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Stay down, Bricks. Don’t get up.
The crowd is coming out of its stupor, the men behind the bars muttering, then cursing out loud. Guess not many placed their bets on me. David beats Goliath, or some such shit. I wonder how often Ash found himself here, staring at the blurry faces beyond the cage, not sure he’d made it another round alive.
Because the crowd is angry. With me, with Bricks, with the club, with themselves. And the winner still hasn’t been announced.
Won’t be, unless I get up. Just the thought of sitting up, standing up, makes me wince. My chest hurts like a bitch. But I can’t stay lying here. Bricks may get up and start on me again.
Get up now, Rafe. Get the fuck up.
Groaning, I roll onto my knees and nearly pass out. The pain in my right side is blinding. I press a hand there, feeling as if my guts will fall out.
Holy fucking shit. My vision narrows to a tunnel, and I struggle to focus, to keep the darkness from snuffing out the light. Have to stand up. Have to find Nino. Have to find Meg.
The blood on the filthy floor turns into a sea of crimson, the body lying in it shrinks, turns into a girl’s body. Carla, my sister.
No, dammit. Focus. The cage. Bricks.
I get up on one knee. Sway. Put my hands down. Sink into darkness, then surface again, because…because…
A portly figure is striding toward me. Before I realize what’s happening, he grabs me under the armpits and drags me to my feet, then wraps a steel-corded arm around me and lifts one of my hands.
“The winner!” he bellows and I realize it’s Johnny. “Put your hands together, gentlemen, for one hell of a fight.”
The applause is reserved. Johnny escorts me out of the cage, and that’s a good thing because my knees are like rubber. He drags me off to the changing room, plants my ass down on a bench and claps my shoulder.
“Good work out there, boy. Good work.”
I squint up at him. “You’re pleased?”
“You bet I am. You fight well. Now, my advice to you, like to all young fighters coming here out of desperation, is to run and never come back. But if you do come back…” He leans until he’s looking me in the eye. “Then ask for me and I’ll be glad to book you more fights.”
What…? “Don’t tell me.” I want to laugh, but that will be a deathblow to my ribs. “You bet on me, didn’t you?”
He winks. “Sure did. You’re a friend of Asher Devlin. Colt may have been the one to recommend you, but I know who you are, and I knew you’d be top of the top.”
I rub a hand over my face and it comes away bloody. “Thanks. Really appreciate it. I’m gonna go now.”
“And your cut?”
“Give it to Colt.”
He nods. “I see. Well, if you think you can walk out on your own, then I’ll be getting back to the fight. Won’t you watch Colt fight?”
“Maybe another time. Got a coupla things to take care of.” I grimace as I shift on the bench, press my hand back to my ribs. “Sir…can I ask you something?”
His gaze hardens, and I wonder if I’m pushing my luck, but I’ll grab any chance I get to leave Asher entirely out of my mess.
“Depends,” he says slowly. “What do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for a woman.” I school my face into a neutral mask. “Her name’s Mara Abelli. Do you happen to know anything about her? Like where to find her?”
Johnny’s face turns to stone. “You’re not the first one to ask me this question.”
Oh fuck. Colt asked him already? What’s this about?
Shit, so this is the moment Johnny’s goons drag me into a back alley and break my neck or put a bullet through me. Screw around with mafia and sooner or later you die.
But Johnny doesn’t call his bodyguards, doesn’t pull a gun on me. Instead, he looks thoughtful. “Mara Abelli.”
