stick his deal up his thieving ass and then walk out, but I had a family to think of. For the first time since our father died, my brother had a chance at happiness.
Time to make a deal yet another deal with the devil. I promised myself this would be the last. “I want a fight for Bash. A good one.”
Mickey cocked his head and looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “I have some connections. I think I can do that for you. And in return for that and letting him off the hook for tonight, and forgiving the money you owe me, I want you for eighteen months. You fight when I say, where I say and who I say.” He ticked off a finger with each new condition of the deal. “You’ll get paid a flat fee of ten grand per fight until or unless we land something prime time or pay per view. If you don’t perform the way I know you can, the whole thing is off.”
Apparently, being Mickey’s guy was a form of indentured servitude, but I was hamstrung. My guts rocked and then rolled as all the ways this could go bad ran through my head. All the ways he’d have me bent over a barrel.
And then I thought of my brother.
Bash, in kindergarten, coming home with finger paintings no one but me gave a rat’s ass about.
Bash on the floor at the age of ten, back mapped with welts from my mother’s belt, jaw shaking as he held back tears.
Bash as a grown man, being driven away in the back of a police car and almost losing it all.
“Secure the fight for my brother,” I bit out. “If it’s a legit, lucrative match, equal the one he had lined up with Spada, I’ll do it.”
Mickey slapped the desk and stood, beaming. “Consider it done.”
I turned to go, knowing if I didn’t get the fuck out of there I was going to explode.
“And Matty?”
I tossed a glance over my shoulder at him, brows raised in question.
“Don’t think about trying to leave town. It won’t go well for any of you boys if you do.”
I stormed out the office door and down the hall, quaking with anger and desperate for some air to breathe that wasn’t tainted by that little fucker. He was the gum on the bottom of my shoe, and until I scraped him off, I was stuck with him. By the time I made it down a series of hallways to the back exit, I’d calmed down enough to start contemplating how I was going to get unstuck.
Distracted, I wasn’t looking where I was going and ran straight into a person a full head shorter than me.
“Jesus Christ!” A female voice snarled. I rubbed my smarting chin and looked down to see a red-haired girl glaring up at me, massaging her forehead with one hand and shoving the phone she’d been holding into her pocket with the other. “What’s your jaw made of, adamantium?”
Her sherry brown eyes shot gold fire at me and I held up a hand in apology. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Well, you nearly took my head off, so watch it next time.”
She was a fit little package, and the tight white tank top she wore hugged her curves in a way that, on any other day, would’ve made my dick stand up and take note. Today, though, I didn’t have the patience for a mouthy redhead, no matter how hot she was.
“Look, I said I was sorry. You’re fine, I’m fine, let’s just move on with our day.” I moved to push past her through the heavy metal door but she stood her ground, perching her hands on her jeans’ clad hips.
“You Matty McDaniels?” she asked, eyeballing me from head to toe.
I closed my eyes and blew out a sigh. What now? “I am.”
Her full lips tightened into a thin line. “Well, I guess we might as well get used to butting heads, then.” She stuck out a hand grudgingly. “I’m Kayla James. And, according to Mickey, I’m your new manager.”
Stay tuned for Trust Me, Book One, the first installment of Matty and Kayla’s story, coming June 15 th ! And sign up for Christine Bell’s mailing list for early excerpts, book release info, and a chance to win advanced reader copies of the
Time to make a deal yet another deal with the devil. I promised myself this would be the last. “I want a fight for Bash. A good one.”
Mickey cocked his head and looked at me for a long moment before nodding. “I have some connections. I think I can do that for you. And in return for that and letting him off the hook for tonight, and forgiving the money you owe me, I want you for eighteen months. You fight when I say, where I say and who I say.” He ticked off a finger with each new condition of the deal. “You’ll get paid a flat fee of ten grand per fight until or unless we land something prime time or pay per view. If you don’t perform the way I know you can, the whole thing is off.”
Apparently, being Mickey’s guy was a form of indentured servitude, but I was hamstrung. My guts rocked and then rolled as all the ways this could go bad ran through my head. All the ways he’d have me bent over a barrel.
And then I thought of my brother.
Bash, in kindergarten, coming home with finger paintings no one but me gave a rat’s ass about.
Bash on the floor at the age of ten, back mapped with welts from my mother’s belt, jaw shaking as he held back tears.
Bash as a grown man, being driven away in the back of a police car and almost losing it all.
“Secure the fight for my brother,” I bit out. “If it’s a legit, lucrative match, equal the one he had lined up with Spada, I’ll do it.”
Mickey slapped the desk and stood, beaming. “Consider it done.”
I turned to go, knowing if I didn’t get the fuck out of there I was going to explode.
“And Matty?”
I tossed a glance over my shoulder at him, brows raised in question.
“Don’t think about trying to leave town. It won’t go well for any of you boys if you do.”
I stormed out the office door and down the hall, quaking with anger and desperate for some air to breathe that wasn’t tainted by that little fucker. He was the gum on the bottom of my shoe, and until I scraped him off, I was stuck with him. By the time I made it down a series of hallways to the back exit, I’d calmed down enough to start contemplating how I was going to get unstuck.
Distracted, I wasn’t looking where I was going and ran straight into a person a full head shorter than me.
“Jesus Christ!” A female voice snarled. I rubbed my smarting chin and looked down to see a red-haired girl glaring up at me, massaging her forehead with one hand and shoving the phone she’d been holding into her pocket with the other. “What’s your jaw made of, adamantium?”
Her sherry brown eyes shot gold fire at me and I held up a hand in apology. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Well, you nearly took my head off, so watch it next time.”
She was a fit little package, and the tight white tank top she wore hugged her curves in a way that, on any other day, would’ve made my dick stand up and take note. Today, though, I didn’t have the patience for a mouthy redhead, no matter how hot she was.
“Look, I said I was sorry. You’re fine, I’m fine, let’s just move on with our day.” I moved to push past her through the heavy metal door but she stood her ground, perching her hands on her jeans’ clad hips.
“You Matty McDaniels?” she asked, eyeballing me from head to toe.
I closed my eyes and blew out a sigh. What now? “I am.”
Her full lips tightened into a thin line. “Well, I guess we might as well get used to butting heads, then.” She stuck out a hand grudgingly. “I’m Kayla James. And, according to Mickey, I’m your new manager.”
Stay tuned for Trust Me, Book One, the first installment of Matty and Kayla’s story, coming June 15 th ! And sign up for Christine Bell’s mailing list for early excerpts, book release info, and a chance to win advanced reader copies of the
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