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)
“You better be,” Ari mumbled and held out her hand to Lucien. “Nice doing business with you.”
Lucien looked down at her hand but didn’t take it. “Pleasure.”
I grabbed Lucien’s elbow and jerked his arm forward. “Shake her damn hand, you prick, or you’ll be walking out of here without them.”
“Ow, ow, what the fuck? Is this how you treat your benefactor?”
“You should do what he says.” River laughed so loudly it echoed in the ceiling. “He might not be in the ring anymore, but he could snap you like a twig, shortcake.”
Lucien mumbled something I didn’t catch but shook Ari’s hand. I immediately let go of his arm. Touching him felt gross, like running my hand over a poisonous frog. He was probably as sticky and slimy as one, too. Maybe our next logo could include a dead frog or two.
He straightened up his suit jacket by the lapels. “Then follow me.”
I had to force myself to follow him out Smiley’s front door, repeating to myself that this was all for Smiley’s.
For the Circuit.
For our family.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t imagine Lucien Fritz getting T-boned on the way to his office and somehow getting us out of this.
Guess I still had a little underground mayhem in me after all.
Chapter
Seven
LOTTO
Itook a sip of my whiskey and carefully set down my glass.
If not, I would have thrown it against the wall.
I’d assumed Troy Godwin would be the biggest hurdle Smiley’s ever faced.
Turned out Lucien Fritz decided to erect another one right before we crossed the finish line.
Frankie slammed his beer down on the bar top. He’d been frowning so hard ever since we walked out of One, Two, Hook. Lucien’s contract was… fine. And that was the worst part. He knew he had us right where he wanted us. Offering us a lucrative contract for success. Full coverage for tickets, hotels, gear. Incentives for popular social media posts. All we had to do was win.
We’d be insane to pass it up.
But it wasn’t like we had any other options.
The few texts I got from contacts congratulating us on “being picked for the Circuit” before we even signed the contract was enough proof of that.
So was the “maybe next year” text I got from our second possible lead.
With one simple text, Lucien Fritz had chained us to his company whether we liked it or not.
“Only 24 teams can make it in the Circuit and there’s already over two hundred applications,” Frankie mocked. Lucien had said the same not an hour ago as he pushed the contract our way. “He can take that contract and shove it up his ass.”
“If you can get his head out of there first.”
“Doubt it. He probably gets high off the smell of his own farts.”
“Then you’d think he would know how bad his shit smells.”
Frankie snorted, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. Finally. It was the first I’d seen all day.
“Why do we always get chained to assholes?” He took another swig of his drink.
“Frankie, you know I love you, but I’m going to need you to look in the mirror on that one.” His annoyed grimace made me smirk. “You know I’m right.”
“At least my reasons are good.”
“Really?”
“Better than some money hungry dicks waving their cash around and thinking they can buy everyone and anyone.”
I nodded a few times. “True.”
“God, it just pisses me off that our one shot at the Circuit comes at the hand of some douche who can’t even look Ari in the eye.”
“Why do you think I added that clause?” I smirked and lifted my drink. We refused to sign the papers until Lucien added a section on equality and fairness for all members involved in the contract, not just the co-chair and witness.
“Thanks for that, by the way.” Frankie finished his drink and pushed aside the glass. “I already feel bad enough signing it without Ari in the first place.”
“Don’t feel too bad. She gave you the okay. And me.” I clicked to our text thread and flashed Frankie my phone. “Where she said, and I quote, ‘Can you add a subparagraph where I get to kick his balls every time he breaks that promise?’”
Frankie read the text and snorted. “It would probably be the most action his balls have seen in a long time.”
“If ever. You want another?”
Frankie nodded and lifted his hand for a second beer. I took another sip of my whiskey as we waited, and we shared a weak “cheers” when the bartender handed Frankie his drink.
“I’m lucky you were there,” Frankie said after another two gulps.
I lifted a brow. “All right, who are you, and where did Freakshow go?”
“Am I not allowed to be sentimental or something?”
“Not really.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s better.”
Frankie shook his head and turned in his bar stool toward me. “I’m serious. I was about to leap over the desk and throttle him the second he called us a second-rate gym.”