Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Can I get you a drink?” the female bartender asked, making my gaze shoot over, feeling like I’d been caught seeing something I shouldn’t. Even if those men were clearly taking their bets right out in the open for anyone to see.
“I, ah,” I stammered, thinking of how I was driving, but also figuring one drink wouldn’t hurt. It might even settle my nerves.
“It’s on the house,” a voice said from the end of the bar, making the bartender’s backs straighten even as I followed the voice.
And there was another man in an expensive suit. Tall, fit, handsome with his dark hair and incredible bone structure.
“Oh, ah, no, that’s okay, I can—“ I started to insist.
“It’s on the house,” he said more pointedly to the bartender, who nodded, but then he turned and left.
“Who was that?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“Jax,” the woman said. “He runs the place.”
“Oh, ah, okay. Um. I guess I’ll have something fruity,” I told her. “I’m not picky. I just don’t want to taste the alcohol.”
“Got it,” she said, reaching for various juices, swirling a pour of some sort of clear liquid, a spritz of clear soda, and dropped some cherries in.
“What is it?” I asked, taking it.
“I don’t know. I just fucked around,” she admitted, smiling at me as I took a sip.
“You should fuck around more often,” I told her, getting a wink before she moved off to take more orders.
I fought the urge to find the chair closest to the corner to hide away in, and forced myself to breeze around the room, catching snippets of conversation, checking out the raised cage.
“First time?” a newly familiar voice asked, making me glance over to see the owner, Jax, standing there. He’d lost his suit jacket, and the sleeves of his matte black button-up were rolled up to reveal surprisingly strong-looking forearms.
“That obvious, huh?” I asked.
“We don’t get a lot of women here alone,” he said, shrugging it off.
“The doorman seemed surprised too,” I agreed. “Should I be concerned?”
“Nothing’ll happen to you here,” he said, and there was such a surety in his voice that I immediately believed him.
“So, who is fighting?” I asked, having nothing else to talk about.
“Tonight, we have Ig. He’s the son of a man who fought when my dad ran the place,” Jax told me, gesturing over toward a giant of a man. “And…” he said, turning in a circle to scan the crowd for someone. Finding him, he touched my elbow as he pointed in the direction of a much smaller and younger guy. “Conor.”
“He’s like a third the other guy’s size,” I objected, brows scrunching, wondering why anyone was placing bets when it was clear who was going to win.
“Don’t count Conor out,” Jax said, shaking his head. “He’s smaller, but he’s fast. And he’s got a lot of rage in him.”
“I assume that’s an asset?”
“The best fighters I’ve ever seen haven’t been the biggest, strongest, or the most skilled. They’re the ones who exorcise their demons in the ring.”
“And that’s Conor,” I concluded.
“It is. Here,” he said, gesturing toward a fancy raised section of the room near the ring. “Have my seat here for the fight.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“I insist,” he said, once again gently snagging my elbow, and leading me toward the chair, not seeming satisfied until I sat. He struck me as a man accustomed to getting his way. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“Cali.”
“Cali,” he repeated, giving me a charming smile. “Enjoy the fight.”
With that, he left me to sip my drink and people watch from a higher ground.
It wasn’t long before people started to move closer to the ring, sensing the beginning of the fight.
I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my chest, thinking how much Clay would’ve enjoyed this place, how he likely would have placed his money on Conor because he always loved an underdog.
My eyes were burning as a crowd of men moved in front of where I was sitting. If I hadn’t been on a raised platform, they’d have cut off my view. And I was feeling annoyed about that on principle as my eyes scanned over their bodies.
This crew wasn’t wearing suits like most others around, choosing instead jeans and tees, but they seemed neatly put together with that air of importance that suggested that while they might not look like high rollers, that they had just as deep pockets as anyone else around.
I would have missed it if one of the men hadn’t raised his arm, pointing to the fighters as they climbed in the ring, looking as calm as could be, like they weren’t about to be in a world of pain.
But he did.
And I did.
A flash of something gold on his wrist.
A watch.
Only, it wasn’t just a watch.
It was Clay’s watch.
I would normally try to tell myself that I was seeing things, that it was just something similar, that there was no way.