Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“Go,” Frankie said. “Lotto and I will go talk with the Circuit heads.”
“Why?” I asked.
Lotto’s lips thinned. “Let’s just say our friend Scotty hasn’t exactly stayed away like he’s supposed to.”
“What? He’s here?” I looked around out of reflex. Big mistake. “He’s here?”
When I tried to whip my head around to spot him in the crowd something pulled and shot pain up my jaw. Black etched along my eyes as I turned back to the group. My head pulsed, and I winced.
Ari frowned. “Doctor. Don’t make me drag you out by the ear.”
“It would probably be the thing that hurts the least right now,” I said.
“Leave the asshole to us.” Lotto placed a hand on my shoulder and grinned. “I’m proud of you.”
“You can be proud of him later,” Frankie said.
There was an edge in his voice that made my heart flip. Frankie knew firsthand how serious head injuries could get. I was sure my decision to keep going, even with a bum jaw, weighed as heavily on him.
But hey, Vegas was a great consolation prize for my dumbass choice.
“Call us as soon as the meeting’s over,” I said. When Frankie nodded, I turned with my whole body to Ari. “Lead the way.”
She grabbed my hand, squeezed, and pulled me toward the parking lot.
Cheers and calls from the crowd followed us out of the ring.
Though it hurt to smile, I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.
Smiley’s was back at the top.
Just like we deserved to be.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
FRANKIE
Mustache man smiled at Lotto and me like we were his next big meal tickets.
Or maybe just his next big meal.
It must have been nice sitting in an air-conditioned booth high up over the ring. Like he was watching over his merchandise or prized possessions fight for a scrap of recognition. This guy was Troy Godwin in a plaid suit. At least Mustgrave looked the part of a goddamn clown with that huge handlebar mustache, protruding gut, and blindingly shiny leather shoes.
“Congratulations to you both for your tremendous victory.” When Mustgrave swept his hands out to us, the gold rings adorning his fingers gleamed in the light.
I was having déjà vu, like it was Troy Godwin’s office again. Sitting high up in some rich man’s lair, being offered the “world”—for a price. With Troy, it was riches beyond our comprehension that came with a ton of invisible strings.
With Mustgrave and those dollar signs in his eyes, my guess was a shot at Vegas if it came with another 100K buy-in.
“There was never any doubt.” The muscles in Terrence’s neck popped and strained with his simple smile. Damn, how much of Scotty’s goods ran through those veins?
“First place the entire Circuit run is surely a feat,” Mustache man agreed. There was something in his delivery that gave me pause.
I glanced at Lotto. On the way up the stairs, following Mustgrave’s goons to his VIP suite, we’d discussed what we’d do about the PEDs. We didn’t have definitive evidence. Only what I’d seen in the crowd during the match.
But drug tests didn’t lie. If Terrence, Mitchell, or Brock had shot themselves up at any point, it would show up in a blood screening.
The problem? If Mustgrave or any of the other board members below him buried the evidence. We needed to tread carefully and test the waters. See how Mustgrave felt about Base One Gym. ’Cause one thing was for certain: Smiley’s was on thin ice after the events of the past few months. It would be easier to toss out, illegal substances be damned.
“You should have given us some real competition.” Brock snorted. Fat-necked bastard. He looked more like a sausage than a man at this point. “Maybe next season, you’ll bring in a few actual teams instead of pussy bitches who can’t last two rounds against us.”
Mustgrave’s smile grew tighter. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened when he narrowed them. Lotto coughed and ran a hand over his chin. When he looked at me, he smiled.
Dumbasses.
Maybe it was our lucky day after all.
“Yes, well, this is the first season back.” Mustgrave tapped his knuckles on the leather arm of his chair. “Lots of things to consider after Vegas.”
I crossed my arms. “Like the Circuit’s reputation.”
“One of the most important things, yes.”
“And lining your pockets?” Lotto stuffed a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “Not a lot to be made on bets against the top team if they’re always in first.”
Mitchell laughed. “You sound jealous, Lotto. Congrats on the climb, but your little ‘Comeback Kid’ story ends here.”
“Where are your fighters anyway?” Terrence smirked. “Bones back in the hospital? Can’t take a beating?”
“His chin looked pretty bad. How’s he going to make it to Vegas anyway?” Brock added. “Maybe you should step down.”
I met their challenge with a glare. “You first, you cheating bastards. Wonder if you’d be so full of shit if it weren’t for your friend Scotty Green?”