“To feel alive,” Nix answers.
“And to accomplish that, he needs to beat people to a bloody pulp?” I ask dryly. “Gotcha.”
“Keep your mouth shut about shit you don’t understand,” Dee growls.
I give him the one-finger salute and he shoots me a murderous glare.
Maverick lands a blow to his adversary’s ribs followed by an uppercut, knocking him unconscious. A deafening roar echoes through the large open space.
“Mad Maverick wins another fight,” a voice booms over the loudspeaker.
Mad Maverick? Another fight?
“How many fights has he been in?”
“This is the fourth,” Dee answers.
Oh my God. How is he still standing?
“That’s fucking insane.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dee grunts.
Maverick sits in a chair across from me. Dee and Nix go to his aid. They work in conjunction to clean him up and take off his boxing gear. His gaze lands on me and he scowls. I jut out my chin and pop a hand on my hip. In a few long strides, he’s in my face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he barks, gritting his teeth.
“It’s a free country, bastard.”
“I can’t escape you.”
“I suggest you get the fuck over it.” I move my head from side to side, giving him attitude. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
His face is somewhat puffy and bruised, but nothing major. That’s so not fair. Damn, at least one eye could be swollen shut.
“By the end of the year, you’ll fall in line.”
“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before that happens.”
He growls in frustration and grips my shoulders painfully. “Your smart mouth is going to get you into a whole lot of trouble.”
“Maverick, choke on a dick.” I tear away from his hold and barrel towards the exit.
Jamal catches up to me. “Shit, sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. It’s not your fault he’s an ass.”
“Where to next?”
“Do you have a fake ID?” I ask.
“Is that a trick question?” He grins.
“Know any good bars?”
“Several, in fact.”
“Let’s go. First round of drinks on me.”
