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Chapter Fifteen
LOGAN
“Hello?”
I sighed into my phone, dropping my face back into the pillow.
“Five hundred if you win.”
Lifting my head, I frown, checking the time on my phone.
Two fifteen.
“Huh?” I mumbled, rubbing my head which was still fuzzy from sleep.
“I need a fighter. But this time, I need you clean and sober.”
“Fucking hell, Ali. I didn’t fare too well last time.”
Ali ran an underground fight club next to the supermarket in town. The money was too good to refuse, and I’d win as long as I was sober. I would still get some money if I lost, but not enough.
“You were too fucking drunk last time.”
“What time tonight?” I asked, knowing Razza would be pissed if I missed work.
“Eleven.”
I could work for a few hours.
“Who am I fighting?”
“Henderson.”
“Jack?” I frowned, rolling onto my back.
“Nah, Tommy.”
Fucking Tommy Henderson.
Also known as Turbo Tommy for the speed of his punches, the boy was built like a brick shithouse. At least Jack wasn’t as fast.
“Alright.”
I rolled onto the other pillow, the sweet scent of Jessica greeting me. My cock ached at the thought of her, but it was her fucking smile I couldn’t get out of my mind.
I bet she’s spent the morning fucking that cunt, Carlisle.
I turned the pillow over with annoyance, pleased to be rid of the reminder of her. Then, as I drifted back to sleep, my phone rang again.
“What?” I growled into it, annoyed.
“You’re a prick.”
Jenna.
“Delete my number.”
I hung up and switched the phone to silent. I was irritated now, so I sat up, lighting a fag. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, the same mirror I’d had for as long as I could remember. Football stickers and shit covered most of it, but I could make out the faint black eye that would probably be renewed tonight and the bruises on my ribs. They had yellowed, but they still ached.
