off the ground and pulled into a dark alley.

"Shut up!" He yelled when she began screaming.

"Help! Someone plea—" He pressed the tip of the knife against her neck. She froze.

Chest heaving, she willed her heart to still, for her limbs to steady. Stay calm, Jo. Stay calm. Don't lose your head.

"That's right," he spat dragging her deeper into the alley, "keep your damn mouth shut."

All she could think was if the bouncer had heard her, that if he did would he know which way to look for her? Would he even look at all?

Her train of thought shattered when she heard him sniff at her hair. "Eeck!"

"Damn you smell good!" He tightened his hold around her waist, pressing is hard on against her ass.

Stay calm. Stay calm.

Pulling her into the shadows, Joanne was slammed into the brick wall. the breath knocked out of her as she groaned, pain radiating through her chest and head.

The blade cut into her neck and she whimpered, blinking back her tears. Look for an opening. Don't freak out, look for an opening…

Alcohol was heavy on his breath. Pressing the knife harder to her neck, he nicked her skin. "Let's see what we got here…" Holding her in place with the knife, his free hand went to the edge of her coat. Seeing the glint of the blade, she greet her teeth his rough hand touched the back of her bare thigh, inching higher. "…damn, you got a—"the pressure on her neck lifted.

Fast as lighting, she gripped the wrist of the hand that held the blade and twisted, pulling it away from her. Next, she slammed her spiked heel down on his foot. He howled at the pain. "Son of a bitch!"

The satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage echoed throughout the alley. She had rammed the back of her head into his nose, breaking it.

Roaring in pain, he dropped the knife and sunk to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

Taking off like a speeding bullet, she raced back down the alley.

Twice she nearly tripped and fell to the ground, but she caught herself in time. Adrenaline soaring through her veins, she ran faster, the wind whipping past her. Almost out, her mind repeated, her eyes focused on the clearing. Almost out—a strong hand gripped her arm.

Fear almost made her freeze up. Fight or flight kicked in. Knowing her assailant had a knife, she wasn't going to give him the chance to take her again, knowing he would kill her this time.

Spinning, she brought her arm up in an arc, hand fisted as she delivered a perfect right hook, at full force.

The grip on her slackened and she pulled her other arm free.

Tired of running, she kicked off her heels and put up her dukes. "Come on!" She taunted, poised and ready for a fight.

Light from a streetlight, shined behind her. So far gone was she that it took her a second or two to get her focus. But she saw him, shoes gleaming in the light, the rest of him twisted in the shadows.

A deadly sound escaped a cross between a deep sigh and a low growl.

The man advanced, and the second the point of his chin came into view, she attacked. He sidestepped her next punch, ducking back into the shadows. He emerged quickly and she advanced. Bobbing and weaving, she seemed to dance around the figure, landing some blows while he dodged others.

It didn't even cross her mind that the man moved differently, graceful, predatorial, or that he wasn't leading her into the shadows but pushing back in a way that led to the light, inching her toward safety.

"You done?!" He barked when she threw another punch.

"Not even fucking close!" She fired back.

Her earlier blow into the wall had made one of her contacts come out. Squinting she was barely able to make out his silhouette in the orange glow of the streetlamp.

"I'm not—" She landed a solid punch to his body that made him grunt.

That was the last straw. Throwing himself at her, he crushed her to him with ease, pushing her out of the alley, past the sidewalk, and out into the street.

What the hell was he doing? Was he going to throw her in front of a damn car?! Fight increasing, she threw her weight around until he was forced to drop her.

"Joanne, it's—" She punched him twice, giving two quick jabs, the ol' one-two just like her father had taught her.

Head flying back, he stumbled as a crunch echoed throughout the air.

Fists still up, Joanne panted, bouncing on her feet. Come on, her mind screamed. Come on… His head was still tilted back, and her eyes flew to his empty hands. Where was the knife? Her gaze flew to the ground. Did he drop—she caught sight of the dark lens.

Joanne stilled.

Eyes glued to the misshapen piece of dark glass, a single thought rung out like a gunshot in her mind: her attacker wasn't wearing glasses. And worse, this man knew her name.

Slowly she raised her gaze. Holy. Shit.

Jaw clenched tightly, Shades glared at Joanne through the cracked opening of his sunglasses, his hickory brown eyes blazing with anger.

Joanne opened her mouth and closed it when she swore she saw fire leap from his eyes. He was furious.

Staring at her startled figure Shades struggled to keep his temper in check. After diffusing the scuffle at the club, he headed back to find her gone. Not letting it go, he questioned the bouncer who told him the direction she had walked off in. When he didn't see her, he thought she had taken a cab and went home. Just when he turned to go back inside, he heard her scream.

So many screams he had heard throughout his life, yet none of them propelled him into action as hers did.

Removing his glasses from his face, he felt his jaw tick when another piece of glass fell away.

"I am so… sorry!"

Ignoring her words, he looked at his ruined sunglasses, struggling to bring them into focus.

"But you see, I t-thought you were—I was attacked. I didn't know it was… I am so sorry—"

Despite wanting to fling her from a great precipice, his voice was calm, gravelly yet calm, when he spoke, "You hit me."

He barked a laugh that made her jump a foot in the air.

"Haha!" His eyes found hers. "I can't believe you really hit me."

Who would have thought that such a beautiful pair of eyes were hidden behind such dark glasses? Feeling her skin heat up, she tore her eyes away. Glancing behind him to the alley, she motioned him to come forward. "C'mon, we should go in case he comes back. And," she patted her empty pockets, "I'm going to need a phone to call the police-" Joanne cocked her head to the side. "What did you just say?" She prayed she heard him incorrectly.

Holding her gaze for a spell, he smiled. "I said you have one hell of an arm on you, Jo. And," he continued, closing the distance between them until he towered over her, "you owe me a new pair of shades." And like the bastard he was, he going to make sure he was given his due.

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