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After an officer slid my bars shut, I sat on the cold bench, glad I was alone. My body still shook with rage. If anyone had been there to fuck with me, I’d have beaten the shit out of them, too.
“Bars, chief? Really? You haven’t updated this place since it’s been built, huh?”
“Shut up, Maddox,” the officer said, walking away.
“You’ve always been a dumb cunt,” Brandon said from his side. I could tell he was leaning against the same wall.
“Yeah? Well I’m not the one who cheats on my pregnant wife, who bangs my receptionist or my clients, or who just got smashed in the face with karma about thirty-eight times.”
Brandon laughed. “I hired you, antagonized you with your stupid, medium pretty wife, and set you up. And you fell for it.”
“Set me up for what, Brandon? You think I don’t know you were talking to the Feds? You think I don’t know you were streaming those fights and collecting millions in illegal gambling? Not to mention not paying taxes on any of it and laundering it all through the gym. One step ahead of you, precious.”
“None of that matters now.”
I huffed a laugh. “It matters because you did it. And one way or another, you’re going to get nailed for it.”
“No. I’m not. They don’t know any of that. And they’ll never be able to trace it. I’ve made millions off your stupid ass and I’m going to get away with it. I’ve been doing that shit for six years and they’ve never even caught a whiff. I haven’t made millions. I’ve made tens of millions and I’m going to keep making it while you’re rotting away in some dank federal prison trading Little Debbie snacks for ass.
“And then you know what I’m going to do? Convince your wife you were shady all along and you’re going to get letters from home about how good my dick is. I’ll have the gym, I’ll have the betting income, I’ll have Becca kissing my ass, and your wife begging to be in my harem. And there’s not a fucking thing you can do about it. What you don’t know,Trav,is I have immunity. They don’t know my involvement. They’re focused on nailing you. They just needed a reason to arrest you and get you into custody, and I gave it to them. I’m going to be living my best life, and you—you broke ass overconfident puddle of shit—you’re fucked.”
“You got immunity, huh? You got that in writing?”
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean? We have a deal.”
“You think the FBI runs on handshakes? Did you think, while you were doing all your wheeling and dealing, what we could offer them?”
He burst into laughter. “What the hell could you offer them? They can’t trace my shit. You’re too loyal to roll on Adam, and they have him by the balls, anyway. He was arrested at the scene and has no alibi.”
“You ever heard of Lucky Thirteen?” I asked.
Brandon hesitated. “W-what?”
“Lucky Thirteen. A little girl, at thirteen years old, was a poker phenom. She was playing all the Vegas greats and winning. She learned from her dad and spent her childhood around Vegas mafia. Knows about their dealings, how they work, who they’re in business with. Kind of a little bad ass if you ask me.”
“Your story time is boring me to death, Maddox.”
“Her father was Mick Abernathy.”
“So?”
I smiled, wishing I could see the look on his face. “Her name was Abby.”
He was quiet again. “What is your point?”
“My point is … my wife is Lucky Thirteen. She has ties to the Vegas mafia. When the FBI found that out, they went from trying to put me away to begging to be my best friend. Tell me Brandon, who has the better connections? You can give them me. I can give them organized crime bosses.”
“You … you’re full of shit, Maddox,” Brandon said, a tinge of panic in his voice. “One of us is going to prison, and it ain’t me.”
A door opened, and two cops walked through, followed by Thomas and Liis. They were wearing their suits, looking serious.
Brandon scrambled to his feet, gripping a bar in each hand. “What’s this about?” he asked.
One officer opened my cell, and I walked through.
“You’re free to go,” the officer said.
“What?” Brandon asked. “What do you mean he’s free to go? I’m the one with immunity!”
