24. Ariyan
ARIYAN
This dog… He knew how to listen after all.
With my undivided attention on the cage, I watched him prolong the fight while making his opponent sweat for it. He was on a whole different level from the other fighter, but listening to me, he made sure to put on a show. And it worked, considering how the crowd was losing it.
Moving around inside the cage, eyes on his prey, he looked like a fierce tiger. With his strong body and blood-covered fists, he was exactly what I needed.
A beast.
It was his third fight, and so far, it was going much better than the first two as he finally understood the game.
Cleaning a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth, he then glanced up at where I was staring at him from the shadows.
My lips formed a tight line, as it was still too early to smile.
Yet, I enjoyed the thirst in his eyes, the need for confirmation.
He didn’t know it yet, but soon enough, he wouldn’t dare to piss without getting my approval.
Putting both hands on the railing, I leaned forward, watching closely as he punched the other fighter with such grace it seemed easy. Yet, it was anything but. The same as mastering the art of haiku, Mr. Rivas created poetry with his fists.
It was lethal, but gorgeous nonetheless.
Those punches and jabs he threw, I knew firsthand how painful they felt. I knew how his fist colliding with your face was enough to shatter your bones and what the aftermath of facing it felt like.
Briefly brushing a hand over my jaw, I focused back on the fight just in time to catch him looking up again, a dumb grin on his face.
What a fool.
But a useful fool, at that, because just now, he threw a perfect uppercut right into his opponent’s chin.
But the fight wasn’t yet over, and the crowd roared as my beast began striking him again, and again, and again.
Each punch echoed around the hangar, creating such a beautiful sound.
The sound of violence, which I’d grown acquainted with.
A sound that men, like the filth that flooded this place, were addicted to.
* * *
“Well, if it isn’t the hotel manager himself,” said the bookkeeper while piling stacks of money on the coffee table in front of him.
He was as much of a bookkeeper as I was a hotelier, but knowing better, we kept up the act.
“Mr. Sinclair. What a nice surprise seeing you here.” A fake smile spread on my lips. “I got so used to your subordinates that I forgot how you looked.”
He forced a thin smile, one that made his mustache curl upward like a caterpillar.
Lovely.
“Well, rumor has it that you brought a good one this time.” He leaned back on the leather sofa he was sitting on, while I kept standing. “So good that even the boss asked about him.”
Sinclair, who worked for the Frenchman, was often amused by the number of failures I brought here. But to be fair, all those other morons I’d wasted my time on didn’t last two rounds in the cage.
“God has finally shown me a bit of luck with this fighter.”
“You and God?” He snorted, lighting up a smoke. “It will be a cold day in hell before anybody believes you have one.”
I hate smoking.
“Now, then, tell me, where did you find your guy?” He took a pull on his cigarette.
“At a dog shelter.”
Exhaling the smoke, he huffed a laugh.
“My God, I forgot your sense of humor,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Anyway, I mean it when I say the boss is interested. It’s the first time he’s asked about a fighter only three fights in.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Of course he did. The Frenchman had a fatal attraction to only two things, okay, maybe three—money, sex, and blood.
“Well, tell your boss that my guy is only here for a short while.” A slight smile spread on my lips. “Five fights and he’s out.”
Locking eyes with me, Sinclair pushed four stacks of money toward me. “Are you sure about that?”
I reached down and collected them. “Yes.”
He pushed another stack. “You know my boss has an eye for talent.”
Collecting the fifth stack, I brushed a finger over the bills. “He and I both.”
“He’s also persistent.”
“Again… he and I both.”
He clicked his tongue before pulling out another stack and placing it on the table.
Pleased, I took it.
“We want him in the big league.”
“The big league, you say?” I hummed, eyes focused on the money. With my betting profits and the extra he gave me, there was easily 40K in here.
“Yes.”
I looked up at him, the smile once again returning to my lips. “With your generosity and warm hospitality, I might just consider it.”
Sinclair stared at me with a raised brow.
“You know, my boss doesn’t like people standing in his way.”
Oh, did I know it. In fact, I was counting on that man’s greed and juvenile impatience.
“Tell your boss that my dog won’t fight for anyone but me. So if he wants to see him again, he’d better behave.”
Sinclair gritted his teeth, saying how I needed to watch my mouth, although at this point, I didn’t care for what he had to say, as I’d already gotten what I needed.
A ticket to the big league, where the real money was.
But first things first, I had to meet that moron and toss him a treat—a small reward for being a good boy.
After all, if I wanted him to continue fighting for me, I had to keep him close, as disgusting as it might be.
And yes, he was disgusting. Big, strong, and resentful.
With bright eyes I wanted to gouge out and a smile so dumb it made me physically ill.
But the worst part was his lust. Same as any other man, he thought with his dick, and what was a bigger turnoff than that?
* * *
“Didn’t I tell you not to wear joggers anymore?”
Pushing back from the wall he leaned against, Mr. Rivas turned to face me, both hands shoved in his hoodie’s pocket.
“It’s to keep my muscles warm after the fight.”
I tsked, hating that he had an answer, then took a bunch of bills from my pocket and shoved them in his chest.
“There you go,” I said, ready to leave, when he placed his hand on my waist and kept me close.
“Do you want to die—”
“Since when do you smoke?” he asked, his face too damn close.
My brows furrowed as I stared at him, my lips slightly parted while I tried coming up with a response. But something was wrong with my head because I couldn’t, not when his hand grabbed me like that.
“I don’t,” I whispered hoarsely.
His eyes studied me a second more before he sniffed me, literally sniffed me like a dirty dog. But instead of the regular repulsion, an odd sensation tightened my stomach.
“You smell of cigs,” he murmured, his lips almost on my neck. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Now, be a sweet boy and bring Mommy her cigarettes, okay?
My eyes widened.
“What did you say?” I hissed.
“I said the scent doesn’t suit you.”
My breath caught, and for a moment, I froze. That bastard Sinclair. He smoked in that windowless room—no wonder the smoke stuck to my clothes.
I’ll have to burn them now.
Placing my palm on this idiot’s chest, I pushed him back and moved away.
“Touch me again and I’ll cut off your arm,” I snarled, brushing a hand over my clothes.
“But then I won’t be able to fight for you.”
I looked up to glare at him after his smart-ass response, only to see that he was counting the cash. Somehow, it annoyed me beyond words, and I had to bite my lip so I wouldn’t act impulsively.
What are you waiting for? I said, bring me my smokes, you stupid kid!
Once again, that witch’s words flooded my mind like a disease, and I was struck with the urge to retch. But not here, not in front of this weakling.
“I’ll see you next week,” I said, already moving.
“You mean tomorrow.”
“What?”
Shoving the money into his pocket, he stared at me.
“I’m working tomorrow, in the hotel. Remember?”
My eye twitched.
“Of course I do,” I snarled.
“Sweet.”
He smiled.
Why was it so annoying, even more than usual?
“So, see you tomorrow, boss.”
The most odd thing happened then—I was left without words and instead watched him walking away first. If only I didn’t need him, I would have shot him dead.
Let me correct myself.
I didn’t need him. My plan did.