Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
ARES
You know the saying, misery loves company? That’s why Atlas sits in the passenger seat, trying to talk me off the ledge so I don’t crash my Camaro. I love this car. And I love him. But I’m so fucking angry about having to throw my fight that I want to drive off a cliff.
Gripping the stick shift, I floor the gas pedal and race toward the light, taking a hard right.
“Ares,” Atlas warns, curling his fingers around my wrist. “Calm down. If you crash this car, you’ll kill both of us, and we won’t get our revenge.”
Through clenched teeth, I say, “I’m going to rip out Alexander Drakos’s dead fucking heart from his chest.” I whip around another bend, the wheels screeching, the scent of rubber wafting in the breeze. “And then I’m going to feed it to that smug bastard.”
My brother’s hold on my wrist tightens. “Knock this shit off and slow the fuck down.”
If anyone can talk some sense into me, it’s Atlas. He gets me in ways Apollo never has and never will. It probably has something to do with all the girls we fucked together, all the women we passed around so our brother could cure his affliction. Our need to help Apollo bonded us.
So I release my foot from the gas, snapping my head at Atlas. His shoulders sink in relief.
“I’m mad,” I tell him. “But I won’t hurt you.”
Family is everything.
We’re all we have.
I pull up in front of a rundown building on the South Side of Beacon Bay—the home of Akropolis. At least a hundred cars crowd the parking lot and line down the street against the curb. People drink and smoke at the entrance, sharing rolled blunts and cigarettes.
I hop out of my Camaro and walk with Atlas toward the building. At the door, I tip my head at a bouncer.
“Hey, Frankie.”
He nods. “Hey, boss. Good luck tonight.”
I wink. “I don’t need luck.”
I head into the fight club, knowing I will lose tonight.
I don’t have a choice.
“Alexander showed up at the house tonight as a reminder,” Atlas says. “You have to lose.”
It’s killing me.
“I know, little brother.”
I pride myself on being undefeated. My entire career is unblemished, and I’m tainting my winning streak to keep my club. It’s a Catch-22 situation. I can either win the fight or lose my club.
It’s that simple.
Beautiful women have bare flesh on display. As usual, there are at least twice the amount of men. Women stare at me as I pass. They look at Atlas, too.
Akropolis is what you’d expect for a fight club—two rings, four bars, three concession stands, and complete fucking chaos.
People are waving money in the air, taking bets.
Almost-naked girls are dressed in spandex and underwear.
One girl is shaking her pasty-covered tits with only a tiny piece of fabric covering her pussy.
Two fights are already in progress. They’re boxers. Sometimes, we invite mixed martial artists to Akropolis.
Like tonight.
The guy I’m fighting flew in from Las Vegas and is part of an MMA team. He’s a legit, no-nonsense fighter. Even if I wasn’t supposed to throw the fight, there’s a good chance I could lose for real.
We weave through the crowd toward the back of the building. I have an hour to get my hands wrapped and complete my pre-fight ritual. Usually, I would come two hours early and listen to music. But this isn’t a regular fight, and I don’t give a shit.
Atlas and I push past the crowd of sweat-covered people. The stench of bleach, blood, alcohol, and cigarette smoke floats through the air.
I enter the back hallway, slinging a bag over my shoulder. “Do you think Alexander told Ophelia about the fight after we left?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. He’s hiding that from her. Did you see how cagey he got when she asked if he was getting into sports betting?”
“Yeah, I guess. But if he fucks up our plans…”
“He won’t,” Atlas says with confidence. “He doesn’t want his niece to hate him. And Ophelia will if she finds out what he’s doing to you. You’ve already got her wrapped around your finger.”
I glance at him. “I do, don’t I? Pretty soon, she’ll be ours.”
He grins at that.
Fighters stroll down the dimly lit hallway, wearing boxing trunks. I wave to two men I recognize. Atlas bobs his head, and we keep going without a word to them.
Everyone at Akropolis knows better than to speak to me on a fight night. I demand complete silence to focus on my technique and allow myself to get into the zone.
I push on the door to the changing room. “If Ophelia finds out about the fight, maybe I’ll get a pity fuck.”
He punches my arm lightly. “You’re a cheat.”
“You want her?” I open the locker and look for my gloves. “She’s yours, too. No one is stopping you.”
I chuck the tape and gauze at Atlas and sit in front of him in a chair, leaning forward for him to wrap my hands. He’s been doing this for me since high school. Atlas is my good luck charm. I’m superstitious as fuck, and this is one of many rituals.
“Wrap my hands, and let’s get this over with.”
My words say one thing, but I feel like I’m dying on the inside. I’m losing a piece of myself by throwing this fight because of the Drakos family.
My new family.
Fuck them.