…would make her a target.
“Attendance roughly one thousand, give or take,” Fallon continues. “Sound good?”
I grunt at him.
“You can put money in on yourself, since I know you like to do that. No limit, if you’ve got the stomach for something big.”
I glower at him. “I always win.”
“I know, my boy. That’s why I picked you.”
“I’m not your fucking boy. I want tapes, if you got any, of this Russian fighter. Anton whatever the fuck.”
Fallon clicks his fingers at Baldilocks, and the man puts a hand into his inside jacket pocket, and pulls out a brown paper envelope and hands it to me. It’s got a VCR cassette tape in it, judging by the weight and size.
Where the fuck am I going to find a player for this?
“Sorry about the tape,” Fallon says, shrugging.
“You couldn’t get a fucking DVD?”
“That’s all I could get. He’s a power fighter, uses his legs—”
I cut him off. “Don’t tell me how to analyze my opponent.”
“Just trying to help. It is in my best interest that you win this fight. And what’s in my best interest is also in your best interest.”
“Why don’t you just hop in the cage yourself with this Mogilovich cunt, you fucking wuss? Not man enough?”
Fallon blasts out a hoarse laugh. “You’ve picked up the Aussie vocabulary. You not seen Sergei Mogilovich, then?”
I shake my head.
“All of five-foot-five, and thin as a noodle. He’d never get in the ring with anybody.”
Great, I think to myself. A Chihuahua mobster with insecurities.
“Anyway,” Fallon says. “Enjoy your brekkie.”
“I never want you ’round my fucking house again, got it?”
“Hold up your end of the deal, Pierce, and you’ll never have to. I expect you to win.”
“I will win.”
“And if you don’t, then you’ll owe me.” Fallon steps closer. “And trust me, mate, that’s not something you want. Especially since you’re a bloody yank.”
I grin at Fallon. “Must eat you up, huh? An American being the best fighter in your town.”
“I just want to make some money. I’ll send you a text to let you know the details.”
“You have my number?”
He sneers. “Of course I fucking do.” Fallon gestures at his goons and they walk off. Baldilocks shoots me a glare.
“Asshole,” I say, going back inside. “Penny?” I call.
“What?” she says, appearing from the bedroom. She’s put on some eyeliner, and has corralled her hair.
“We need to talk.”
“We’re not talking.” She spits the words at me, all venom.
“Why?”
“Because you just made a deal with fucking mobsters.”
“It’s only a fight.”
She points a finger at me. “You’re an idiot Pierce, if you believe it’s only going to be one time.”
“Pen, it’s practically retirement money.”
“Oh,” she challenges, hands on her hips. “That’s what this is about, is it? Retirement?”
I grit my teeth, but say nothing.
“I thought so. Retirement. Fuck you, Pierce. Don’t get me involved in this.”
“The fight is next Friday. I need you there, Pen.”
“I don’t care.”
“Pen,” I say. I walk up to her, but she pushes me violently away. “Pen, I need you there. I’ll fight better if you’re watching.” What I tell her is partly true. But the other part of it is that I want her where I can see her. I don’t want them getting their hands on her.
“Well, this is a fight I’m not watching.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t even consult me before accepting whatever shady deal they gave you. I don’t care how much money it is, it’s all dirty.”
“Consult you?” I ask. I can feel my temper starting to flare. “Why the fuck should I consult you?”
Penny stops her exit, and turns around. “Because you want me there. Because you want me.”
She leaves, and slams the door.
And God fucking damn it if she isn’t fucking right about that.
I do want her.
It might just be that I need her.
Chapter Twenty Four
The whirlwind enters my tattoo shop. All swagger, smug cockiness. But it means nothing to me, now. He’s just a whirlwind of trouble, scooping up all the shit he can into the eye of his storm.
Like I need that fucking turbulence in my life. Like I need all that damn collateral.
It’s been one day since I found out our parents are getting married. It’s been a day since he agreed to fight in some shady mob setup that is sure to land him – and anyone connected to him – in trouble.
There is no way I want to see him, and I already told him that.
But, still, there he is, pissing me off.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“About what?” I ask, pushing him into the small supply room in the back so Tina won’t hear us. Vials of ink, spare tattoo machines, books, and medical supplies sit on shelves. There’s a vacuum and a mop and bucket, too. We barely fit in.
“You already know what I think about this. You and I are over.”
This annoying grin parts his lips.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is funny.”
“It’s not,” I say. “Plus, now you’re involved with the mob.”
“Christ, Pen, I’m not involved. It’s one fight and I’ll win it.”
“Oh, you’re sure of that, are you?”
“I watched the tape. The guy’s powerful but slow. I’ll dance with him until he’s gassed, and then hold him. Easy.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
“All of it.”
He steps closer toward me, I notice that the veins on his arms are sticking out more, and that I can see muscle fibers under his skin.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”
“No. Just getting ready for the fight.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Growing exasperated, I shake my head at him. “So? What are you here for? What do you want to talk about?”
“I need you at the fight, Pen.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll get to see me in tiny shorts.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
“Hey, it’s me. You’ll take what you can get.”