Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Follow me.”
He strides off into the night.
“Shit,” I whisper, hesitating. Should I really follow the big, dangerous fighter into the unknown streets of deep South Philadelphia?
Apparently, yes. I hurry after him.
Chapter 2
Charlie
Stefano leads me along the quiet streets past trash-strewn lots and boarded-over townhouses. “Neighborhood’s seen better days,” I comment, keeping close to him.
“Give it time. Some clever realtor will give this place a trendy name and it’ll gentrify.”
I frown at him, surprised to hear such a massive guy talking about gentrification. “If you had to name it, what would you use?”
He seems to consider. “Shittington. No, Bloodbath South. Bloody South? Bloody Shit?” He touches a finger to his chin in thought. “Doesn’t have the right ring.”
I shake my head in awe. “Your mind truly is incredible.”
“Thanks. Don’t usually get complimented on my smarts.”
“What do you get complimented on?”
“My looks.” He grins at me, dashing and confident. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You know, I’ve never seen you around the ring before. Was tonight your first fight?”
“First at that place,” he says dismissively, waving a hand. “I bounce around between the spots.”
“Really? Don’t you have to get vouched for to get into the warehouse?”
“That wasn’t much of an issue. I’m on a win streak.”
“Oh, impressive. How many now?”
“Fifteen.”
That gets my attention.
“Seriously? Fifteen unbeaten in the pit fights?”
“Might be sixteen. Don’t know.”
I study him, suddenly curious. Most of the fighters at my grandfather’s venue have impeccable credentials. Most are former MMA guys, though some come up through the underground rings and clubs scattered throughout North America. If this guy is local, that means he’s either well connected or very, very good at what he does.
I’d guess both, based on what I saw back there. If he’s not kidding about that long of an unbeaten streak, then he might be the best fighter to have ever come through this region in a long time.
Stefano slows outside of a rundown-looking dive bar about two blocks from the warehouse. I know it instantly and try not to groan. It’s called Paddington’s, like that stupid bear, and all the fighters from the warehouse end up drinking here after hours.
There’s no doubt in my mind at least ten people inside will recognize me.
“Something wrong?” he asks, lingering near the door. He’s holding it open like a perfect gentleman, despite the blood still caked under his fingernails.
“Just, uh, is there anywhere else we can go?”
“Don’t like this place?”
“Not my taste, honestly.”
He lets the door close. “Let me guess. You’re more of a fancy cocktail kind of girl?”
“If you’re asking honestly, I’d prefer a hotel bar to this place.”
“Sounds about right.” He’s studying me again and I don’t like it. I raise my chin, glaring at him.
“What do you think you know about me?”
“I heard what you said back there. You told me you know people. And there’s the way you act all prim and proper, even though you’ve got a sharp mouth. You look at people like they’re ants. Even dressed like you’re straight off a late-night shift at a grocery store or some shit. My guess is you’re a rich girl playing poor and getting her rocks off on slumming it with the rest of us. How am I doing?”
My mouth hangs open. He’s smirking now, totally at ease. There’s no sneering, no anger, but he’s not pulling punches.
And he’s totally right.
Which pisses me off even more.
“I’m not slumming it, asshole. I like the warehouse.” Which isn’t exactly true, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He comes close to me. I back up, but he lightly puts a hand on my arm to keep me from running into a street sign.
“What do you like about it?” he asks, voice soft and quiet. “You into the fights?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. There have been a few good ones over the years.
“Yeah? What else?”
“The crowd.” My voice softens to an awed whisper. “Toward the end, when it’s clear who’s coming out on top. The elation that ripples along everyone. And the anger from the people who made the wrong bets.”
“You like that?” What a simple phrase, but something dark and delicious drips from it. Like he’s implying something about me.
“I like the excitement.” Because it beats everything else about my otherwise boring, proper life.
“I like it too.” His touch turns to a grip. His fingers wrap around my arm, right above my elbow. There’s nothing aggressive about it, and if the Big Boss had tried to touch me this way, I would’ve yanked back and told him off.
But I don’t mind Stefano touching me.
Which is definitely a problem.
“Let’s go somewhere else.” I stare into his eyes. I’m not drunk, but I wish I was. Then I could blame this on the alcohol. Instead, I’m stone sober. This is just my stupid brain malfunctioning again.
“I don’t live far. We can go back to my place.”