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He called the shots, I decided.
The guy with the smoke lit one up for me, too, and extended it between two bars.
I felt the tension in the air, as well as the older men’s eyes on me as I reached for the cigarette. Were they wondering if I was going to do something? I could easily pull the smoker’s arm and break it like a twig.
I didn’t do that.
I accepted the smoke and took a drag.
Damn. I hadn’t smoked in a long time.
The shot caller gave a quiet command, causing the others to back off. Only two of them remained in the background, watching carefully; the others returned to…wherever.
“I am Enzo Blanco,” the man said.
I’d heard that name. Blanco. I’d heard many names the past few weeks. Blanco, Mesa, Gajero, Gomez, Delgado, Rodriguez, Rossi…which I was fairly certain was an Italian name. In fact, so was Blanco. And Enzo, right?
I exhaled some smoke as Enzo studied the tattoos that covered my upper body.
His mouth stretched into a faint smile. His skin wrinkled at his cheeks and eyes. My guess was he was in his seventies.
“You have many scars,” he noted.
I smirked and took another pull from the smoke. “Souvenirs to remember those who are no longer with us.”
That made him chuckle, and he nodded and pointed at me. “You’re funny.”
I tilted my head up and blew out more smoke.
“The man who gifted you to us thinks you can entertain us for the rest of the summer.”
The rest of the fucking summer?
And after that?
“But I wouldn’t trust someone who stabs me in the back.” He smiled. “We’ll see how long you last. I give it two rounds.”
I snorted under my breath, unable to help it. Two rounds? Unless they armed my opponent with an actual gun, that notion offended me.
“You are confident.” He was interested. He took a step closer and gathered his hands behind his back. “How many rounds do you guess? I have a bet going with a friend, you see.” He turned back toward the two guards and said something in Spanish, to which one of the dudes hurried off. Enzo returned his attention to me.
“It depends on how you rig the fight,” I replied. “If you have a bunch of cunts with anger issues hoping to assert themselves, and you give them the advantage, it’ll take me a while longer to defeat them.”
“A bunch of cunts,” he laughed. “Such language, boy. There will be no rigging. No weapons. You fight until one of you stops breathing.”
Until one of you stops breathing.
He watched me for my reaction, but I didn’t let the dread sinking in show one bit.
I was going to kill someone tonight. Maybe more than one? Who knew.
I’d already killed once. Once in my life.
I couldn’t come back from that. But if it was between me and someone else…
“I guess I’ll be here till the end of the summer, then,” I said dryly.
His wrinkly mouth twitched with amusement. “I believe I will stick with my bet. I know who you’re fighting.”
