“Where’s our money, Cross?” he asks.
I straighten. “I told Stanley I’ll pay you back.”
His expression reminds me of a seasoned fighter’s: dead inside. They’re there for a paycheck, but they’ve learned to shut off the emotion. Adrenaline is good, but excitement, fear? Not so much. I can’t tell what’s going through his head.
“You spent it before you earned it,” he says.
It’s not a question, so I say nothing. My mouth has dried out, anyway.
He nods slowly. “Okay, Cross. I understand. It’s a lot of money to suddenly come into, to think that you have the right to spend. And, well, youwould’vebeen able to spend it with a clear conscience if you had followed through.”
I stare at him. There’s got to be a point, right? A threat he’ll make then leave, and it’ll give me time to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do. That other circuit is holding an event soon, I hope. Stanley gave me limited options, and…I don’t fucking know.
“That girl out there is mighty pretty,” Webber states. “She’s wearing some expensive stuff. Like she comes from money or something.”
“Leave her out of it.”
He smiles. I immediately wipe the scowl off my face, disappointed in myself for dropping my guard. A split second or an eternity–it doesn’t matter. I opened my mouth, and now he knows she’s important.
“She doesn’t have money,” I lie. “Just some shit she inherited from a dead grandma.”
“Sure,” he says easily. “Scarlett Wallace is poor, and I’m just a fucking car salesman.”
I bite my cheek. My face heats at his blatant display of knowledge. Of course he knows her name. He probably knows everything about me.
He’s blocking the door. I could go through him, but that might just add to my bill. And so far, they haven’t done anything but threaten.
He pulls his hand from his pocket and holds out a folded piece of paper.
I tense. “What’s that?”
“It’s not a bomb.” When I don’t move, he tosses it at my feet. “It’s an offer.”
I stay where I am. “I think I’m done doing deals with the devil.”
The barest hint of a smile flickers across his lips. “Is that so?”
When I don’t reply, he turns on his heel and leaves as fast as he came. The instant I’m alone, I dive for the paper. I unfold it, scanning the “offer” from the Webber brothers. It’s not just another fight. It lists my opponent too.
Nicholas Thomson.
Well, I’ve done my best to not name the guy who’s no better than ballsack sweat, and now his full name is staring at me in Webber’s blocky handwriting. They want me to fight him again–and lose.
My stomach twists. It doesn’t say my debt would be cleared, the bill erased, with this fight. And I have a hunch that this wouldn’t be a one-and-done situation.
I crumple the paper and shove it in my pocket. I collect my bag and exit the locker room. I need to get out of here.
Outside, the cold air blasts through my thin shirt. My jacket is in the car.
“Come on. Let me drive you,” Tyler’s voice floats through the frozen air.
I tilt my head and follow it around the corner to the parking lot on the side of the building. Scarlett looks like the warmest dressed of the three of us in a puffy coat and scarf tucked into it.
Exactly what I told her not to wear.
“I’m going to walk,” she informs him.
He groans. “If you walk, thenIhave to walk.”
