Page 5 of Savage King
“You sure?”
“I didn’t fucking stutter.”
Two
VIOLET
Ihate these fights. I’ve been here almost every night formonths, hoping to catch a glimpse of my sister, but she’s never here. When I first moved to Vegas, no one knew, or wanted to tell me, where some of these shadier fights went down. I spent so many months just combing the streets for Rosie that I know this city inside out.
But I finally caught a break when I had someone getting inked in my chair tell me about this. It doesn’t have a name, and it doesn’t officially exist, and yet it operates every night of the week.
I try to be here as often as possible, and it fucking sucks. The men are lewd and sweaty. Loud. Drunk or stoned and so fucking handsy it drives me nuts. Even having a woman on their arm doesn’t keep them from reaching out with their free hand to try to grab my ass.
Fucking gross.
Most of the girls here show a ton of skin, wear so much makeup I’m surprised there’s any left on the shelves in stores, and look like they’re trying too hard to impress everyone else in the room. And I’m not judging them for it. They look great.
I, on the other hand, usually come here straight from work, so I don’t dress up. Not that I have that kind of wardrobe anyway. I’m a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of girl, so that’s what I come in. No one seems to pay me any attention at all, but rather they strut around for each other and watch the fights.
“Ooooh!” the crowd moans when the guy in the cage knocks the other guy out and then puts his hands up and peacocks around.
Suddenly, a hush falls over the crowd, and I hear the people around me whispering to each other.
“He isn’t on the docket.”
“—haven’t seen him here in months.”
“God, he’s so damn sexy.”
My mouth twitches, and I stand on my toes so I can scan the area, looking for what they’re talking about, when suddenly a man walks by that has my breath leaving my body.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Bronzed skin. Tattoos. Shaggy dark hair that curls at the ends. He’s already covered in a sheen of sweat, and when my eyes move up, I find that his own eyes, deep brown, are pinned to mine. Hot. Curious. Full of power. And it sends a zing right down my spine.
He lifts a brow.
I glance away.
Shit.
What the hell?
When I’m brave enough to look up again, he’s staring straight ahead at the other man already in the cage.
“That guy owns this whole operation,” I hear someone say behind me.
“Like the entire fight club?” Someone else asks.
“That’s right. Scary motherfucker. Haven’t seen him fight in a while.”
Oh God.Isthisthe person my sister was talking about in her letter? Is this Damien?
“Mateo Cabrera,” the man behind me says.
Hmm, so not Damien.
But he might be Damien’s boss or know where he is. He could lead me to my sister.
