After spending the evening in the dark theater, Micah detoured to the gaming room on his way out to pick up his blazer and text the limo driver to pull up out front. He’d let Luke collect the winnings, since he usually handled such details. Micah had been up all night, and had no inclination to lug the cash around with him. His partner would take care of it.
Since he’d been forced to resist Gisele hour after hour, Micah wasn’t in the mood to run into Danilov. He couldn’t be accountable for his actions, and one wrong word or look might result in Micah’s fist in the thug’s face. It was difficult to think of the man as Gisele’s brother. She seemed out of place in the underworld environment.
Gisele was smart and sassy. Micah liked that, and, after spending the night with her, was incurably attracted to her. It annoyed him that he’d had to acquiesce to circumstances. It wasn’t in his nature to do so, and he made a mental note that he owed one to Danilov. He’d been slighted and retribution was in order, but Micah would wait for the right opportunity.
Micah hadn’t pressured Gisele. If she preferred to wait for privacy to be together, then he would honor that. She was a classy lady and deserved respect, which was more than her brother gave her. And that was another demerit against Danilov: ruining the evening for his sister. The man was racking up the points, and Micah wouldn’t forget.
There was one thing that stuck in his mind, though. Over and above the high-security situation, there was something else going on. Gisele might not see it, as she’d been immersed in the scene for too long and had gone blind to the situation.
Or maybe she did see it. Admittedly, Micah didn’t know her that well yet. But the message was loud and clear. Gisele was off limits. But why? Gambling and women went together like champagne and caviar. It wasn’t unusual to protect a woman; bodyguards and security were common.
But Danilov went to the extreme. It was a warning in neon lights to Micah. He’d been around gambling and fighting for too many years, not to recognize danger when it loomed. Threat overshadowed Gisele’s life, a fact that could easily be attributed to the mob.
Yet it was more than that. Micah had a hunch it had to do with Gisele. But in what way? That he didn’t know, but intended to find out. He was uncomfortable leaving her at the mercy of the Russian mob. She’d grown up surrounded by such personnel, so it shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did. Danilov treated his sister as if she was a treasured possession, his attitude extending beyond the bounds of brotherly love. Clearly she felt suffocated, and had said as much. Micah didn’t know what Danilov was so intent on protecting her from, because it wasn’t from him. Yet the answer to that question remained hidden.
Micah was a high-stakes player, a known amateur boxer. He’d been screened before being allowed into the game. Yet he was blocked from taking her out to dinner, forced to be with her only under guard. Something was amiss, and he needed to keep his eyes open.
*****
The coach wasn’t pleased when Micah dragged into training on no sleep. The gym smelled like an old sock, unwashed for weeks. Serious fighters were crowded into an open area like some kind of crazy boxing zoo. Some guys had been cracking the heavy bag for a while already, and were drenched in sweat.
“You either slept in your clothes, or you’ve been up all night,” Harlan said, giving Micah the once-over. He still had his dress shirt on, although it was no longer crisp.
“Up all night,” Micah said. “But I’m good.”
“Hell if you are.” The coach looked downright mean, and Micah expected a tougher workout than usual.
“Give me a minute to change.” Micah hustled into the locker room and changed into his gym attire. He splashed water on his face and ran in place for thirty seconds. At least he’d grabbed coffee and a breakfast sandwich on the way over—not that his trainer approved of that diet.
The fighters in the gym were hardcore, and trained to fight, not just to get in shape. Micah expected his workout to push him to the limit. Harlan Draper was old-fashioned, not one to offer compliments for anything Micah did right. It was survival of the fittest, and one look at his sparring partner told him today would be tough. But there was no way that Micah would ask the other fighter to go easy on him.
Harlan had him warm up by jumping rope. He focused on agility and speed. Micah worked the speed bag, keeping his hands close, moving in rapid circles. It was about the rhythm. In the ring, Micah wore his headgear. He worked on balance and footwork, as well as punching power.
A deadly punch combination required speed, accuracy, and power. When Micah’s sparring partner avoided head punches, he’d go for the body. Making his opponent defend up and down increased the chances of sneaking some punches through. It was a sequence of attack the body to expose the head, and vice versa.
Micah used different punches to create new attack angles. His first punch was a jab, but then he switched out. He used a left uppercut or left cross, instead of the left hook. Such maneuvers came from surprise angles, making it tricky for his opponent to evade his shots.
Being in shape and being in fighting shape were two different things. Harlan was relentless in making sure Micah was ready for competition. The day of training included: sit-ups, push-ups, a five-mile run, thirty minutes of jumping rope, hitting the heavy bag, plus six rounds of sparring. That was the way his coach ensured that Micah achieved fight-level conditioning.
When that day’s training was over, Micah climbed out of the ring. He removed the headgear and mopped the sweat off his face with a towel. Still breathing hard, he gulped water from a bottle. “Get some sleep tonight,” his coach barked. Then Micah headed for the showers.
Micah had dried off and pulled on some jeans with a shirt when Luke swaggered in. During the previous evening’s game, his friend had likely been out partying. Even if he had, Luke appeared well rested, his brown eyes clear. His short beard was trimmed and he looked fresh in his jeans and a polo shirt.
“Sleep well?” Micah said.
“Where the hell were you? I called your phone half the night, and you didn’t come back to your room,” Luke said.
“And you know that because…”
“I pounded on the door when I got in at two.”
“I had my phone off during the game, and didn’t turn it back on.” Micah didn’t mention that it had been in his blazer pocket in another room the entire evening.
“So how much did we win?” Luke said.
“How do you know I didn’t lose?”
His friend chuckled. “I’ve learned to read you, and the look on your face doesn’t say loser.”
