“He killed him!” Steel-gray shouted, looking a little green.
Blood covered the table and the floor beneath it, and slowly spread out. A few droplets had also landed on surrounding tables, but most people simply waved at the servers to clean them up.
Remo chuckled. “You are new, aren’t you?” He stopped beside the bled-out man on the table. “One of you will have to pay for his drinks. Death isn’t an excuse to skip out on the bill.”
“We’ll call the police!”
A guy from another table touched Steel-gray’s shoulder. “Stop it, mate. You’re writing your death certificate.”
Nestore took a bottle of clear alcohol from another table and doused the blood-covered blade with it until it was clean, then he put it back in his holster and grabbed my hand.
“Nino,” Remo shouted to his brother, who had stayed seated in the booth and looked mildly annoyed. “Add another fight to the list. This asshole wants to call the police.” Two bouncers grabbed Steel-gray.
“If you win against the Madman, you’re free to call the police. I’ll even pay for your drinks,” Remo said with a grin that was on the verge of madness. “If you don’t, you’ll wish for your friend’s quick end.”
The man shouted and struggled, but the bouncers dragged him to the back of the bar, where the changing rooms were.
“Dammit. He’s really a madman!” the teenage boy who looked remarkably like Nino and Remo, but prettier and less messed up, shouted with a huge smirk.
“Come on,” Nestore murmured and tugged me toward the booth. He made me sit down beside Nino, who gave me a brief nod before he turned to Nestore. “You’re disturbing my schedule.”
“I can kill him in the changing room, then you don’t have to worry about squeezing in another fight.”
Nino waved him off and moved his finger over a list on his tablet. “Remo would be intolerable if he didn’t get his will. Kill him in the cage, but make it quick. It’s a waste of time. Nobody will bet on him.”
I blinked at his analytical tone. Fabiano shook his head and downed a shot glass of a clear liquid. “I know why Remo expects you to fight more often than the rest of us. You are his version of entertainment.”
Remo and the teenage boy joined us at that moment. The younger guy sank down across from me and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Now I get why he chased you for two years—”
“Don’t say anything else, Savio,” Fabiano hissed and shoved Savio’s shoulder. “Are you daft or didn’t you see what just happened?”
“He wouldn’t kill a Falcone.”
Remo sank beside his young brother. “He’s batshit crazy, so he might. I would kill him for it, but it wouldn’t save your annoying ass, so shut up and chase another skirt.” He pointed at the girl who had stolen Steel-gray’s wallet and was enjoying a beer at the bar. “The whore’s not busy. If you need to stick your dick into a hole, pick her.”
Savio rolled his eyes and leaned back with crossed arms, but he shut up.
Nestore looked at Remo and gave a small nod, then his gaze hit me. “I’ll go change now. You’re safe here.”
Looking from Remo to Savio to Fabiano, then to Nino, I wished I had Nestore’s confidence in these men. But they freaked me out, which said a lot, considering I had just watched Nestore kill a man for trying to grope my ass.
I watched Nestore’s retreat with a sinking heart. He wasn’t worried, but with him, I was never sure if that was because he was sure of winning or if he didn’t care if he died.
Leaving Amelia in a bar full of leering men wasn’t easy, but I knew Remo wouldn’t let anyone near her. Because he knew what she meant to me, and because it would have undermined his own authority.
My pulse sloshed lazily in my veins after the brief spike when I’d killed the man who’d dared to insult my wife. I didn’t even remember his face, only the hand reaching for something that was only mine.
His death had been too quick for the crime, and my two opponents tonight would have to quench my lust for blood and savagery.
The other fighters of the night gave me a wide berth when I picked a bench to change into my black fighting shorts.
I sank on the hardwood. Except for the shorts, I wouldn’t need anything else. Unlike most other fighters, I didn’t tapemy hands. I preferred to feel blood and breaking bones on my bare skin. Everything that dulled my senses was ballast. Not to mention that I despised the tight sensation of the tape against my scars.
One fighter after the other left the changing room until it was time for my first fight.
The friend of the man I’d killed was led into the changing room from the outside. He’d obviously caused too much of a ruckus. They’d forced him to wear fighting shorts like the rest of us, and it didn’t do him any favors. His broad shoulders told me he had probably played football in high school, but the way he rounded them and his beer belly revealed he hadn’t done any sports since then. I doubted he’d fought since kindergarten.
He was a waste of my time and wouldn’t sate my need for brutality. I’d have to be careful not to kill him within seconds. Though it would spare me an uninspired fight.
