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Dammit. “If anything happens to Asher, his girlfriend or any of my friends because of this…” Shit, I don’t wanna even think about it.
“Nothing will happen to your friends. It’s just a question. Nothing more. I swear.”
“A
question about a person. Someone you’re looking for. So you said.”
“That’s right. Will you tell him to ask?”
I sink down in a kitchen chair. No way am I putting Ash or anyone else in danger. Especially now with the baby on the way. No fucking way.
“You sure it’s safe?”
“Positive.”
Shit. “So who are you looking for?”
“A girl.” The line breaks up a little, then Colt is back. “Her name’s Mara. Mara Abelli, though she may be going by another name now. Still…worth a shot.” He sighs. “It’s better than nothing.”
I chew on that. “Just this? Ask Johnny if he knows of a Mara Abelli?”
“Yeah. That’s it. And an address, if possible.”
“And who is this Mara Abelli?”
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
“You made it my fucking business,” I snap. “If I’m getting my friends involved, I wanna know what for.”
He says nothing for a few long seconds. Then he grunts. “Do you want in or not, Rafe? You’re the one who owes me, remember? Tell your friend to ask Johnny about Mara, or forget the fight club. Got it?”
Dammit. “Okay, man. You’re on.”
“Good.” The relief is audible in his voice. “Get your head on straight, wear good running shoes and shorts, and a hoodie if you have one. I have tape. See you in the cages.”
Still chewing over the fact I’ve agreed to involve Asher in this mess of mine, I frown as the words seep in. “You fight, too?”
“Yeah. It was the only way to get into the club. Hey…” He clears his throat. “You’ve done this before, right? Fought in this kinda place?”
“No, never have,” I say and disconnect the call.
It’s all new to me. The fight club. The underground.
This desire. This need. This unbearable hope that got smashed to pieces.
Can’t bear to give Megan up. But I have to and it hurts like an open wound. It burns me up from the inside. Nothing can scare me more than losing her. Not even dying in the underground cages of the club.
So I’m ready to fight.
***
It’s half past eight when I drive to the fight club, go past and park the Mustang in a side street. I sit inside the car, waiting for the guys, my duffel bag with my shit by my side.
Holy fuck, I’m here. I’m about to enter the club, fight in the cage. Face the man with the hand tattoo, and maybe find out the truth.
If I survive the fight. If I survive the mafia. If it’s really him. And if he confesses.
Too many ifs.
