Rosalyn arrived at the warehouse and almost fell out of the cab in her haste. Diego had to be here. After that phone call, she’d known immediately.

She had to find him.

He’d sounded so odd on the phone. Had he found out about the article? But if he had, why would he say he loved her? It didn’t make any sense. Something was going on, and Rosalyn had to figure out what it was.

She burst through the door, bracing herself for what she might find. But there was only an empty space where the cage and spectators should be and the scent of stale excitement. Something had happened here.

Rosalyn strode over to where she estimated the cage was usually set up and glanced down at the floor. Drying blood splattered across the concrete, and Rosalyn squeezed her eyes shut. In her week with Diego, she’d almost forgotten how brutal this place was. And Diego’s stories of men who’d died in the ring had never felt so real.

She swallowed. Is that what happened to Diego? Had one of the other fighters—Spider maybe?—killed him in the ring? The fight had obviously finished long ago, since no one remained in the warehouse. So why hadn’t Diego come home? Or called her? Let her know he was okay?

Fear clutched at her chest. He had to still be alive. He had to. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him on the phone, but she loved him, too. It was too soon, and too much, but the truth was there like an accusing weight in her chest. She’d fallen for him, as impulsively as she did everything.

But that same impulsiveness might have gotten him hurt or killed before she had a chance to tell him. Hopefully no one associated with these fights read the Journal but these days who knew? The article had been a hit online. Anthony was thrilled, though Rosalyn was still mortified he’d run the wrong article. The one that was more a personal piece on Diego than a look at underserved communities.

Anthony was already making noise about giving her other assignments, but Rosalyn was resisting. Why, she couldn’t say for sure. This was her dream, everything she’d worked for all these years. But the insidious feeling of guilt had poisoned her moment of triumph. And Anthony’s betrayal was the nail in the coffin. She didn’t want her dream if it meant selling her soul.

Rosalyn glanced around, searching for a clue. The place had an empty feel, but maybe Doc or another fighter was still around.

She strode over to Doc’s office with a powerful sense of urgency dogging at her heels. She was somehow sure Diego was in a lot of trouble—that he needed her—and she had to find him.

Doc’s office was empty, but there was another one farther down she hadn’t noticed before. She crept towards it, dread pooling in her stomach. What would she do if she did find Diego and he was in trouble? She couldn’t exactly help him fight his way out. Or if he’d found out about the article and didn’t want to see her again?

She swallowed at the thought.

She should have told him. Well, she shouldn’t have written the damn article in the first place, but once that mistake was made, it was made worse by the fact that she’d lied to him. She should’ve come clean. Now, the lie was far worse because it had festered for days.

She’d been so distracted with it hanging over her head, she hadn’t truly enjoyed her time with Diego. And he’d probably noticed, too. She’d created such a mess. Unintentionally, but it was still her mess. And she had to step up and fix it.

First by finding Diego.

She squared her shoulders and crept toward the beckoning office door. Light crept out from under the door and into the hallway. As she got closer, the faint sound of muffled voices reached her ear. She almost sighed in relief, sure one of those voices was Diego. But it was still possible he was in trouble.

She hesitated outside the door, pressing her ear against it. She shut her eyes to focus, straining to hear. But the muffled sounds didn’t distinguish themselves.

She reached toward the doorknob, then stopped herself. Not wise. Better to wait until they came out. She stepped back and away from the door, her heart thundering at being so close to potential danger.

And she stepped right into the muscled body of the last person she wanted to see—Weston.

 

 

Diego tapped his fingers against the arms of the cheap plastic chair he sat in. McCready sat across the matching table in his own disposable chair. His unimpressed gaze travelled from Diego’s fingers to his face, never once changing expression. But when their eyes met, a spark of challenge entered McCready’s gaze when Diego didn’t immediately back down. An answering call—the urge to fight—leapt within Diego, but he ruthlessly repressed it.

Something was happening here. Now wasn’t the time to piss off the guy who held Diego’s life in his hands.

