ONE
Ward
Another day, another ten-thousand dollars.
Fight nights almost always demanded my attention until around sun-up. It went with the territory when you ran an underground fighting ring. There were no pesky rules about when I had to stop serving alcohol since no one knew I handed it out like water. It meant that people stayed milling around long after the blood was sopped up, and the fighters went home.
I raked a hand down the scruff on my face, tapping the stack of bills together, and putting them into the safe under the desk.
It was a good night.
Most of them were these days.
If there was one thing you could count on people paying for - back from the Colosseum days - it was brutality. Society wasn't getting more violent. The violence was just getting more televised.
I guess it didn't say much for me that I sat there and capitalized on the bloodthirsty hoards like some Roman Emperor at arena-side.
But business was business.
And I took care of my men.
So if they wanted to put their bodies on the line in the ring to make some extra cash, what should I care? We lined both our pockets.
"Yo, boss," Igor said, stepping into the doorway of the office.
I glanced up, checking the time on the wall.
Five after four.
"Yeah?"
"We're all cleaned out. The bartenders are ready to head out."
The female bartenders.
That he was under orders to walk to their cars.
And he likely wanted to leave as well.
"Yeah, go ahead. I'm finishing up here too," I agreed, closing the safe. "Good fight," I added as he turned away.
Igor was one of my best fighters. He was a giant, long-blond-haired solid mass of muscle. He might not have been the most wiry of my men, but what he lacked in speed, he made up for in brute strength.
It won him his fight tonight against one of the newer, hungry fighters, Kenny.
Win, lose, we all made bank.
I heard the click of heels followed by the swish and click of the heavy metal doors closing as Igor led the girls upstairs and outside.
I got up, grabbing my empty glass of bourbon, depositing it into the rack under the bar before making my rounds.
Hex had taken a lot of work, it, after all, being the basement to an old, abandoned school with cinderblock walls, cement floors, and a perpetually musty smell. Walls went up, hardwood floors went down, a long dark bar was brought in toward one end with a fully stocked back bar and taps, tables and seating areas were set up. Truly, if not for the giant, raised, hexagonal fighting cage, it might have just looked like some sleek nightclub.
I flicked off the lights, opening the heavy school doors that led right toward a staircase that went out into the school, or out into the parking lot.
The school part itself was still empty, just classes reminiscent of a time gone by. I was still debating what my options for it were. Having a thriving, illegal business in the basement that got rowdy at all hours seemed to limit my options for the space.
I would figure it out eventually.
The lot was abandoned save for my lone, sleek black sports car.
I bleeped the locks, climbing in, and turning on the engine.
I was just starting to pull out when my headlights flashed onto something behind the dumpster, something that didn't belong there, something that looked suspiciously like a human foot.
I put the car in park.
"Just what I fucking need," I growled, moving to get out.
Maybe that was insensitive, this person was currently - or had been - alive at some point. Human tragedy and all that shit.
But this was Navesink Bank.
Bodies happened.
Bodies happened frequently.
That was what happened in a hotbed of criminal activity, with syndicates that ranged from low-level gangs, gun-running MCs, and the local Italian mob.
People got killed.
There was no reason to get all heavy-hearted about that shit.
I grabbed a flashlight out of the side-compartment in my door and made my way out toward the dumpster.
The light flashed, catching what was, indeed, a human foot.
"Oh, damnit," I growled, seeing the small, faux leather baby pink ballet flat beside the petite foot, toenails painted a robin's egg blue.
A woman.
It was one thing to take out some guy stepping on your turf, threatening your business, kicking dirt in your name. It was a complete other to put your hands on a woman.
The light moved upward, taking in the kicked-up pale pink skirt of her dress, already short, so pushed up, it exposed not only all her thighs but the lacy magenta edge of her panties.
I bit into my cheek as the light moved over her chest, sure it was going to be flat, sure this was a night where I'd have to call the cops and stand around answering questions for the few precious hours of sleep I would have normally gotten.
But there, under the thin material, her chest was rising and falling.
Thank fuck.
The light moved higher, taking in the ends of her wavy medium-brown hair that was fanned outward around her face.
Fuck.
And what a face.
Full, somewhat oversized lips, prominent cheekbones, a straight nose, somewhat natural brows - which was refreshing. Actually, as a whole, she seemed to have almost no makeup on, save for a little pink to her lips.
Gorgeous.
Literally the only thing marring it was the deep purple and red bruise on her chin.
And, well, when you worked in my business for long enough, you came to know all about strikes and knockouts.
Some tried to be a hero and attempted the uppercut. But unless you were the kind of massive that Igor was, that was never going to happen.
Fist to the side of the head worked if you applied enough force.
But the easiest way to knock someone out? Use the button of their chin as a lever to snap it back.
Instant knockout.
She was out before she crumpled to the ground.
But she would have woken right back up.
Unless...
I knelt down, turning her head slightly, running my hand behind it, coming back red and sticky, and reeking of copper.
Blood.
She slammed her head on the edge of the curb since she couldn't break her fall.
Not the cops tonight, then.
Just the hospital.
Talk about not getting to bed.
I reached down, sliding my hands under a body that seemed to weigh too little, then slowly pulled her upward, resting the side of her head against my shoulder, knowing she was getting blood all over the gray suit - then my car seat - as I lowered her in and belted her.
I was just going to drop her off.
That was the plan.
If there was one phrase you had to keep in mind in my town, it was Not my business.
Whatever had her behind a dumpster was not my business.
Though I intended to access the cameras when I got some sleep since it was my goddamn property, and no one should have been causing problems on it. There were consequences for that shit. Likely involving some of my men darkening someone's door.
But that was the extent of it.
Then I was pulling up to the hospital, getting out, then lifting her up again, and she started to drift awake.
Those unfocused, pained, light green eyes looked up at me.
And it suddenly became my fucking business.