Like the sadistic bastards they are, they strap me to a chair in the ring.

Dave waltzes around me, high as a fucking kite. “So glad you could join us, bro,” he says now, pointing to his four conspirators. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

I don’t say a word, not even to snidely point out that he’s repeating himself. It’d probably go right over his head.

Quietly, I watch as my silence sends my brother into a small flounder. He cuts a quick glance to his buddies, and for the first time I have to wonder if he’s not the top dude around here. From the reports I’ve picked up over the years, I’d always been under the impression that Dave ran shit.

He wins, always.

Now, I’m not too sure about the dynamics in the group.

“Did you bring the cash?” Dave prods as he approaches. A tick comes to life in his forehead, and he does a quick swipe of his forearm just under his nostrils. “I told the guys you were bringing cash.”

“How much cash?” asks the bald guy in the corner. I size him up: six foot, two-hundred, thick around the middle. I’m a bigger match, but the fact that my wrists are tied is proving a difficult thing to manage.

I think of the knife strapped to my calf—utterly useless while my wrists are tied.

My notorious slow-growing temper spikes. “Is this how you guys celebrate the holidays?” I raise my brows, daring them to do something besides stand there. “Do you idiots get your rocks off on tying people up so you can, what, fuck them?”

The bald one mutters something under his breath. “It’s not going to work.”

I hold my breath, waiting.

Dave sighs like I’ve personally done him wrong. “You’ve lost your touch, bro. You can’t best us. You know that, right? You can’t trick us into untying you just like you can’t fool us into thinking you didn’t come here armed.” He drops to his haunches and yanks up the hem of my pants. A tsk-tsk sound escapes him as he removes the knife and tosses it to the side, where it slides across the smooth flooring and nose-dives off the ledge into the arena area below. “You went into your big fucking world with hockey and you left this all behind.”

At that, my brother widens his arms as though demanding I take notice of our surroundings.

Then he leans in. “You don’t know how to survive here anymore, bro.”

His arm reels back and I know what’s coming just before it does—my brother’s fist hand-delivers a right-hook that whips my head to the side. Stars burst like mini-fireworks in my vision and I taste the distinct tinny flavor of blood on my tongue.

“Untie him.”

Dave steps back as the bald man sweeps in close. The rope-ties around my wrists tighten before loosening, and then he’s forcing me upward, regardless of the fact that my ankles have been tied too.

I catch myself before I stumble, ignoring the pain in my face and focusing instead on staying on my feet. I have no doubt I could get off the remaining ties in seconds, but—

“Zip-ties,” Dave cuts in with a nasty grin. “The rope was just for your wrists.” He points to his head. “Survival, right?”

Just like that, my temper snaps. “Fuck you, Dave. If you think for a goddamned second that I’m going to give you a dime after pulling this shit, you’re delusional.”

Dave only snaps his fingers.

A second later, a bright light flashes in front of my face.

Jesus, did they take a photo of me?

“Thanks, Evan,” Dave says.

“No problem, boss,” one of the other guys says. He holds up his phone with a victorious wave.

I’m not so dumb that I don’t understand why they did it.

“Delete the photo, Dave.” My heart ramps up speed, and I take a step toward him—only to fall to my hands and knees, thanks to the zip-ties.

My older brother steps up next to me, giving a little kick to my right elbow so it gives in. “I don’t think I will, bro.” His voice takes on an almost whimsical quality. “Thing is, Marshall, that photo is pretty good evidence. And it’s worth way more than you’ll ever give me. What do you think the press will say about the Blades’ star forward?” He sinks down so we’re face to face. “You think they’ll want you after knowing you’ve been doing some underground fighting of your own? Add some drugs into the mix, and you can kiss your career good-bye.”

A ringing starts in my ears, loud and oppressive.

I’ll take my lick where I can—I snap his jaw back with an uppercut he’s not expecting. Dave falls to his side, cupping his jaw and laughing like he’s just seen the funniest thing ever.

“You’re fucking dead to me, Dave.”

My brother pushes himself to his feet. “You’re wrong, bro. I’ve been dead since I got locked in jail after you tried to kill Dad.” He opens his arms wide. “Welcome to the club, Marshall. Enjoy your last few days of being the celebrity everyone loves before your new secret life hits the tabloids.”

Memories of that night assault me, blurred by my youth and all the years that have separated me from the moment I picked up that kitchen knife and struck my father in the upper thigh. An eight-year-old kid doesn’t have the strength to do any lasting damage, let alone cause enough blood loss for my old man to end up in ICU.

“You can’t pass the blame all onto me.” My knees scrabble on the padded flooring as I try to haul my body upward. “I was protecting Mom,” I grind out, mouth dry, head pounding, “and I remember—”

“That I tried to finish what you failed to do? Yeah, I did that. But you struck first, and I got slammed with the charge.” His bleary blue eyes twinkle with masochistic humor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you though. I’ll make sure of it.”

With a finger wave at his cronies, Dave and his band of douchebags climb under the ringside ropes and then jump down to the arena area. He swoops down and picks up my knife, giving it a side-to-side wiggle that has me seeing red.

“I’ll leave this by the side door for you, bro, although I hate to think I’ll miss you crawling your ass toward it. Consider it my token of goodwill.”