I pull the gun from where it’s tucked in the small of my back and shoot Fabian right between the eyes. Two seconds later, he falls to the floor.
“Get him to the graveyard,” I tell Diego, who sighs but nods grimly. “Is anyone else fucking brave enough to pocket my money?”
“No, boss.”
“Good. I’ll be out for the rest of the night.”
“I wish you’d let me go with you. You know I don’t like you being there without backup.”
Shaking my head, I ignore my number two and grab my leather jacket on my way through the fitness center. Men spar in the ring, and there are people lifting weights and on cardio machines. It’s busy in here, despite the late hour.
It’s always busy in here.
I’d often be the one sparring with them, helping, taking some hits, but tonight is the real thing.
I need a night in the cage. I need to pound my fist into an opponent’s face. I want to see their fear. I want to see their desperation.
I need that adrenaline.
The underground fighting in Vegas is another lucrative business that I own. Others have tried to edge me out, and those fuckers are in the graveyard.
This ismyworld. The bets, the fighters, every little piece of this goes through my people. It’s not officially attached to my organized crime dealings with my brothers, the other three Kings of Vegas, although if I give them a heads-up, they willgladly attend my fights. I never ask them to invest money in this. I don’t need them for that.
It’s a well-oiled, profitable machine that I love. It’s my passion. It’s my baby.
And although no one knows that I’m coming in to fight tonight, I’m crashing anyway. Because I have a lot of pent-up frustration that I need to take out on someone’s fucking face. Icouldgo to Rapture, the adult club owned by my brother, Rome—which happens to behispassion and separate from our usual dealings—and fuck the edge out of me, but this calls for blood.
Violence.
And that’s not my kink when I fuck.
I swing into my penthouse to grab my gear and decide to ride the bike the short distance from my building to my fight club. Security sees me pull in, and they’re immediately speaking into their comms, alerting everyone inside that I’m here.
That’s fine. At least they’re doing their jobs.
After parking in my space, I pull off my helmet and leave it on the handlebars, then look at the nearest armed security and lift my chin.
“Yes, boss.”
“Anyone touches this, they die.”
“Got it, boss.”
I slip inside and make my way to the control room, where twelve screens are hung on the wall, showing live feeds from the entire arena. One screen is dedicated to bets, so we can monitor those as well. There’s a match going now, and blood spatters from a particularly rough left jab, and it only fuels my anticipation.
This is going to be fun.
“Who’s on the docket tonight?” I ask Pandora, my manager. She’s in a tight-as-fuck black leather dress that leaves absolutelynothing to the imagination and might lose its fight with her tits at any second.
“Wasn’t expecting you,” she mutters, her brows low in a scowl, her bright-red lips pursed.
“Disappointed?” I lift an eyebrow and chuckle when she rolls her eyes.
“Just irritated, that’s all.” Pandora’s not afraid of me. She does too good of a job for me to fire her for insubordination. “I have one unmatched fighter. Sampson.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Mateo, he outweighs you by forty pounds.”
