Page 107 of Villains Never Die

“Then I’m definitely betting on that one,” I said. “You’re too cocky, and I’m sure it rubs off on your fighters. You need to be humbled.”

“Do I?” He sent a text message and then held his phone up so he could see that he’d texted someone downstairs to place my bet. His smile gleamed, even under the shitty overhead light. “He’s almost forty and he has a bad knee. I’m sure this will be his last year fighting. So if you want to place your money on the grandpa with the limp, be my guest.”

From the window in the office, we could see clearly into the dusty cage, where Rook’s fighter—the one who had replaced Lee Paris—circled with a man larger than him, but I could see the limp Rook mentioned even from up here. Perhaps it was a terrible bet, but worth it to see Rook smile.

“What are their names?” I asked. We could see them, but other than the spectators’ stomps and incoherent shouts, the noise of the cage and the announcer didn’t reach us up here.

“My guy is Trey Bissell, but he goes by ‘The Hatchet.’ Honestly, I’m probably going to have to let him go soon—”

“‘Let go’ as in…”

“Murder is a lot of work for some of us,” he laughed, squinting down into the cage as Trey swung at his opponent. “I avoid it if I can. ‘Let go’ as in tell him to fuck off and find somewhere else for his mediocre skills. Honestly, Lee was the only person with real talent I’ve had in here since I opened. The others win fights, but it’s entertainment the audience is looking for.”

He winced when the man I bet on landed two punches to Trey’s face in quick succession. “Your guy is Brian Penn. He’s well-rounded—boxing, Muay Thai, jiu-jitsu, decent magical skills. We actually ran in some of the same circles when I fought. We were in the ring together two or three times. He was good before he fucked up his knee, but his career is hanging on by athread.” A low groan rolled out of him when Brian knocked Trey off his feet.

“He looks like he’s hanging on just fine tonight.” The corners of my mouth curled as I held in a laugh. “How did you end up here? Why did you stop fighting?”

“It was a ‘one thing led to another’ situation. I fought professionally for about three years, but I messed up my back for a while. I took a break and trained other people, but I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do next, and an older magician I used to train with had this place. He invited me down from Massachusetts to check it out, said he’d sell it to me if I wanted it. I decided I didn’t want to be crippled by thirty and bought it.”

“Jumping headfirst into something illegal didn’t bother you? You sound like you were a bit of a golden boy.”

“I do what I’m good at,” he said, his hands gripping the windowsill now as Trey lost more and more ground. “I was good at school, good at chess, good at fighting. I’m good at this—training the right people, making money. I don’t have my eggs in as many baskets as you do, but I’ve been expanding into drugs and loans. If I’m good at it, I keep doing it until something better comes along.”

“If a better opportunity came along, you would just drop all this? After all the effort you put into it?”

Rook scoffed, and I couldn’t tell if he narrowed his eyebrows at the fight or my question. “This is just…money. Time. Things. I can make money and spend time doing whatever I want. This is just the easiest thing right now. I told you before that you can’t have it all. If something better than this came along, then I’d give it up.” His eyes flicked sideways until they caught mine. “Wouldn’t you?”

“No, of course not,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve worked my arse off for what I have. I have money, connections, and a vast network of people indebted to me. Not to mention, the work I’veput into my business is the only reason I have access to so much information on Death. I wouldn’t give that up.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a roar exploded in the building as Brian knocked Trey to the ground and made sure he would not get back up. “Fuck!”

I slapped Rook on the arm and cackled. “Grandpa wins!”

He tossed me a key from his pocket and I suddenly realized he was wearing my pocket watch clasped to his belt. He pointed to the door. “He’s going to have a concussion. Take your smug ass back to my place while I fix this mess, and you’d better be in my bed naked when I get home.”

I stepped close to him, running my nose down the length of his neck and inhaling the scent of him, and skimmed my thumb along his ribs. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

He angled his head to catch my lips and lapped at my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I opened to the pressure and—

Footsteps on the stairs outside the door.

We sprang apart.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said, turning to leave.

I’d parked my car beside the building in front of Rook’s vehicle. I didn’t bother being stealthy with it anymore. The wind was quickly turning icy as winter took over the nights. There’d be snow soon, maybe ice storms. I cradled his house key in my hand and realized the keychain was a black rook from a chess set with a small hole drilled through the neck of the turret.

He was always so bloody unexpected.

For all the disruption and chaos he’d brought to my life, I thought I might have been better for it. There should be one person who could keep me from falling too far into routine. Someone had to save me from my own seriousness.

Not a partner, but something close. A friend. A lover. An ally. It’s more than I’d had a few months ago—so much more.

Maybe that was enough.

***

I waited hours until all the fights were over and Rook handled whatever he did afterward. I tidied his house to pass the time—collected dirty clothes in one place, washed the dishes in the sink, organized the junk that littered the bathroom counter.