Page 99 of Four Cards Exposed

Despite himself, a shiver ran down his back.

James had never backed down from a fight—even as a boy, people had whispered that about him, saying he fought like someone with nothing to lose.

Reckless.

Daredevil.

They’d been right, because his own life hadn’t meant much to him at the time. At age fifteen, already in his ninth foster home, his knuckles calloused from the abuse he’d put them through, he’d been mostly certain he would die in a fight. If he hadn’t met his foster father, the man who’d set him on a different path, the man whose last name he’d taken, that might have happened, sooner rather than later. He wished Paul Ramsay had lived long enough to meet Susan.

James focused his attention back on the fight. This time he didn’t just have something to lose—this time, he could lose everything.

Beside him, Susan whimpered. James spoke without turning towards her. “Hold on, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. Nobody will touch you.”

“No, James. No.” The anguish in her voice, deep and raw, cut into him. “Don’t fight them. Tell Mendoza you’re not fighting.” She raised her voice. “He’s not fighting you! ¡No va a luchar!”

James rolled his shoulders in the universal sign for women, what are you going to do? He swallowed a smile, knowing that Susan would likely kill him for that if he didn’t die tonight.

“Who’s first? ¿Quién es el uno?” he asked, in his broken Spanish. For good measure, he accompanied it with a come hither gesture.

The crowd roared, then fell into silence so complete it was as if the jungle had come into the courtyard. Mendoza reached into the hat and pulled out a single object. A thin, silver chain with a cross on the end.

A man stepped forward to claim the chain. He was shorter than James by a few inches. Light gleamed off his arms and chest, corded with thick muscle. Muscle that hadn’t originated in a gym. He flexed those muscles now as the crowd of unwashed males chanted his name.

“Raul! Raul!”

Luigi and Mario came forward and undid James’s too-tight handcuffs. The relief was so intense, James had to restrain himself from physically soothing the chafed skin.

James quickly repositioned himself in front of Susan.

Nobody will touch her.

No matter what.

James didn’t wait. He launched into an attack, his right fist hurtling towards his opponent’s eye socket. If he was lucky, he’d split his eyebrow right open. Making a man bleed from his eyebrow, to the point where he could no longer see who he was fighting, was one of the simplest way of ending a fight. And, right now, James needed simple.

Raul was fast—faster than James would have given him credit for. He dodged, and the blow that James had been certain would end the fight ended up a caress to the side of Raul’s head instead.

James twisted and turned, looking for an open spot to attack. He saw Raul’s fist coming and ducked, offering the top of his skull.

Pain radiated through his skull at the blow, but Raul’s roar, and the way he cradled his right fist in his left hand, told James all he needed to know.

The human skull is a hard object—particularly around the top.

Raul fell to his knees, howling. James could see the way two knuckles in the man’s hand had shifted inwards—he wasn’t going to be hitting with that hand any time soon.

“Get up, Raul!” several voices shouted from the sidelines.

He swept his gaze around the ring—and caught sight of a familiar figure standing on the sidelines.

Guerrero.

Unlike the rest of the men, whose gaze was fixed on the fight, Guerrero was staring at Susan. Though his broad, hard face was impassive, something shone in Guerrero’s dark gaze.

Anger?

Concern?

James filed that information away for future reference.