Chapter 42 #2
I kiss Ace one more time before he runs off to play with Mia, and I straighten to face Rosita.
“Next time you do, let me know and we can have a sleepover at our house.” I reach into my pocket and hand her some cash.
“For dinner, in case you want to order a pizza or something. I’ll come get him in the morning and bring them to the playground if you’d like. ”
“Sure,” Rosita smiles. “Maybe I’ll join you, and we can take them for a picnic. That would be nice.”
“Let me know what you decide, and I’ll pack a basket.”
“ I’ll bring the horchata ,” she teases.
N irvana is blasting through the sound system when I enter the bar full of people wearing a mix of denim, flannel, and crop tops, all of them leaning hard into the theme.
The bar tables around the perimeter of the room have lava lamps, and one of the lady bartenders is sporting crimped hair and butterfly clips.
I spot Latisha at the bar in a faded Boyz II Men tee and high-waisted jeans, already halfway through a cocktail with fruit skewered on the rim. Her face lights up the moment she sees me, and I weave my way through the crowd of strangers who are laughing and singing off-key to the music.
“Look at you, all snatched, nineties style!” Latisha laughs, tugging at the flannel shirt secured around my waist.
“Dean will be thrilled when I stretch the sleeves out beyond wear,” I say, hugging her.
“You look great,” she goes on.
“I don’t have animal cracker crumbs in my bra, so that’s a plus. But you look amazing, also. It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
I take a seat at the bar beside her and order whatever she’s having.
The bartender is quick to bring me the ‘90s-themed cocktail, something sweet, spiked, and probably dangerous. While we catch up between sips and nostalgic music, some of the anxiety I’ve been carrying all day dissipates a bit.
Latisha tells me about the new guy she’s sort of seeing.
I tell her about Ace morphing into Dean, including his obsession with motorcycles.
Then we both crack up at how well we remember the lyrics to the string of Salt N’ Pepa songs playing.
By the time we finish our cocktails, we’re both ready to hit the dance floor.
W e pull through the chain link fence and into the crowded lot of the old, familiar warehouse turned underground arena. As we kill the engines of our bikes, the muffled roar of the crowd inside spills through cracks in the steel.
Viking scans the lot, then checks his watch, then the street.
“What?” I ask as I remove my helmet and dismount Serene.
“You think he’s gonna show?”
I hang my helmet on Serene’s handlebars. “I hope so.”
“I mean Legion. He said he’d be here, but I don’t see his Indian anywhere.”
I take a quick gander around the dark lot. “There’s a lot of bikes here. And he said nine o’clock.” I glance at my watch. “We still have forty minutes.”
Viking slowly dismounts his bike with a heavy sigh. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Like there’s gonna be a raid on this place, kind of not right?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m sure this circuit has all the right people on its payroll. I mean, we haven’t seen Legion since he gave us the details. Are you so hell bent on beating the fuck out of O’Keefe, you haven’t noticed?”
“This lot is full. His bike could be on the other side. It’s possible he’s already in there. And if he isn’t, we’re early. He’s still got time.”
“Alright,” Viking shrugs out of his cut and folds it into the side bag of his bike. “Then let’s go see what these arrangements are.”
I tuck my cut away as well, and we cross the cracked lot to the main entrance.
The night air is warm and slightly muggy, and it feels like being hit with an arctic breeze when we step inside.
The industrial AC is blasting full force in an attempt to offset the heat from the hundreds of bodies packed into this place.
Yelling, sweating, betting, and spilling over-priced beer on each other.
The cold only half-masks the ripe odor of sweat and the faint, unmistakable metallic tang of blood.
We’re greeted by a big guy in a suit, sporting a holstered semi-automatic under his open jacket. “Three hundred a head.”
“He’s fighting,” Viking chucks a thumb at me. “We were told it’s all been arranged.”
“Name?” the suit gruffly demands.
“Keegan,” Viking replies.
“This way.” The suit leads us through the outer perimeter of the crowd, down a short hallway, and into a small locker room with a bench and a bathroom with a shower stall.
“You can get ready in here. Pick a locker. There’s a padlock and a key in each.
Don’t lose the key. When your fight’s done, make sure you leave the key in the lock when you go.
Your opponent hasn’t checked in yet, but your fight isn’t until nine.
Center cage. Someone will let you know when he gets here, then you have the option of betting yourself to win.
” He shifts his attention momentarily to Viking. “You his coach or manager?”
Viking only stares silently back at the guy.
“Well, you came with him. You can bet your buddy here to win, or not bet at all.”
“What’s the buy-in to fight?” I ask. “It’s been a few years.”
“It’s already been taken care of.”
Viking waits until the suit shuts the door behind him and we’re alone before he turns to me. “He even covered your fee to fight.”
“Legion said everything was arranged.”
“Yeah… Why does Legion seem as eager as you are for this fight, though?”
“Maybe he bet big money on me to win and wants to rake in another easy million,” I mutter, though I’m only half serious. Before I shed my clothes down to my MMA shorts, I pull out the cash from my pocket and hand it to Viking. “When you get the chance, bet me to win.”
Viking fingers through the cash. “Do you think O’Keefe really had any idea how bad he was fucking you over with Legion?”
“He knew he was selling me out for something. He might not have anticipated the amount of damage Legion caused, but he still fucked me over. I never thought we were friends, but his greed almost cost me everything.”
“We should just go back to the rally and find our guys. Put this money in Ace’s college fund,” Viking says, attempting to hand it back to me.
I refuse to take it. “I’m gonna fuckin’ triple it. No way I’m losing tonight. I’m in the best shape of my goddamned life. My only concern about tonight is not killing O’Keefe. I’m not losing this fight. I’m gonna paint the fuckin’ ring with him.”
“And imagine Legion while you’re doing it.” Viking reluctantly shoves the cash in his pocket.
I’m probably going to regret asking, but… “ What?”
“Don’t you think you might be a little unhinged when I’m the voice of reason?” Viking jokes, but the troubled expression on his face remains.
“Just say what you want to say, Viking.”
“When has Legion ever done anything for anyone that wasn’t in some way beneficial to him, too?”
“I’m aware the demonic prick hates me and wants everything I have. He knows he can’t fight me. Maybe he wants to live vicariously through O’Keefe? Maybe he’s hoping I end up one of the lucky clovers on the Irish prick’s arm?”
“Or maybe there’s another reason he wants you right here, right now. I just think it’s a little suspicious we haven’t seen Legion around, pretty much since we bumped into him earlier with those two chicks.”
“I didn’t expect him to hang out with us. And there are literally over three hundred thousand people who come to Bike Week every year. Easy for him to disappear for a while in a crowd that size.”
“And he’d expect you to know that.”
Fuck… Viking has a solid point. I wouldn’t put it past Legion either. He would make a very brief appearance in order to convince me he’s a couple hundred miles away from Vanna.
“For all we know, he’s already high-tailed it back to Bermuda County. Back to Vanna ,” Viking goes on, voicing my fears out loud.
Son of a bitch…that’s exactly what he’s done! He’s probably been back in town for hours now!
If I didn’t already have reason enough to beat O’Keefe to a bloody pulp, Legion’s fucking antics have pushed me over the edge.
“Fuck… I know that look,” Viking mutters.
Renewed rage courses through my veins. “ Bet me to win.”