Diego arrived at Golan’s Gym before dawn. Three cars were in the lot, so a few of the other guys had obviously arrived. The back door was left open as always, so Diego slipped through.

The gym was old and worn. Though Diego only ever trained in the early hours of the morning—it was the time they were allocated to have free range of the equipment—he suspected the gym had no regular customers. Golan, the owner, was never there, either, though he’d met the older man once or twice. Photographs from his glory days as a boxer decorated the wall, along with old gloves and other paraphernalia. His absence made Diego suspect that McCready paid him under the table to look the other way like he did with Doc and all the fighters. It would explain why the gym’s doors were still open despite the disrepair of the place.

The equipment looked like Rocky might have used it in the seventies. The punching bag had a number of tears in it. The weights were often missing their pair. Even the boxing ring—the pride and joy of the place, located at the centre of the room—was tired and sagging.

Diego never complained. At least they got somewhere they could keep in shape for free. And since earning—and not spending—money was his main goal in life, it was something he could appreciate. Besides, the ring, shitty as it was, had to be better than the concrete floor of the cage McCready set up for them to fight in.

Alexei was already there, slamming his fists into the nearest punching bag. He was sporting a nasty black eye, probably from his fight a few days back, the one he’d had after Diego had left the cage. Diego nodded to him as he passed, and Alexei nodded back. That was all their communication for the day.

Diego got to work, largely ignoring Chen and Weston, the other two guys that were there. Chen shot him one sour glance when he arrived, but then pretended he didn’t exist. Diego was more than fine with that arrangement.

Weston, on the other hand, was eyeing him a little too closely. Weston was Spider’s lackey, doing whatever the man asked of him. Weston was huge, but dumb. He wasn’t a smart fighter, but that didn’t always matter if you could knock someone out with a single punch. Alexei still had a good few inches on him, but then Alexei was a beast.

Diego whipped off his shirt and moved over to the bench. He went through his routine, starting slow and building into it. He was still stiff from his fight against Chen and needed to warm up and stretch it all out.

He also tried to disregard Weston’s too-interested gaze. The guy wasn’t hitting on him—there was something else, something about to go down.

He ignored it, knowing whatever it was would happen without him worrying about it. Instead, he tried to work himself so hard he could finally forget a certain redhead who’d been in his thoughts since fight night. He didn’t know what it was about her. The fearlessness, maybe, of approaching a guy like him in the darkness. Challenging him, even.

Either way, he’d thought of little else, both hoping and fearing he’d one day see her again. The part of his soul that hadn’t been corrupted hoped like hell she stayed away from these fights—this life. The selfish, tarnished part wanted her to come to the next fight. He wanted to see her again, talk to her, run his fingers through her fiery hair and—

He ruthlessly cut off that line of thinking.

Weston caught his eye again and Diego paused, lungs heaving from the workout. He’d barely noticed he’d been pushing himself so hard, so distracted by thoughts of Rosalyn. Diego’s gaze flicked to the door as Spider walked in. The hackles raised on the back of his neck.

He kept Spider in his peripheral vision and edged towards the weights in case he needed a weapon. Spider looked too pleased to be here for his own workout.

“Diego,” Spider greeted him, coming to stand a hair too close. Weston pulled in behind him, grinning. It was unnerving.

“What do you want, Spider?” Diego asked wearily. He could take the guy in a fight, but he really didn’t want to unless he was getting paid. And if Spider injured him too badly now, he couldn’t get in the cage for the next fight, and he’d lose that pay day, too.

That, he couldn’t allow.

“I have a little business proposition for you.” Spider grinned at him, but the effect was somewhat lost in the black holes where his teeth should be. The guy really should wear a mouthguard.

“Not interested,” Diego told him immediately. His gaze shifted from Spider, to Weston, and back again, wondering what the two were playing at. Had McCready okayed this?

Spider scowled. “You haven’t even heard the offer.”

“If it involves working with you two, I repeat: Not. Interested.”

Spider narrowed his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what your damage is, but I know you need cash. And by the rate you’re fighting, you need it fast. All I’m offering is a chance to earn that extra cash, fast.”

Diego swallowed. He did need the money. And the faster he earned it, the quicker he could escape this life and move on.

He’d never meant to get involved in these fights in the first place. But he’d done something in his old life—something that meant he needed to stay hidden. He’d left that place in a split-second decision with only the shirt on his back and no skills other than fighting from which he could make his money. There were only so many ways a guy in that situation could earn decent cash without putting himself on any radars. Radars led to him being dragged back to the life he’d left.

“Illegal work, I presume?” he asked, feeling the pull of temptation from easy money.

Spider shrugged. “Maybe. Point is, it’s money.”

“I don’t do that kind of work.” Not anymore.

Spider’s eyes turned crafty. “Is that so?” Diego knew he wouldn’t like whatever came next. Spider’s eyes dropped, landing on the tattoo Diego had never bothered to hide. Big mistake.

“I recognise that,” Spider told him. “How long were you behind bars?

Diego swallowed. “Too long. Long enough to know I’d be stupid to risk going back. Even for easy money.”

Spider gave him a slow nod at the words. “I can respect that. But I can pretty much assure you it wouldn’t come to that.”

“’Pretty much’ isn’t enough. Besides, why me? You’ve got access to all the fighters as McCready’s lapdog. Why single out me?

Spider shrugged. “You’re perfect for what we need.” His eyes drifted back to the tattoo. “And you’ve got the skills and experience I require.”

How did Spider know this? It was one thing to recognise the tattoo, but another entirely to know what he was in for. Was Spider fishing, or did he know Diego’s true identity? Shit, if he did, Diego was fucked, plan or no plan. He didn’t have quite enough money yet to leave this life, this country, and start again anew. He needed more time.

“I can’t do it, man,” Diego said regretfully. He’d once earned his living doing stupid shit like whatever Spider was proposing, but he couldn’t do it. He’d risked too much to leave that life behind.

Spider didn’t seem too put out by his declaration. “If you change your mind, you know how to find me. All I need is some muscle.”

He turned and left the gym, Weston following in his wake. Diego blew out a breath of relief, feeling like he’d somehow dodged a massive bullet.

His eyes shifted to take in Chen and Alexei.

“Good call, man,” said Chen, then turned back to his own workout. Alexei nodded in agreement, but didn’t add anything. Diego smiled, but something inside him hardened.

This life was getting too dangerous. He was getting too sucked in, too involved. If he wasn’t careful, he’d never get out.

And that, he couldn’t allow.