McCready hadn’t talked to Diego immediately after the fight. He’d made Weston drag him into this office and stand guard while McCready went off to play host to the rich bastards that had watched Diego nearly get killed and had gotten more excited than he’d ever seen them at the prospect.

It was fucking ironic. Diego was the one in the cage, but they were the animals.

Once all the noise from the warehouse had died down, McCready had finally returned and saved Diego from another hour of Weston eyeing him like he wanted to tear his head off. Yeah, join the club. Diego wasn’t too fond of him, either. And if he or Spider wanted a rematch anytime soon, Diego would be happy to go another round with either of them.

Now, it was just Diego and McCready, alone in this tiny office. McCready wore his usual coloured three-piece suit—tonight’s being purple. His tie matched, as did his pocket square. His hair was slicked over to one side. But the way he held himself always spoke of an alertness that didn’t match the polished appearance. McCready might try to fit in with his rich friends, but Diego knew the truth. McCready had been a fighter once, like the rest of them. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d once been more like Diego than either of them knew—fighting for survival, not money.

But he didn’t care about any of that now. What he cared about was the fury etched on the other man’s features.

“You’re a tough bastard to kill, aren’t you?” he spat at Diego.

“It sure is entertaining for that crowd though, isn’t it?” Diego replied with a smirk, even as he tensed in readiness for whatever was about to come.

McCready narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, an unspoken threat rolling off him in waves. “That’s the only reason I didn’t have Weston take you out back and shoot you tonight. The fact that you’ve twice beaten my best guys—even with their added advantages—makes the crowd more interested in laying down their money for a bet.”

Diego clenched his jaw. “Glad I’m useful for something, then.”

McCready leaned back with a snort. “Not useful enough, it turns out.”

Diego tilted his head and studied the other man. Here it was. Whatever had made him turn on Diego—whatever had caused that hatred burning in his eyes—was about to be revealed.

“Unfortunate,” Diego said for lack of anything better.

McCready glared at him. “You should be begging for your life. Pleading your case. Instead, you sit there making snide remarks. I’m starting to think you’ve got a death wish.”

Jesus, what did McCready think he’d done? “How about we lay our grievances out on the table, hmmm? You first.”

McCready’s eyes widened and he huffed out a laugh. “Holy shit, you don’t know.”

A chill ran down Diego’s spine. “Don’t know what?”

“You don’t know about your own five minutes of fame.”

Diego stared at McCready for a long moment, trying to make sense of his words. What was he talking about? A YouTube clip of him fighting or something? Surely not. McCready took great pains to guarantee the secrecy of these events. He would have noticed someone filming. And besides, if that were the case he wouldn’t be the one in trouble. Whoever filmed him would.

“Just tell me why the fuck I’m here, McCready.”

McCready reached down and grabbed a newspaper from the floor. He slapped it down on the table in front of Diego.

Diego didn’t look at it right away. He kept his gaze on McCready long enough to see anticipation enter his eyes. He wanted this fight.

Diego glanced down at the paper. He sucked in a breath at the words blared across the front page. ‘UNDERGROUND FIGHTERS EXPOSED’. His hands curled into the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the hard plastic.

His head spun.

The article was about him. About his life—and about how he fought in McCready’s ring. No one’s real name was mentioned, but it was obvious who everyone was. Though Diego had done his best to disguise his real identity, there were certain markers he couldn’t hide, like his prison tattoo, his Portsboro accent, and his fighting style.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Where--?

And then it hit him. Rosalyn. She was the only one who knew of both his past and his place in McCready’s fighters. It was far too much of a coincidence that everything he’d told her was right there in black and white for everyone to see.

His heart cracked open at the betrayal. Rage and bitterness welled up filling the gap. He’d trusted her. Confided in her. Loved her. And this was how she repaid him? By splattering his life over the front page of the newspaper?

She’d known explicitly that he’d been keeping a low profile for a reason. More than the betrayal, which was bad enough, she’d actively endangered his life. Anyone with half a brain would know who he was. And if this paper—thankfully local, but with the internet you never knew—got back to someone in Victor’s old gang like Mickey? They’d come gunning for him the instant they found out.

