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Kase, Hunter, and Ripp walked around the room, not even intimidated by the mafia bosses. I never doubted their abilities to handle the fights; it was only that I didn’t want this life for them.
Ethan stepped up next to me. “What kind of shithole is this? Didn’t you fight at that snazzy hotel this week?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a clipped nod, “but this is different. This is where people die.”
There wasn’t a fighting ring or any indication of what kind of fight we’d be watching. However, I did know there was a lot of money riding on it, judging by the stacks of it on the shabby wooden table situated in the middle of the spectators.
Braden’s voice came out low. “Carter, why are they staring at you like that?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered back.
One of the suited men I recognized from the hotel left his group to walk over to us. His name was Emilio Kazakov, the kingpin of his family. As he closed the distance, his black shoes shined in the dim light of the warehouse. With his white hair and grandfatherly persona, you wouldn’t think the Kazakov family would be deep in the gun trade and stealing real estate, but they were. It was amazing the kind of stuff you could hear when nobody thought you were listening.
“Carter Reynolds,” Emilio greeted, extending his hand.
I shook his hand. “Mr. Kazakov.”
He rendered a light laugh. “You can call me Emilio.” Brows furrowed, he glanced around the room before setting his stony gray eyes on mine. “I thought you were fighting tonight.”
Confusion swept over me. “I was but there’s been a change of plans.”
Emilio pursed his lips. “That’s unexpected. I was betting on you to win.”
Just as he said it, two suited men walked in from outside with another man in between them, his jeans ripped and carrying a large chain around his shoulders. There were brass knuckles on his right hand and a knife in his back pocket. At the hotel, there were no weapons allowed. It was a whole new ballgame here.
Braden nudged me with his elbow, and I turned to him. “Is that who you were supposed to fight?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Guess so.”
Sighing, Emilio crossed his arms over his chest. “His name’s Rod O’Laoghaire, but here his last name is O’Leary. That’s what everyone calls him. If he wins, his family will acquire one of my hotel chains. If he loses, I get one of their castles in Ireland.” He looked up at me. “That’s why I was hoping you’d be fighting tonight.”
Ethan scoffed incredulously. “Fucking shit. This is insane.”
Yes, it is. Anger ignited in my gut, and I clenched my fists tight. If I were fighting, I’d be risking my life over a goddamn real estate deal.
“Who’s fighting in your place?” Emilio inquired.
Nikolai strolled out from a darkened hallway, wearing only a pair of black athletic shorts with Wheeler by his side. I pointed over at him. “He’s right there.”
Chuckling, Emilio slapped a hand on my back. “Ah, perfect. It looks like the castle will be mine, after all.” He winked at me. “Enjoy the show.” Strolling off, he went straight to Nikolai and shook his hand.
Nikolai talked to several of the suited men—laughing and carrying on—while his opponent snarled and wrapped the chain around his hand, ready for the fight. The room was divided, and it was clear who wanted who to win.
Braden pointed over at the dragon tattoo on Nikolai’s back. “I take it that’s the ink we’ll be getting?”
“Yep,” I said. “I have it already.”
Ethan ran a hand over his face. “It’ll be fun explaining that one to our families. We can’t hide it from them.”
No, we can’t.
“My dad will know what it is,” Braden stated.
I turned to him. “Have you talked to him about this?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
If I had to choose which parent of ours to tell, it would be my uncle Pax. He was the one with the most experience with Scar and the one who would understand our situation more.
