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“And smash some hot, willing freak,” Lex added.
I said nothing.
“Oh. You know what, we forgot,” Dane said, sidelong to Lex. “He doesn’t go for hot freaks anymore.”
Lex looked amused. “He doesn’t?”
“No. Now he goes for nice, cute, shy girls he’s awkwardly, distantly related to.”
The smile spread across Lex’s face. “That’s right. I forgot.”
I looked away, taking a deep breath. “Please refrain from using any more adjectives to describe her. Or I will have to punch you.”
They didn’t say anything else about her.
It was almost worse. They were way too quiet.
“Told you,” I heard Dane mutter to Lex.
I ignored them for the rest of the walk.
It was getting busy along the sidewalks anyway as we entered the bar crowd. I led the way up to the club and gave the bouncer at the door Lex’s name. I didn’t know this bouncer personally, but we were on the list for tonight and had a booth reserved. Champagne was owned by three local rock stars, members of Dirty and the Players; Lex worked on Dirty’s security crew and his wife, Talia, worked on the Players’ management team, so perks like this just came with the territory.
It was already loud in the club, getting crowded when we walked in. We were just getting seated when Dane said, “I’ll be back.” He already had his phone in his hand.
Lex gave him a look.
“I promise. Just one phone call,” he said, which meant it was business, not Devi.
“I’ll order you something,” Lex told him. Dane took off, and when the waitress came by like two seconds later, we ordered drinks. A beer for Lex and a soda water for me. “Something pink and frilly for him,” Lex said, tapping Dane’s spot at the table.
When we were alone, he asked me, “What’s up with you, really? Is it the girl?”
“Training. I’m fucking bagged.”
Not training. Training was going fine. Other than the fact that I was still training for a fight that so far didn’t exist.
“Yeah? You know who you’re fighting?”
“Nope. Black hasn’t come through. But I’ll be fighting someone, and since I don’t know who it is, I need to lay off the alcohol. No getting drunk for me tonight.”
“That Buddy Black guy is a dirtbag. The Kings should take over that racket.”
Right. I knew he was being charitable. There was no way his motorcycle club, the illustrious West Coast Kings, would ever consider taking over that racket, because the underground fight circuit was way too sketch for the Kings. For a criminal organization, the Kings were methodical, clean and tight. They were also secretive as hell, but I knew that much about them. They’d never take on the chaos or the risk.
“Hate to break it to you,” I told him, “but literally like a quarter of my fights last year got raided by police. You guys don’t want that headache.”
“True. I asked the club about it, once. Everyone said it wouldn’t be worth the money.”
Yeah, that was saying something. There was a ridiculous amount of money in that scene. Buddy Black, dirtbag that he was, had connections with some wealthy yet fucking seedy people. The amounts he dumped into my Bitcoin wallet after some fights were fucking stunning.
But I didn’t do it just for the money.
Just like I didn’t go to Bliss for the gifts those rich, hungry women rained down on me.
I fought and I fucked for the pleasure.
Call me a hedonist.
