He takes a step back, shocked. “What the fuck are you on? I haven’t murdered anyone.”
I want to deny his claims. I want to call him a liar, but behind his cocky exterior is a man who prides himself on honesty. He has the same kind, honest eyes Maddox does. They’re just ten times more brazen.
When he grabs my arm like he’s endeavoring to check it for track marks, I yank my wrist out of his firm yet worried hold. “It’s fine. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
I race out the door before he can stop me, then, only seven short hours later, I arrive at the location on a message he received an hour after I left him dumbfounded at KC’s.
Death matches will never be entertaining for me. I’m merely here to authenticate the honesty I saw in Samuel’s eyes.
After lowering a cap over my hair, I slip out of Caidyn’s Jeep before entering an industrial warehouse on the outskirts of Erkinsvale. Many of the areas surrounding Ravenshoe were founded by hardworking factory and textile workers. Although the towns have greatly benefited from new infrastructure and a truckload of money, the outer areas remain relatively untouched. There are hundreds of vacant warehouses dotted along the coastline. They make the perfect locations to hold death matches.
Because I’ve arrived late, I enter the dingy and dark space without having my name crossed off an exclusive list.
That’s the first sign Samuel wasn’t lying.
It wouldn’t matter if there were only seconds remaining for an event. If you didn’t pay to be a part of it, my uncle wouldn’t let you enjoy a single second of it.
My knees knock when the crowd’s boos overtake the sound of two men going to war on a leather canvas. In this industry, booing is worse than frantic calls for death. The crowd only ever boos when they believe they’re not getting their money’s worth. To them, that generally means someone’s life was spared.
I discover I’m on the money when the hissing crowd parts enough that I spot the ring. Samuel stands to one side. He’s being held back by the referee. He has hardly broken into a sweat, but his opponent is on the mat, wheezing and out of breath next to the white gym towel his ‘owner’ tossed into the ring to save his hide.
“This isn’t a death match,” I murmur to no one, genuinely shocked.
I freeze like a statue when a rough, Italian voice behind me murmurs, “You could have learned that last week if you weren’t so distrusting.”
After cursing myself for not bringing Max with me, I spin around to face my uncle. The panic surging through my veins gets a moment of reprieve when I spot who is standing behind him. Ezra is either my uncle’s shadow or a thorn in his backside. I really hope it’s the latter.
“Can you blame me for being suspicious? Twenty thousand is an excessive offer for a single fight.”
“Very true,” my uncle agrees while stepping closer. “But as you can hear, the men are growing restless. Too many trainers are throwing in the towel before the fights have truly begun. I want to exert some new blood into the industry. The Walsh name could do that.”
“The Walsh name alreadydidthat and look how it turned out for him.”
Only months ago, my comment would have had me tasting my own blood.
Today, I live to tell the tale.
I discover why when my uncle says, “Convince Saint to fight for me, and I’ll half the remaining debt on his brother’s ledger.”
If it were anyone but him offering to reduce Maddox’s debt by fifty percent, I’d jump at the chance. Since it isn’t, I give him the only answer he will ever get from me when it comes to anyone in the Walsh family. “No.”
He acts as if I never spoke. “And on top of that, I’ll pay him ten thousand dollars per fight. His brother will be out within two years. Not even you could convince him to turn down an offer that enticing.”
“Wanna bet?” I respond against my better judgment. I could blame painkillers for hazing my mind, but in all honesty, that’s a cop-out.
I’m finally growing a backbone.
It’s just years too late.
My back molars smash together when my uncle leans in close to whisper in my ear, “You should never risk more than you can afford to lose. I thought you’d know that better than anyone.”
Stealing my chance to reply, he heads to the ring like the king is about to address the court, and just as quickly, I put as much distance between us as possible. I came here for answers. I got them. No good will come from adding more mess into the equation. That is one thing I am certain about.
The rest is up for negotiation.
15
Demi
