“Too late to bet on this one, it’s almost over.” One man says, counting stacks of twenty-dollar bills on the table. He’s got rough hands and strong arms, a crooked nose, and a popped blood vessel in his right eye. He looks like he’s been in a good amount of fights in his life.
He’s also got a gun tucked into his jeans. Why are all these men so obsessed with guns? I fucking hate guns.
I hand him a fifty-dollar bill and randomly pick a guy for the next fight from the iPad screen without reading or looking at the pictures.
“Where’s Jones?” I ask once they tap my bet into the iPadunder the name Hawk. I’d also be willing to bet they know where Shane is.
“Who’s fucking asking?” a little shit of a man with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of clear liquid in another pops into the conversation. He’s got a black eye and is missing a tooth.
Again, I fucking hate this place. The black eye, okay, but go to a fucking dentist once in a while.
“Hawk,” I spit out with clear annoyance. Black-eye guy turns and whispers something to the third man in the group, who looks like the twin of the bouncer at the front entrance.
There’s a louder cheer from the ring, and I turn to see the smaller fighter kicking the shit out of the bigger guy as he’s on the ground again, this time on his side. The crowd is chantingkill him,but eventually someone pulls the fighter off the man, who is no longer moving.
“Wait here,” black-eye guy says as the bouncer-looking dude disappears. The crowd around the ring spreads out. I don’t like it, because I no longer have a clear line of sight to Callie and Noah. I need another minute though.
“You got more of these places?”
“Why, you wanna fight?” Black-eye guy looks me up and down, like he’s assessing whether or not I’d make a good enough fighter. He gives a slight nod.
“Nah. I just like to watch.”
“There’s a new one in New York,” he says after a short pause.
“What a coincidence. I’ll be in New York next week.” At least now I will. “Got the address?”
He scribbles something on a scrap of paper. “Fights are on Thursdays.”
“Thanks.” I pocket the paper and turn to look around. I hate that I can’t see Callie. There’s a niggle in the back of mybrain. Instead of waiting for someone to bring Jones to me, I head into the crowd. One of the guys calls to me, but I ignore him.
Before I get to the spot where I left Callie, I see Noah standing at the end of a dark hallway. “Where is she?” I ask when I get to him.
“In the bathroom,” he says with a forced shrug. But he looks worried, not nonchalant.
The niggle gets bigger.
Something’s off. Something feels wrong.
“Fuck,” Noah says. “She insisted on going alone.”
“Seriously? Stay here.” I jog down the hallway and try all the door handles. Three are locked, but I finally find one that opens into a dirty, dimly lit bathroom. “Callie?”
I step into the dingy room and see a man facing the wall. At first I think he must be pissing or getting a blowjob or something, and then I realize he’s got someone pressed up against the tiles.
He turns his head, and his eyes widen when he sees me. In fear or anger or what, I’m not exactly sure.
And it’s Callie trapped against the wall, his hand on her mouth, his other hand pressing against her abdomen, his lower body smashed on hers. A million things run through my mind within seconds, but the loudest voice says MINE and PROTECT.
Callie’s eyes meet mine, and they’re wide and scared and?—
Rage courses through my veins, and I black out.
Chapter 20
Black Out
CALLIE
