Page 3 of When He Plays

Raymond screamed. Blood spurted. And Logan smiled. “Great. Do I have everyone’s attention now?” He tossed the ring away.

“My nose!” Raymond yelled. He dropped to the floor. One hand covered his nose. The other searched for his piercing, a gold hoop. “Look what you did!”

Logan didn’t give a shit. He also didn’t need to look. His eyes were on Morris. His main target. “You are trying to force one of my employees into your cage.” Real anger simmered in his voice. Seriously, how annoying. You left town for a few weeks in order to handle some business abroad, and a rival tried to snipe one of your employees. Not cool. “Jake will not be fighting in your match tomorrow. He will not ever be fighting for you.”

“Jake’s dad owes me ten grand!” Morris huffed. He ignored the bleeding Raymond. “His old man traded Jake to me in exchange for the debt. That means Jake will fight whenever I want.”

Right. That was the way Morris typically acquired his fighters. They ran up a debt—or someone close to them did—and the only way out of that debt was to bleed in Morris’s cage. Only this time, that was not happening. “You picked the wrong player,” Logan informed him. “You picked one of mine.”

Morris grinned at him. “You want him back? You want the debt canceled? Fine. Then you can trade your ass for his.” Mocking laughter. “You can get in the cage. Because someone has to enter. I’ve got to have my fight. You can take his place tomorrow night, and if you manage to beat my fighter, then we can talk about Jake and⁠—”

“Nope. I’m done talking. But I am in the mood to fight. Though I don’t need a cage to do it, and I won’t be waiting until tomorrow. I’ll take the battle here and now.” With that, Logan lunged forward. His fist slammed into Morris’s jaw. The man had a glass jaw. Always had. Always would. Morris went down, hard, his whole body rolling on the floor.

That seemed to be the signal for the other goons to attack. And they did. One rushed at Logan with a knife.

Seeing as how Logan had recently acquired a slash on his right cheek that required seven stitches, he wasn’t particularly in the mood to feel the slice of a blade on his skin again. “Bad mistake,” he snarled at his attacker.

He disarmed the punk in two seconds. Threw the knife, embedded it in a nearby wall. Logan drove a right hook at the man. A hook, then a gut punch. Then a powerful left that sent the man crumbling.

The next fool came at him—tall, lean. But not with a knife. Armed with a gun. Because, sure, when you couldn’t take down your opponent in a hand-to-hand fight, you always went with the gun. “Hardly fair,” Logan grunted. Also, “Charlotte, get down!” Not like he wanted a stray bullet hitting her.

The CIA would roast his ass if that happened.

“Get him!” Morris shouted. Ah, so he was back in the game, was he? “Shoot him!” Morris urged. “Shoot. Him!”

Logan launched at the man with the gun. He tackled him. They hit the floor. “Is this really any way to conduct a business meeting?” Logan asked as he wrenched the gun away. Then he slammed the butt of that gun into the creep’s head. “Night, night.”

“Shoot!” Morris screamed. “Shoot!”

Oh, hell. Logan whipped around. The bloody, missing-nose-ring punk had a gun in his hand now. One aimed at Logan and he was⁠—

Jerking. Shuddering. The punk’s eyes rolled back in his head even as drool poured from his gaping mouth.

Why? What had just caused all the jerking and shuddering?

Charlotte. His new PA stood behind the little bastard. With a taser gripped in her hand. A taser she’d just shoved into the side of his neck.

Still keeping the taser in place, she took the gun from the guy. Then she removed her taser and let him fall forward. His body quivered a few times.

She nudged him with her high heel. Then straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Do you require additional assistance, sir?” she asked Logan in a crisp, cool, professional tone.

Well, well. Logan smiled at her. “I think you are going to be one exceptional PA.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Morris tried to make a run for it. Logan caught him near the cage. He slammed Morris’s face into the side of the cage. “You can’t leave yet.” Logan felt distinctly cheery now. “The meeting isn’t even over.” He flipped Morris around. Pinned him in place.

Morris whimpered.

“Guess who owns this building now?” Logan asked him.

“I-I…do?”

“Nope. Not as of three hours ago. I do. I own the building. I decided to take a more active interest in my neighborhood, mostly because you were bringing down my property value.” He smiled at his prey. “You made a fatal mistake. You went after someone who belonged to me. Now your cage matches? That stupid shit you would run every single week? Over. This place is mine. This town is mine. And if you want to keep seeing daylight, you’ll have your ass and your whole crew—you will all be gone from Vegas by dawn. Got me?”

“G-got you.”

“See, that wasn’t hard.” He looked over at Charlotte. A Charlotte who gripped the gun that the bleeding thug had dropped. “I’m really great at negotiating.”