Chapter Twenty-One #2
Nestore came in and brushed his palm over my back. Goose bumps rippled across my skin from the gentle touch. “These remind me of how you helped me, how you risked your safety for me. They are proof of your kindness and only highlight your inner and outer beauty.”
Tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back, not trusting my waterproof mascara to do its job.
“When you say things like that, it gives me hope that you’ll forgive me for running one day.”
He pressed a soft kiss to the scar below my left shoulder blade but didn’t say anything.
Despite Remo’s offer that someone would take me to Roger’s Arena, the new fighting spot in Las Vegas, I was glad Nestore had insisted we travel together.
He was quiet and focused during the ride to the arena, and when we arrived, he extended his hand for me to take without a word.
I gripped him firmly to assure him I was strong enough for this.
I didn’t want him to worry about me while he fought for his life.
Roger’s Arena was located in an unspectacular gray concrete building with a small red neon sign above the steel entrance door.
The overcrowded parking lot had everything from tiny electronic cars to pickup trucks to luxury limousines.
Nestore’s fight seemed to draw lots of attention.
The bouncers stepped back with looks of shock and admiration when Nestore walked up to them, as if they had never seen him up close.
He pulled me along, past the cloakroom and into a vast bar area.
Smaller, round tables were arranged around a massive fighting cage in the center of the room.
More comfortable-looking red leather booths were positioned against the walls.
The floor and walls were bare concrete, a triste gray.
The only dash of color on the walls was letters made from neon tubing, attached to mesh wire, that read honor, pain, blood, victory, and strength.
The bar, with its colorful bottles and a red background light, softened the harsh interior design.
The air was ripe with nervous energy and smelled of smoke, beer, and sweat.
Nestore’s fingers around mine tightened as he pulled me through the narrow gaps between the tables toward a booth where Nino and Remo sat with Fabiano and an unfamiliar teenage boy.
The men at the table respectfully leaned back as Nestore and I walked by, making sure they didn’t touch Nestore or me.
At least, that was what everyone did until we reached the second-to-last table before we’d reach the VIP booth.
Three middle-aged men sat around the table.
Several empty beer bottles and shot glasses covered the table top.
The stench of alcohol was more potent here.
One of the men with steel-gray hair and a scar on his cheek was groping a woman who looked to be around my age and was probably a professional, considering her very skimpy outfit and the disdainful look she gave her groper when he wasn’t paying attention.
They were guffawing, and one of them gave me a leering smile as he scanned me from head to toe.
Before I could react, he grabbed my hand.
“Babe, ditch the lad and take a real man’s dick.
” His hand moved toward my ass. Nestore jerked me behind him, gripped the man’s throat, and catapulted him on top of the table.
Beer bottles and glasses tumbled to the floor and splintered.
Nestore pulled a dagger from the holster at his waist and slammed it down on the man’s throat.
He panted, his face alight with rage. The man’s eyes were wide, his mouth parted as he gulped for breath with the knife sticking out of his throat. His friends jumped back from the table.
“Call the police!” the steel-gray guy roared.
The woman rolled her eyes and walked away from him, but not before she stole his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Nobody touches my wife. Nobody looks at her with anything but the utmost respect and deference, and nobody talks to her like that unless they want to enjoy my wrath.” He ripped the knife out of the man’s throat, and blood spurted out of the hole in a curved fountain.
Shrieks and gasps sounded around us, followed by someone throwing up.
“If that makes you vomit, you’d better leave before our Madman from Los Angeles enters the cages,” said Remo with a twisted smile as he stalked toward us.
The two friends of the dying man stood around the scene with varying looks of shock.
“He killed him!” Steel-gray shouted, looking a little green.
Blood covered the table and the floor beneath it, and slowly spread out. A few droplets had also landed on surrounding tables, but most people simply waved at the servers to clean them up.
Remo chuckled. “You are new, aren’t you?” He stopped beside the bled-out man on the table. “One of you will have to pay for his drinks. Death isn’t an excuse to skip out on the bill.”
“We’ll call the police!”
A guy from another table touched Steel-gray’s shoulder. “Stop it, mate. You’re writing your death certificate.”
Nestore took a bottle of clear alcohol from another table and doused the blood-covered blade with it until it was clean, then he put it back in his holster and grabbed my hand.
“Nino,” Remo shouted to his brother, who had stayed seated in the booth and looked mildly annoyed. “Add another fight to the list. This asshole wants to call the police.” Two bouncers grabbed Steel-gray.
“If you win against the Madman, you’re free to call the police. I’ll even pay for your drinks,” Remo said with a grin that was on the verge of madness. “If you don’t, you’ll wish for your friend’s quick end.”
The man shouted and struggled, but the bouncers dragged him to the back of the bar, where the changing rooms were.
“Dammit. He’s really a madman!” the teenage boy who looked remarkably like Nino and Remo, but prettier and less messed up, shouted with a huge smirk.
“Come on,” Nestore murmured and tugged me toward the booth. He made me sit down beside Nino, who gave me a brief nod before he turned to Nestore. “You’re disturbing my schedule.”
“I can kill him in the changing room, then you don’t have to worry about squeezing in another fight.”
Nino waved him off and moved his finger over a list on his tablet. “Remo would be intolerable if he didn’t get his will. Kill him in the cage, but make it quick. It’s a waste of time. Nobody will bet on him.”
I blinked at his analytical tone. Fabiano shook his head and downed a shot glass of a clear liquid. “I know why Remo expects you to fight more often than the rest of us. You are his version of entertainment.”
Remo and the teenage boy joined us at that moment. The younger guy sank down across from me and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Now I get why he chased you for two years—”
“Don’t say anything else, Savio,” Fabiano hissed and shoved Savio’s shoulder. “Are you daft or didn’t you see what just happened?”
“He wouldn’t kill a Falcone.”
Remo sank beside his young brother. “He’s batshit crazy, so he might.
I would kill him for it, but it wouldn’t save your annoying ass, so shut up and chase another skirt.
” He pointed at the girl who had stolen Steel-gray’s wallet and was enjoying a beer at the bar.
“The whore’s not busy. If you need to stick your dick into a hole, pick her. ”
Savio rolled his eyes and leaned back with crossed arms, but he shut up.
Nestore looked at Remo and gave a small nod, then his gaze hit me. “I’ll go change now. You’re safe here.”
Looking from Remo to Savio to Fabiano, then to Nino, I wished I had Nestore’s confidence in these men. But they freaked me out, which said a lot, considering I had just watched Nestore kill a man for trying to grope my ass.
I watched Nestore’s retreat with a sinking heart. He wasn’t worried, but with him, I was never sure if that was because he was sure of winning or if he didn’t care if he died.