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After that… There’s nothing. There was nothing, for a very long time. Then I had my friends, and Damage Control, and the Deathmoth group…and her. Megan.
I’ve never had more to lose than I do now.
***
My escort is a bald guy with a tattooed head and arms like tree trunks. He waddles, as if he can’t quite carry the bulk of his upper body, leading the way deeper into hell.
The bowels of the building are dark and stinky. Mold, rancid sweat, blood and god knows what else. Dank, dimly lit corridors with rooms opening on either side.
“Changing rooms are in here,” the guy tells me, pointing to an open metal door. “Go get ready. Johnny wants to see you before you enter the cage.”
Cold fingers of apprehension tap-dance up my spine. Holy fuck, I’m here and about to be locked up in a cage with a crazy-ass motherfucker who wants to splatter my brains all over the floor.
Shit.
A guy with a buzz cut and army tats on his chest is already in the changing rooms, taping his fingers. He sneers at me but says nothing when I put down my duffel and pull out my clothes and shit.
Where the hell’s Colt?
I change into my shorts, pull on my running shoes, and when I look up, I find the guy staring at my ink.
“Pretty,” he spits. “Dragons and scorpions. Bet you’re a good momma’s boy out looking for adventure.” He stands up, and he’s an impressive six foot three or four, even taller than Tyler. “Take my advice and get out while you still can.”
“Can’t.” I lace up my shoes. “Do you know Colt?”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “Colt Manson? Owe the sucker a favor, do you?”
“Something like that.” I get up, uneasy. “So you know him, then?”
He winks. “Not yet. I’m fighting against him tonight, though. Getting up close and personal.”
Hell. Where’s Colt, and where the fuck’s Johnny? “You know who I’m fighting?”
“You replacing Snake, right?”
Snake. “I guess.”
He laughs again, an ugly, grating sound, like a smoker’s cough. “You guess. Well then, they got a treat for you.”
“A treat.” I keep my voice flat. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, Snake got his leg and arm broken on purpose so he wouldn’t have to fight this guy. Bricks, they call him. Built like a brick house.” He snickers. Yeah, very funny. “I hope you had a good life, Colt’s friend, because I don’t think you’ll live to see tomorrow.”
The cold crawling up my spine has turned to ice. Fucking hell.
Before I can think of a reply, a middle-aged guy walks inside, dressed in a black suit, his curly hair gray.
“Well, well. You’re Rafaele Vestri, am I right?”
“Johnny Cooper,” I say, because I just know from looking at him that he’s the boss.
“In the flesh.” He grins and shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “Colt said good things about you, boy. You in form tonight?”
“Yeah.” I shake myself, throw back my shoulders. “The best.”
“Good. Don’t let this asshole here scare you.” He glares in army-guy’s direction. “Bricks is a mountain of a man, but if you fight right, you can beat just about anyone. It’s all in the technique, in the timing, in the balance.”
“Yes, sir.”
