My mouth is gaping as my eyes sweep the room.
People are cheering, drinking, talking, and laughing.
In the middle are two men fighting.
One with blonde hair and a cocky confidence.
And the other, an older dark-haired man with sweat glistening on his back.
It’s an underground bare-knuckle boxing ring.
Chapter 2
Mila
“You really didn’t know?”Niko asks over the roar of everyone. “I thought for sure Brynn or Rachel would have run their mouths.”
“I don’t talk to them much,” I admit as I take it all in.
“Obviously. Well. Now you know why we’re called the Cockpit. Nice little play on words, isn’t it?” He walks to the bar, and I struggle to keep up.
“I thought it was because the bar has an aviation theme,” I say. “Based on Top Gun or something.”
“Nah. It’s all a cover-up.”
“Okay…” I nod, still trying to wrap my brain around it all.
The room is pulsing with energy, and while it’s a lot, it’s mesmerizing.
“I didn’t know bare-knuckle boxing was legal,” I say as we stop at the bar.
“It wasn’t until about three years ago. Of course, we’ve been around much longer than that. Which is why this is a bit of a secret,” Niko says, loading a tray with drinks and their respective tickets. “That and it’s only legal if it’s regulated.”
With that, he snaps his fingers, a signature Niko-move to get a waitress’s attention. “See all the men at the tables down there? They are your priority. They’re CEOs, old money, new money…a couple of them are fighters too. They drink a lot, bet a lot, and tip a lot. Make sure you refill their glasses before they ever go dry, and learn their drinks by face and name, not by being told.”
I blink. “You want me to wait on them?”
“Several of the girls at the Cockpit work doubles here. We call it ‘inventory’ if you didn’t catch on. Rachel, Amanda, and Brynn, just to name a few. Brynn isn’t here, so consider this an interview. Your trial run.”
“You’re offering me a job working here?” I ask.
“Unless you don’t want it. Which might be a little naïve on your part. These girls cash around fifteen hundred a night.”
I nearly choke. “Fifteen hundred?”
“A night,” he enunciates. After that, he gives me a rundown of the who’s who on the drink orders and shoves me a tray.
The next thing I know, I am walking down towards the ring.
It’s a lot to take in.
Men in expensive suits suck down double shots of whiskey, shouting profanities at the men in the ring.
One man in the ring is wearing black shorts, and the other is wearing red shorts.
Other than shoes, there is nothing on either of them except for wraps of coordinating colors on their hands.
Sweat makes their ripped, hard backs and torsos shimmer.
