Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
The shot caller gave a quiet command, causing the others to back off. Only two of them remained in the background, watching carefully; the others returned to…wherever.
“I am Enzo Blanco,” the man said.
I’d heard that name. Blanco. I’d heard many names the past few weeks. Blanco, Mesa, Gajero, Gomez, Delgado, Rodriguez, Rossi…which I was fairly certain was an Italian name. In fact, so was Blanco. And Enzo, right?
I exhaled some smoke as Enzo studied the tattoos that covered my upper body.
His mouth stretched into a faint smile. His skin wrinkled at his cheeks and eyes. My guess was he was in his seventies.
“You have many scars,” he noted.
I smirked and took another pull from the smoke. “Souvenirs to remember those who are no longer with us.”
That made him chuckle, and he nodded and pointed at me. “You’re funny.”
I tilted my head up and blew out more smoke.
“The man who gifted you to us thinks you can entertain us for the rest of the summer.”
The rest of the fucking summer?
And after that?
“But I wouldn’t trust someone who stabs me in the back.” He smiled. “We’ll see how long you last. I give it two rounds.”
I snorted under my breath, unable to help it. Two rounds? Unless they armed my opponent with an actual gun, that notion offended me.
“You are confident.” He was interested. He took a step closer and gathered his hands behind his back. “How many rounds do you guess? I have a bet going with a friend, you see.” He turned back toward the two guards and said something in Spanish, to which one of the dudes hurried off. Enzo returned his attention to me.
“It depends on how you rig the fight,” I replied. “If you have a bunch of cunts with anger issues hoping to assert themselves, and you give them the advantage, it’ll take me a while longer to defeat them.”
“A bunch of cunts,” he laughed. “Such language, boy. There will be no rigging. No weapons. You fight until one of you stops breathing.”
Until one of you stops breathing.
He watched me for my reaction, but I didn’t let the dread sinking in show one bit.
I was going to kill someone tonight. Maybe more than one? Who knew.
I’d already killed once. Once in my life.
I couldn’t come back from that. But if it was between me and someone else…
“I guess I’ll be here till the end of the summer, then,” I said dryly.
His wrinkly mouth twitched with amusement. “I believe I will stick with my bet. I know who you’re fighting.”
I shrugged. If I were to attempt a guess on his strategy, he was going to sic a large motherfucker on me first. He wouldn’t offer anyone of great importance to him before he’d seen me.
Muscled-up gym bros were the worst fighters. They couldn’t move around for shit.
I smoked my cigarette and flicked my gaze to someone approaching in the background. This man wore a fancier suit. He was tall as fuck. Younger than Enzo too. Maybe forty-five, fifty. And he wasn’t alone. He had a guard with him, walking a few paces behind.
Enzo glanced back. “Rafael.” He continued in Spanish, but I got the gist. They were talking about me. Enzo gestured to me and shared his amusement with a chuckle or two.
Rafael smirked faintly and gave me a once-over.
This was straight-up cartel bullshit, wasn’t it? I’d picked up enough hints along the way—affiliations, references to bosses and crews, using terms I’d heard River and Reese say before.
I finished my smoke and flicked it out of the cage.
Enzo and Rafael watched where it landed.
“So you think the American boy will last six rounds…” Enzo’s switch to English made Rafael cock his head.
Maybe he didn’t underst—
“Minimum.” Never mind. He spoke English too. “He’s had training.”
You fucking bet.
I couldn’t get a good read on him, and it annoyed me. He looked like a billionaire CEO, with his bespoke suit and not a hair out of place, but his stance told me he might be more than a cartel-loving businessman. His posture reminded me just a little bit of some of the men I’d joked around with at a barbecue recently.
Rafael’s English was flawless too. He didn’t have an accent like Enzo.
“So have our men,” Enzo responded coolly. “Would you be interested in raising the stakes?”
Rafael’s curiosity was piqued. “Business and pleasure in one evening—it must be my lucky day. What do you have in mind?”
Enzo chuckled and turned to me, though his words were for Rafael. “If I win, you come work for me and help me handle our California problem.”
“And if I win?”
Enzo smiled up at him. “Marco can strike a deal with Mesa and Gajero and offer you a bigger cut.”
Mesa. Gajero. More names I’d heard before.
The two men shook hands and spared me a brief glance before they walked away.