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Somewhere a whistle sounds. People crowd around the ring.
“Can’t you buy them out? You’re rich, aren’t you?” I’m being rude, but the match will be starting any minute now, and here I am, playing my last card. “If you care for him like you claim.”
“You can’t buy out the Russian Mob. At least, I can’t. You can’t imagine the sums needed for that, girl.”
She’s angry. Of course she is.
“I’m sorry, Ellen.” I scrub my hands over my face. “I don’t want him to die.”
“Neither do I.” She sighs. “That boy never let me give him a cent more than I owed him. He’s stubborn and proud, or I’d have helped him long before now. He never told me about himself. And…” She puts down her glass and leans forward, staring at the ring. “Here they come.”
A cheer rises from the crowd as a huge man steps onto the ring. He’s bald and even from afar he looks handsome. A huge tattoo covers his chest. Flowers and a grinning skull.
“Clay the Bone Crusher,” a man yells into the mike
“Oh God,” I whisper, my blood turning to ice.
“No gods,” Ellen says. “Just a mortal. Clay Baran.”
Enormous muscles ripple on his back as he turns. More tattoos—blood and bones and more flowers and a castle. Huge biceps bulge in his arms when he lifts them.
The crowd claps and whistles.
Shit.
“And his opponent,” the announcer yells, loudspeaker multiplying his voice until it echoes around me and inside my bones, “Riot Callahan!”
I didn’t expect the crowd to go wild at the sound of Riot’s name, to roar so loud. They’re deafening.
“They love him,” Ellen whispers and I barely hear her over the din. “As they should.”
I wouldn’t know what to reply, but I don’t have to because at that moment Riot steps into the ring, and I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry.
“He’s hurt,” I breathe. “Oh God. They beat him up again. He wasn’t limping this bad when he left me this morning.”
Ellen frowns. “What do you mean, again? They beat him up before?”
I nod. “A few days ago.”
She makes a strange noise in the back of her throat. “Bastards. They want to make sure he loses this fight.”
“To get their revenge.”
“Yes. But I doubt that’s their only motivation. I am sure they bet loads of cash on the Crusher.”
So it’s about money, too. Always is.
“I’d bet all my money on Riot. And I wish he knew it. Knew I have faith in him.”
“You will.” Ellen’s face has set into hard lines. “And he will, too.”
I blink. “What will you do, Ellen?”
She beckons to Natasha who sidles over to her. When she bends over to hear what Ellen whispers in her ear, I bet she flashes the whole of the club.
I’d laugh if I could, but there’s a lump the size of Illinois in my throat.
Natasha straightens, a wad of pale pink cloth with a symbol—a castle?—embroidered in golden thread in her hands. She steps off the platform, striding away, strangely steady on those narrow heels.
