Dean knew that owing you wasn't a good thing—it was common knowledge. He'd been taking part in some underground fights for extra money, it was a good deal.

If he won.

After one fight in particular, he retired—the fight where he lost his mind and went over the edge, ending up with a man killed for him. He wouldn't care anymore and you left him alone. Until now. Now you needed him back. He opened the door to the apartment, not very big, enough with the money he could afford without the fights. He put out his cigarette, seeing you there. He considered you a witch—no, more like a mermaid. Beautiful, but a manipulative little devil.

"No." Dean closed the door in your face. Yeah, it would be hard.