Micah rolled his shoulders, a bit stiff from the workout. He let Luke agonize for a few more seconds before he told him how much they’d won. His partner’s mood shifted for the better upon hearing their profit for the night, already counting up his share.
“The money that I won,” Micah stressed.
“We’re partners, remember? I set ’em up, you play the cards.”
“Or fight the fights?”
“Yeah, that too,” Luke said, sticking out his chest as if he’d just taken down an opponent. “You did good, man.”
Micah had met his friend years ago at a boxing club in New Jersey, where Luke had grown up. They meshed right away, as Luke had already acquired many of Micah’s hobbies: gambling, women, drinking, and fighting.
The only thing was that Luke had taken it to the streets. He’d fought some real brutes in bar fights or disagreements that could only be handled with the fists. He was a natural, much like Micah, but lacked the training. The impromptu, unrestricted fighting led to numerous injuries, although they didn’t deter him from using his fists.
Luke had his amateur boxing license and did some fighting in the ring too. He took a few too many hard punches, and the injuries that resulted prevented him from pursuing a career. His shoulder was screwed up, his left knee was a problem, and his back gave him trouble. That didn’t keep Luke from beating the crap out of any guy who insulted him or tried to push him around. But he wasn’t going to win any championships either.
But Luke was good with business details, and Micah was talented with the physical end of things. A partnership was quickly arranged. Fighting and gambling were Luke’s aspirations in life, as long as he had the women to go along with his other vices. And he readily agreed to be Micah’s one-man support crew, a role which encompassed many duties, including placing the bets.
One of the most lucrative ventures had been betting on the fights, especially the underground matches with bigger potential. The downside was the rough conditions, but the money that could be made more than compensated. Micah and Luke had done quite well.
“I’ve got a message into Danilov’s guys. I’ll collect our money today,” Luke said. “Have you eaten?”
“Since when?”
Luke shook his head. “Breakfast…lunch?”
“I grabbed something on the way to the gym.”
“Come on, man, let’s go eat.” Luke grinned. “My treat.”
There were so many steak places in Vegas, they could walk in any direction and run into one. Luke decided they should celebrate, so chose one of the world-class places on the Strip. Their table was on a patio with a view of an indoor lake, but Micah couldn’t have cared less about the view.
They each ordered a steak with baked potato, loaded with sour cream and chives. While waiting for the meals to arrive, they devoured the basket of bread the waiter brought to the table. Micah passed on alcohol, and ordered iced tea instead.
“I have a fight in ten days. I have to start eating, and forgo the alcohol…as much as that pains me.”
“That’s what you have to do,” Luke said. “No choice.” He smiled with a mouthful of bread. “That’s okay. I can do the drinking.”
Micah shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Just make sure you keep your head clear. I plan on scooping a good bit of cash from this next fight.”
“You can count on me.” Luke furrowed his brow. “That poker game couldn’t have gone all night. Even the heavy hitters don’t have a bottomless well of cash.”
“It was over about eleven.”
Luke looked across the table expectantly. “What woman kept you out all night? And why not bring her back to the hotel?”
Micah leaned back when the waiter delivered the meals. He didn’t answer until he’d sawed off a few hunks of beef. His stomach felt like it had been turned inside out. He really did need to eat better; boxing turned his body into a furnace.
“I couldn’t bring her back. She wasn’t allowed to leave that complex.”
Luke raised his brows, then stuffed a bite of steak in his mouth.
“Remember Gisele Shelton?”
Luke thought for a minute. “The foxy babe from Hollywood?”
“Well, it turns out that she’s Danilov’s sister.”
“Christ, man, how can that be?”
Without slowing down his eating, Micah managed to tell Luke what he knew. As he told the story, he realized that he knew damn little. “I can’t explain why the mob took her in when her father died, but there’s something else that concerns me.”
“Other than she’s living like a prisoner?”
“Exactly,” Micah said. “But what’s up with that? You have to admit it’s odd.”
“You mean that her brother surrounds Gisele with guards, and won’t let her set one foot outside with you.” Luke rolled his eyes. “What’s abnormal about that?”
His friend’s sarcastic comment matched Micah’s thoughts on the matter.
“So are you going to see her again?” Luke said.
“I plan to. I don’t bluff easily, and Danilov will have to do more than bluster and threaten to keep me away.”
When the plates were empty except for the fatty remains of the meat, the server cleared the table. “Dessert for you gentlemen?”
They passed on that, temporarily satisfied. And Micah didn’t need the sugar. He had to be in top form, and didn’t have long to repair any damage from the last few weeks of indulgence. “I’m in training,” Micah said, looking across at Luke.
“You better be,” Luke said. “The organizer told me this fight is no bullshit. You’ll be in front of hundreds of people, so be ready. If you aren’t, you’ll be the entertainment anyway, when you get your ass beat.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Micah looked forward to the fight, and with that challenge coming up, he had no choice but to dedicate the next ten days to getting in shape for the rugged match. He didn’t allow his weight to fluctuate much, even when not fighting. But he still needed to train hard.
At the hotel, Micah headed toward his room. “I need some sleep,” he said, leaving Luke on his own.
“Text when you’re up, and we can hit the Strip for a bit.”
Micah nodded, then stepped into the elevator. When he got to his room, he closed the blinds and stretched out on the bed. But he didn’t fall asleep. Instead, he thought about Gisele, who hadn’t been far from his mind. She was a beauty and he planned to see her again, as soon as he could.
For the time being, he needed to focus on training, and such a temptress would be a distraction. But it wouldn’t be long before he would call her for that date. He was really looking forward to seeing her again.