Savage King Preview
MATEO
“How much money?”
Fabian’s shifty eyes flit over to Diego, my second in command, but I fist my hand in his collar and force his gaze back to me.
“Don’t look at him. He can’t save you. I asked you a fucking question. How much money have you stolen from me?”
“I didn’t—”
I shove him away and circle the tiny office in the back of one of my gyms. I own twelve gyms throughout Las Vegas. They’re just some of my legitimate businesses in the city. They’re excellent for cleaning money from my less legitimate holdings.
I’m a man with vast interests.
And this motherfucker thought it would be a good idea to skim money from me.
I turn to Diego and lift an eyebrow.
“Just under a hundred and fifty thousand over two years.”
Nodding, feeling the frustration bubbling beneath my skin, I turn back to Fabian and watch as the idiot wets himself.
Why do they always piss themselves?
“Fuck.” Exhaling, I look up to the ceiling and shake my head. “The thing is, I pay you well. I’m not unreasonable. However, I’m also not a fucking doormat. If you steal from me, you make me look weak. And if there’s anything in this fucked-up world that I can’t stomach, it’s looking fucking weak.”
“No, I—”
I pull the gun from where it’s tucked in the small of my back and shoot Fabian right between the eyes. Two seconds later, he falls to the floor.
“Get him to the graveyard,” I tell Diego, who sighs but nods grimly. “Is anyone else fucking brave enough to pocket my money?”
“No, boss.”
“Good. I’ll be out for the rest of the night.”
“I wish you’d let me go with you. You know I don’t like you being there without backup.”
Shaking my head, I ignore my number two and grab my leather jacket on my way through the fitness center. Men spar in the ring, and there are people lifting weights and on cardio machines. It’s busy in here, despite the late hour.
It’s always busy in here.
I’d often be the one sparring with them, helping, taking some hits, but tonight is the real thing.
I need a night in the cage. I need to pound my fist into an opponent’s face. I want to see their fear. I want to see their desperation.
I need that adrenaline.
The underground fighting in Vegas is another lucrative business that I own. Others have tried to edge me out, and those fuckers are in the graveyard.
This is my world. The bets, the fighters, every little piece of this goes through my people.
It’s not officially attached to my organized crime dealings with my brothers, the other three Kings of Vegas, although if I give them a heads-up, they will gladly attend my fights.
I never ask them to invest money in this. I don’t need them for that.
It’s a well-oiled, profitable machine that I love. It’s my passion. It’s my baby.
And although no one knows that I’m coming in to fight tonight, I’m crashing anyway.
Because I have a lot of pent-up frustration that I need to take out on someone’s fucking face.
I could go to Rapture, the adult club owned by my brother, Rome—which happens to be his passion and separate from our usual dealings—and fuck the edge out of me, but this calls for blood.
Violence.
And that’s not my kink when I fuck.
I swing into my penthouse to grab my gear and decide to ride the bike the short distance from my building to my fight club. Security sees me pull in, and they’re immediately speaking into their comms, alerting everyone inside that I’m here.
That’s fine. At least they’re doing their jobs.
After parking in my space, I pull off my helmet and leave it on the handlebars, then look at the nearest armed security and lift my chin.
“Yes, boss.”
“Anyone touches this, they die.”
“Got it, boss.”
I slip inside and make my way to the control room, where twelve screens are hung on the wall, showing live feeds from the entire arena.
One screen is dedicated to bets, so we can monitor those as well.
There’s a match going now, and blood spatters from a particularly rough left jab, and it only fuels my anticipation.
This is going to be fun.
“Who’s on the docket tonight?” I ask Pandora, my manager. She’s in a tight-as-fuck black leather dress that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination and might lose its fight with her tits at any second.
“Wasn’t expecting you,” she mutters, her brows low in a scowl, her bright-red lips pursed.
“Disappointed?” I lift an eyebrow and chuckle when she rolls her eyes.
“Just irritated, that’s all.” Pandora’s not afraid of me. She does too good of a job for me to fire her for insubordination. “I have one unmatched fighter. Sampson.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Mateo, he outweighs you by forty pounds.”
“I’ll take it,” I repeat and cross my arms, watching everything unfold in my arena. The crowd is fucking electric tonight.
“You haven’t fought in a few months,” Pandora says as she clicks her nails on the keyboard. “Please don’t die tonight. I need the fucking money.”
I laugh at that and shake my head.
No, I haven’t fought in a while because I’ve been busy. And maybe that’s why I’m so on edge lately. I need to sweat it out in the cage.
My eyes skim the area as I listen to the crowd lose their fucking minds, feeling the energy surge through me, and then my gaze stops and I slowly lean forward, plant my hands on the desk, and stare.
“Blow this up,” I say, nodding at the space on the screen.
“Someone causing trouble?” Pandora asks, doing as I say, but I don’t answer her.
Someone’s always causing some kind of trouble here. I don’t police the drugs or the bad attitudes, and I make a fuck ton of money off the booze.
But that’s not what I’m looking at.
She doesn’t fit in. It’s not that she doesn’t blend.
She’s tattooed, her red hair in a long braid down her back.
She’s in a vintage rock-band T-shirt, the sleeves missing, and cutoff denim shorts.
Her curves make me salivate. I love a woman who isn’t stick thin.
I want hips to hold on to and tits I can lose myself in.
I can’t see her feet, but I’d bet that one-of-a-kind sport bike outside that she’s wearing Chucks.
Or sneakers.
She’s not dressed to the nines with impeccable makeup and hair styled within an inch of its life.
And her eyes aren’t on the cage. They skim the crowd as she works that lower lip between straight teeth, and I instantly want to know everything there is to know about her.
Without looking at Pandora, I press a button, and less than a minute later, Snake, my head of security, walks into the office.
“Boss.”
“This woman.” I point to the screen. “Doesn’t leave this building until I have the chance to talk to her.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t approach her. Leave her alone, but if she tries to leave, tell her to wait for me in my private office.”
He nods, and then he’s gone, and I turn to find Pandora watching me with raised eyebrows.
“What?”
“Do you know her?”
I simply stare at her, and she rolls her eyes.
“You’re starting to piss me off, Dora.”
“Shocking.” She shakes her head and gets back to work. “You’d better go get ready. You’re on after the next match.”
Without a word, I walk out of the room and down to my private office suite where I take my time changing into my shorts, wrapping my hands, and putting on the open-fingered gloves. I don’t wear a helmet.
None of us do.
When there’s a knock on my door, I open it and find Snake there, ready for me.
“Status on the girl?” I ask as he follows me down the hallway.
“She’s in the same spot. Hasn’t moved.”
“Let’s walk past her on the way to the cage.”
“You sure?”
“I didn’t fucking stutter.”