He wore a cut—a sleeveless leather biker jacket—broken in so thoroughly it moved like it was attached to his skin. The Beasts of Prey patch spread across the back, wings flared, talons bared. ‘President’ stitched in blocky letters above it.
“Hello, there, Beck. How’s your father?” His voice sounded almost hoarse.
“He’s going to be pissed when he finds out you brought me here as your prisoner. You know we have a treaty.” Beck stared him down, no fear in his face at all.
The old guy laughed, “Cut him loose, Red.”
Red hesitated.
“Isaid, cut him loose.” He growled in demand, all laughter gone from his face.
Red took a knife out of his pocket and did what he asked.
“Now, you’re not a prisoner. Just a cherished guest.” He patted Beck on the back. “Do you want a drink?”
Beck immediately grabbed me from Bubba and tilted my head back to look at my face.
“I need something to clean her up,” Beck demanded tonelessly.
“Cherry, get a rag for the girl’s face.” Gray beard ordered a woman in tight leather pants and a top so low I could see her nipples.
“Yes, sir.” She turned and headed down a hallway.
“Now let’s get a drink and talk.”
Bubba sneered at us before walking off with the other two. His gait was unsteady, and he sat in the closest available seat, laying his head on his arms.
Beck pulled me into his side as we made our way to the bar in the corner.
“You still kicking ass in the ring?” Gray beard pounded on the bar.
The man behind it hurried and poured two shots. “Here you go, Prez.”
Gray Beard didn’t acknowledge him.
Beck shrugged but didn’t speak.
A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “Good, because you’re gonna fight.” He smirked, “Your friend's health may ‘depend’ on it.” He made finger quotations.
Tension snapped tight in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral.
The Prez downed a shot and smirked when Beck declined one.
Cherry walked up and handed Beck a cold rag, then grazed her nails down his arm, and winked at me as she sauntered away.
I frowned, but Beck paid her no attention and began gently wiping the blood from my face. I took a few seconds to glance around the room and familiarize myself with the layout.
Ben would be so proud.
One man near the jukebox was sweating through his shirt, his hands trembling as he lifted a bottle to his mouth. Another sat too still, his eyes tracking Beck as if he were measuring the distance. I wondered if that was Park.
I had no idea how in the hell we were going to get out of here, but with the number of sick people I spotted, it was imperative that we did. After witnessing the events at the café, I knew it was only a matter of time before things here went south.
Prez rested his forearms on the bar and looked at Beck sideways. “Tomorrow, you give us a show. Most bets will be on you, but ours will be on Parker. You’re going to throw the fight, and we’re going to clean up.”
“And if I don’t?” Beck asked.
The man chuckled softly. “I’ll let you spend the night thinking about it.”
