I felt sick. Bile rose in my throat, and with it, an upwelling of guilt and shame.
If anybody else had said this to me, I would have launched around the punching bag and fucking destroyed them. But Darragh’s street dogs were huge, flanking him like statues ready to pounce the moment I shifted my weight onto my leading foot. Pure rage fueled me, but that was nothing against their strength.
And then there was Darragh. Standing there, fluffed up and confident, thumbs hooked in the belt loops at his waist. The dragon pattern in the leather taunted me. The buckle, heavy and sharp, glinted. Again, I felt an echo of its sting as a memory rose: me laid out on the floor, his goons overhead, and him tutting as he removed that belt, the way a cruel father did. Him sliding it free from the loops, then curling it around a fist. “I warned you, Tristian,” he said in that Irish twang. “I told you to do as I said. But you didn’t. And now you have to face the consequences.”
The belt flashed, silver catching the light.
The scars still burned across my back, hidden within the canvas of tattoos I’d filled my body with to hide this shame.
“Don’t mention my fucking family,” I spat at Darragh. “Now fuck off. I’m not playing this game.”
“You’re not playing this game?” Darragh echoed. He turned to his thugs. “He says he’s not playing the game! Can you believe it, boys?”
They chortled in agreement, never once taking their gaze off me.
When Darragh turned to me again, his eyes flashed with menace. “Tristian, you’re already playing a game, not me. You play like some tortured tattoo artist trying to make it on his own, break free of the shadows he has found himself in. I have let you do that. But now, playtime is over. Bossman is back calling the shots again.”
He began to stroll once more, casual, turning a circle around me and the punching bag. His dogs followed, watching me for the slightest little hint of movement.
“You’re not happy about it, I know,” Darragh went on. “You’ve been avoiding me. Usually when I put the feelers out, let their associates know I’m asking after them, they come to me and ask how high I want them to jump. They know it’s for their own good. As did you, once. But this time, you’ve been playing ignorant. I’ve spoken to Kane, I’ve spoken to Brandon, and Iknowthose things have gotten back to you—and yet nothing. Hasn’t blown up my phone once, has he, boys?”
Another grunt from the goons.
Darragh continued easily, “It’s been a while since we’ve worked together, so I’ll forgive this little infractionfor now—but you won’t do it again, eh? As of tonight, you are working for me.”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
Darragh stopped. He looked at me with lifted eyebrows. “I think what youmeantto say, Tristian, ishow high?” He smirked. “It’s no good looking like that, lad. We’ve done well together in the past. Now it’s time to do it again.”
“I said fuck you.”
One of the goons clenched his knuckles, one fist in the other. They cracked. The other twisted his neck. Darragh opened his arms. “Tristian,sonny, you act like I’m asking you to put a bullet in someone! All I’m asking is for you to throw a few fights.”
“I win my fights now.” I sized him up, shoulders squaring despite his dogs lurking. “Every last one in the ring.”
He looked me up and down, smile wide and taunting.
“Well good for you! Always knew you could. I said that right from the start, didn’t I? I always said, this guy can take it to the top. He can win ’em all. Isn’t that right, boys?” He glanced at them and they nodded like obedient dogs. “And you’ll get to win fights, Tristian. But right now, you’re odds on to win—and that means there’s money to be made from playing the game. So, you work for me, you toss a few fights out the window, take a tumble, let the other guy catch you off-guard with a punch or two. We win big on bets, and we split the money. Everybody wins… It’s not so bad, is it? Sure doesn’t sound it to me. Not the end of the world, losing to some hundred-to-oner and raking it in big time at the pools? What do you say?”
This was Darragh’s game. I knew it all too well. I’d played my part in it before, left him a rich man. I’d done okay out of it, I guessed… but I wasn’t prepared to do it again. I wanted to live my life with honesty and integrity—more than I could ever say for him or my father.
Worse, it had been so hard to pull out of this game before, when the bookies caught on and started applying their own pressure, threatening to drop me from the bill, and then when the cops started sniffing around too. Darragh had kept me in for months, him and his thugs… and that fucking belt.
I pulled at the Velcro straps to my gloves, one off and then the other.
“No deal,” I muttered, before I turned and marched toward the locker room. “Don’t come looking for me again,” was the last thing I called over my shoulder.
Darragh’s voice echoed behind me: “I told you, Tristian: playtime is over. That goes for you being some street da Vinci—and for this littledollyou’ve been playing with lately.”
My steps faltered as his chuckle rang low.
“She’s fuckin’ pretty, eh?” Darragh taunted. “Brandon told me all about how she’s got you twisted around her finger with that innocent act. I couldn’t believe it—until I saw her. And you know something? I can’t say I blame you.Her little ass and mouth would bring any man to his knees.”
Instantly, I saw red.
Swiftly turning, I marched over to him only to be stopped by his guards. I raised my fists, no longer caring—but they caught me, snagged me with brutal force. My arms yanked behind my back so hard my shoulders almost popped from their sockets, I was down on my knees in moments, grunting.
Darragh leered over me, impassive. Thumbs still hooked in his belt loops, he tutted. His fingers ticked up and down on that glinting metal buckle.
