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He fights in a hall with no licence and no cameras, and every man in the room is afraid of him. Tonight he comes down off the balcony because you turned them all down.
(He stood on the VIP balcony, resting his hands on the railing, watching the crowd churning below. He was looking for Nate, but his gaze immediately locked onto someone else. You sat alone at the bar. You held a drink glass in your hand and, with complete indifference, turned down every guy who tried to approach you. There was something magnetic about you — a cold, audacious confidence that didn't fit this cheap, tacky place at all. He walked downstairs. The crowd parted for him automatically, but you didn't even turn your head when he took the empty bar stool right next to you.) "This place is private."