Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I’ve wasted enough already with the kiss, but no, hell no. I can’t consider kissing her as a waste, no matter the circumstances. She looks up at me, biting her lip.
“Lock the doors,” I tell her. “If I’m not out in five minutes, drive away and call the cops. I’ll leave the keys.”
“Be careful,” she whispers.
Other men, especially world champion fighters, might get cocky here. They might try to pretend nothing can threaten them, but I’ve heard too many stories about fighters getting shot, stabbed, or taken five-on-one.
I can’t help it, even if the clock is ticking. I lean forward and kiss her briefly, taking her passion and turning it into strength and determination. There’s no way I’ll abandon my woman out here alone. I need to get this done fast.
Quickly ending the kiss—otherwise, I won’t be able to stop—I climb from the car. My manhood is stiff from the closeness, but I settle down as I approach the bar. My heart is beating way too quickly. This isn’t an organized fight. They’re probably armed.
I won’t leave my son in there, even if he’s brought this on himself. Why is he in a place like this? And why is he so, so drunk?
The bar is a dusty room under stark electric lights. Several men sit around a poker table, whiskey glasses on display. Two more stand at what must be the bathroom door. They’re all covered in tattoos, wearing leather or denim. They don’t see me at first.
One of the men at the door, tall, with a shaggy mane of yellow hair and a goatee, laughs gruffly. “Want me to huff and puff, kid? Is that it?”
The other man laughs.
I walk farther into the room. A big man rises at the poker table. He’s almost my size. He has his hand behind his back, leaving me no doubt he’s got a weapon of some sort. If it’s a gun, it doesn’t matter how many thousands of hours I have training and sparring.
“Can I help you?” the man says, flashing a grin. He has a flat nose, as if it’s been broken before.
“You’ve got my son locked in the bathroom,” I tell him.
“Ah, that’s your kid, is it?” The man shakes his head almost sadly. “You should’ve taught him better, buddy. Taught him only to bet what he was willing to lose.”
I suppress a groan and any reaction at all. I just stare coldly at the man.
“Bad idea, friend, looking at me like that.”
“How much does he owe?” I ask.
“Fifty Gs.”
I grind my teeth. Fuck. My son’s driving me insane. The sense of failure crashes into me all over again. He’s gambling fifty thousand in some lowlife bar when he has no business being here to begin with. “I should be able to make that right.”
I don’t want to come across as too eager since that might give them the bright idea to shake me down for more cash.
“He didn’t call the cops,” I go on. “He called me.”
“Yes, the great Duke Harrow,” the man says, smiling thinly. “I know who you are. I’d never seen a heavyweight move like you, but it won’t make any difference if you decide to make this ugly.”
I grit my teeth, nodding, hating his tone, hating the way he holds his hand at his back, hating the rats at the poker table and the rats at the door. None of them would last even a couple of rounds with the teenagers at my gym, but here, they’re the hardest men in the world.
“I can pay what he owes,” I snap. “Now, let him out.”
“Now?” The man chuckles. “You’re giving orders, are you, Mr. Harrow?”
I grind my teeth. Staying calm is always the name of the game, but nobody can be a true fighter if they don’t have a switch deep inside of them. Maybe it’s a switch that a person is born with. Or maybe seeing violence at a young age forces it into somebody. It doesn’t matter. It’s there, and I’m so tempted to flip it.
Then what? He pulls out his gun, shoots me, kills Ryan, and maybe goes outside and kills Molly, too. My blood turns cold at that. Whatever else happens, whatever chaotic course this takes, Molly is off-limits.
“Do you have the cash?” the man says.
“Not on me,” I snap, “but I can get it.”
“Then you better go get it.”
I shake my head. My fists are clenched. My legs are twitching as if getting ready to throw kicks. My hips feel primed as if preparing my balance for grappling. There’s a war drum deep inside, beating, getting prepared.
“I’m not leaving without my son.”
Please, Molly, do what I told you. She needs to get out of here. I shouldn’t have even brought her. I can still taste her on my lips, intimacy as I’ve never experienced, a closeness I want to share again.