I returned to my room and slumped onto my bed, staring at the bottle of cheap tequila. I hadn’t sprung for the good stuff. Why bother, when I was just going to chug it down until I couldn’t remember anything anyway?
My phone buzzed.
Declan
There’s a fight tonight, if you want to start working off your debt.
Fuck it. What did I have to lose?
Eva had already taken everything from me.
I wadedmy way through the throngs of enthusiastic clubbers, writhing and grinding to the pounding bass and strobe lights that lit up the legal side of Declan’s club. The less legal side was through thick doors, guarded by two men in suits who looked like they’d seen plenty of fights themselves.
“Cole Carter,” I said. They looked me up and down, in my designer jeans, leather jacket, and sneakers that cost more than my rent at the hockey house, then opened the door. One stepped through and held his hand out for my bag. I didn’t mention that the bouncers had already searched it, or that the only things they’d find in there were shorts to fight in, tape for my fists, and pomade to slick back my hair once I braided it out of my face.
It’d been a long fucking time since I’d been in here—not since I’d OD’d, not since Alek and Tristan had saved my life.
Was Eva worth it? My head told me no, that she was a liar, that she was a bitch, that she’d betrayed me. Too fucking bad my heart still beat for her, no matter how much I fought it.
Tristan was worth it, for sure. He was the best man I knew, and far better than I deserved.
When I reached the locker room, I hesitated then shoved the door open. A few fighters raised their eyebrows but said nothing. I found an empty locker and changed quickly. I’d wear nothing but boxers, shorts, and tape. I French braided my hair down the top of my head, slicking back any errant strands. Thank god for learning how to help Tristan with his hair. I’d have to get mine cut if I were going to keep fighting.
I checked my phone one final time before locking it up—no news. I hated the worry that had settled in my gut. She didn’t deserve it.
I made my way out of the changing room and into the small, concrete gym the fighters used to warm up. A bouncer stood along the wall in black slacks and a black button-down, gun in a shoulder holster, his arms crossed, making sure nobody got excited and decided to start early.
One fighter was on a chair with a beautiful woman onher knees between his thighs, wrapping his hands. Another was punching the air in a corner.
I grabbed a jump rope to start warming up my muscles. I had no idea where I was in the lineup, no idea who I was fighting, and I didn’t give a shit. The alcohol made me slow, fuzzed the edges of my vision, and the thought of getting the shit beat out of me so bad that I could stop thinking about Eva was a sweet fucking dream, just out of reach.
By the time a blonde woman poked her head in to call my name, I was steady on my feet and ready to fight.
The crowd cheered—they weren’t stupid, they knew who I was. My father never cared about the fights. To him, it was one more way for me to prove my toughness. The irony that I fought for the oblivion it offered didn’t escape me.
My opponent was already in the ring, bloodied from a previous fight. My eyes narrowed. He was thick with muscle, quick on his feet as he swung his arms, working out the kinks between fights.
I climbed under the ropes. I hadn’t brought a coach or anyone else to second me, and fuck, I probably should have.
Not that anyone would understand.
Declan sat in the front row, his face impassive. With a thick, muscled build, blond hair, and stark blue eyes, he looked every inch the pissed-off Irish-American he was. He made a motion with two fingers, and one of the men beside him got up and climbed to perch outside the ropes in my corner.
“Carter,” the man said.
“Cole,” I corrected. “Carter’s my father.”
“Whatever the fuck your name is,” the man snarled. “Are you sober?”
“Nope.”
He sighed deeply then made some sort of hand signal in Declan’s general direction. Declan shrugged.
“If the boss doesn’t care, I don’t care,” he said. “I’m your cornerman for the fight.”
“Thanks.”
A stunning brunette in a sequined jumpsuit climbed through the ropes. “Fighters?”