Was that all he’d been to her? A story? She said she wrote blog posts. He’d told her why running a story like this was a terrible idea. And she’d done it anyway. It hadn’t occurred to him to question what she’d been doing with her time, and it turned out to be this. Digging into people’s lives and splashing it everywhere.

Diego took a deep breath, then another. He needed to get out of town. Now. Maybe he didn’t have enough money, but if he could start again somewhere new—Los Angeles maybe—just for a few months to earn some cash, it might buy him enough time to get to South America.

He couldn’t stay here. Not when someone might show up on his doorstep any minute with a gun in their hand and a grudge against him. Victor’s old gang, the police, and now McCready all wanted him dead.

And he only had a small chance of surviving.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to McCready, trying desperately to slow the beating of his heart, to think.

“Spider told me about your girlfriend,” McCready said as their eyes met. He’d been waiting oh so patiently for Diego to process what he was seeing. Now, he’d deliver the killing blow, Diego knew. “Said you took responsibility for her.”

Diego nodded numbly. He had done that, back when Spider had harassed her. And Diego’s long-buried gallant streak had roared to ugly life and started all this bullshit.

“I didn’t know. That she was a journalist.” Not like this. It hardly mattered now. The damage was done. But if he could make it out of this office alive he still had a slim chance of survival.

“I can see that now.” He paused, eyeing Diego. “You sure are a stupid fucker, aren’t you?” McCready said after a moment, the words hovering between hard and deliberately casual. Diego huffed out a mocking laugh in agreement. He had been stupid. Stupid to trust someone when he’d been so close to his goal. To let Rosalyn into his heart when she’d just been using him.

“So, what are you planning to do to me? Send me back into the ring with Spider? Or kill me here?” Diego was hoping for the former. He’d already proven—twice—that he could beat Spider in the ring.

McCready eyed him a moment. Sweat slicked Diego’s palms as he waited for an answer.

A gun came out of nowhere, aiming right at Diego. His heart skipped a beat as the light caught the barrel. This was it.

He forced himself to stay still and wait. It wasn’t over until the bullet hit him. Maybe not even then.

But McCready didn’t fire right away. “I could kill you,” he mused, tilting the gun side-to-side as if it was thinking.

“Why don’t you?” Diego growled. “Get it over with.”

McCready narrowed his eyes. “Because I suspect you might be more valuable to me another way.”

Diego raised an eyebrow in query. “I assume you mean to kill me in the ring? You’ll have to go all-out to stop me thrashing Spider again.” Tonight the crowd had proven they loved blood and the possibility of a fighter dying in the ring. No doubt McCready would earn a fortune off a fight if Diego got his head split open in the cage.

McCready shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I have a different proposition.”

“And what’s that?” Diego asked. Tension knotted his shoulders as he tried to follow the conversation.

“Based on the little story in here,” he tapped the newspaper with the gun, “you have quite a criminal history.”

Diego swallowed and nodded. No sense in denying it. “So?”

“How would you like to earn a little money?” McCready asked.

Diego sat in stunned silence. “Doing what?” he asked eventually. This was not how he’d expected this conversation to go. And he was tempted to say yes, no questions asked. He needed that money. It could be the last payout, enough to get him set up in a new life outside the US.

But he couldn’t let himself get carried away. He focused back on McCready.

“We have a little…side project. Robbery, mostly. Jewellery, that kind of thing. With Spider out of commission, we need a point man on the next job.”

Diego blinked. “And you want me to do this?”

McCready gave a slow nod. “You’ll get a cut of the take, obviously.”

“But why me? After this…” He gestured towards the newspaper.

McCready shrugged. “I don’t know what I’ll do with you after. But I need someone to do this particular job. Spider is currently in hospital, thanks to you. His recovery will cost me a fortune. That’s if I don’t just leave him there for his failure to deal with you tonight.”

