Prologue
Dominic
I can hearthe blood rushing through my ears.
Adrenaline surges hot and violent through every vein in my body.
During the day, I am Dominic Wolfe.
CEO of one of America’s most infamous security companies.
Think Alcatraz level prisons, the guards who line the White House, or men positioned like coordinates on a grid at a sold-out rock concert.
I make sure no one is unsafe, no one is in danger, and no one gets away with murder.
But here?
Here is different.
Here I am Dom.
Here my fists are wrapped and bruised, and my lip is split from a lucky shot.
My gaze is hard on my opponent, and we look like we’re going for blood.
Here it’s all about agility, stealth, and internal frustration funneled into outward rage.
“You sure you’re not getting too old for this?” The twenty-something kid with Abercrombie-inspired blonde hair and a cocky grin nods up at me as we circle each other in the ring.
He’s stacked. I’ll give him that. He’s got a Disney villain jawline, but, if I had to guess, he can’t grow a beard.
They’re all like this, the rookie boxers.
And, one by one, I flatten them.
Thank you, next.
I don’t answer Mr. Abercrombie’s assault on my age.
Instead, I step forward, bulleting out a quick jab. It catches him in the face right next to that smug grin, but not hard enough to knock it off his face.
The energy in the room elevates and the ringing in my ears grows louder.
The Ring Room at the Cockpit.
It is small.
Hidden.
Like a speakeasy made for fighting.
It’s tucked behind a bar that everyone knows about. But the Ring Room itself is one of LA’s best-kept underground secrets.
Bare-knuckle boxing is legal…just not the way we do it.
Not for betting.
Not for this level of competition.