Something about this didn’t feel right, but the lure of the money—one last job—was tempting him back. He’d tried so hard to go straight this last year, but it couldn’t hurt to do one more quick job to help him get out of town, could it?

“How much are you expecting as the take?” he asked.

McCready smiled. “For you? About a hundred thousand.”

Diego’s eyes bugged. That would be more than enough to set him up nicely on a beach somewhere. He would be safe, away from this life that kept dragging him under. Away from the threats and the violence. He’d be free.

“Just rob a place? That’s it?”

“That’s it. Obviously you’d have to deal with any obstacles that cropped up, but I don’t anticipate that happening.”

“And when are you planning this?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Diego’s heart sank. “That’s not enough time to prepare.”

“We’ve had this planned for weeks. You won’t need to do much.” Something about the glitter in McCready’s eyes set off the warning bells in Diego’s mind.

“And if I say no?” he asked.

McCready’s lips pressed together. He leaned across the table and pointed at the article. “It looks like you’ve got some enemies. People that would be very interested to learn where you are.”

Diego swallowed. He had no doubt McCready would follow through on the threat. He knew something else was up, that McCready had some plan for him, but he ignore the warning. He had to. If Mickey or the cops found out who and where he was, he’d be back in prison before he could blink.

He had to get away. Now, as quickly as possible, before people traced the article back to him. And for that, he needed money. This heist was the perfect solution, provided McCready followed through on the promise of payment. And even if he didn’t, it would at least keep him in hiding for a day or two longer, enough to buy time to get away.

“I’ll do it.” He didn’t have to trust McCready to accept this opportunity. He’d stay on guard, and be prepared in case they had other plans. He’d defeated them before, and he would again, if they had an ulterior motive for asking him to be a part of this theft.

By rights he should be dead tonight—twice over. He was only lucky that McCready needed him enough to keep him alive. Needed his skills enough to delay punishing him. He needed to get out as soon as possible, because he might not be so lucky next time.

McCready stood and moved towards the door. He paused halfway there. “Oh, and your girl?” Diego’s heart sank at the reminded of Rosalyn, of her betrayal.

“What about her?”

“Do you want to take care of her, or should I?”

Diego’s throat closed up as the meaning of McCready’s words penetrated. For a brief second he let his fury take over, imagined letting McCready deal with Rosalyn in his own way. But a sick feeling pooled in his gut and he knew he couldn’t do that to her. She may have betrayed him and ruined his life, but some morals were left in the crumbling ruins of his soul.

“I’ll take care of her,” he told McCready. He kept his face blank, trying to project sincerity.

McCready turned and opened the door without saying a word. Weston stood on the other side, his hand clapped over Rosalyn’s mouth, the other arm anchoring her back against him. Her eyes were wide with fear, pleading, and apology, but Diego hardened his heart against her. He couldn’t afford softness now. Not ever again.

McCready turned back to him with an unpleasant smile. “Maybe I should put her in the ring? I’m sure our clients would love to see her pretty head smashed in.”

Rosalyn choked at the words struggling against Weston’s iron-hard grip but he held firm.

“You said I could take care of her,” Diego said, not moving an inch to help her.

McCready sighed in mock disappointment. “So I did.” He turned to Rosalyn, kept his voice and expression pleasant. “Just know that if you convince your moronic boyfriend here to let you live, I will hunt you down and personally tear you to shreds.”

With that, he gave a smile all the more chilling for its insincerity, and then slipped out the door and down the hall. Weston hesitated a moment, then threw Rosalyn in Diego’s direction and stalked after his boss.

Rosalyn caught herself on the table, her eyes coming face-to-face with the newspaper. Her head whipped around.

“Diego, I’m so sorry. It’s not what you think.”

He stared at her. The flaming hair, the pale skin, the wide eyes. She was still so beautiful. Despite all she’d done to him, he couldn’t help but be moved by her. Which pissed him off to no end.

“Frankly, I don’t think much of anything when it comes to you. Let’s get out of here before McCready changes his mind and shoots you on the spot. But after that? I don’t ever want to see you again.”