Chapter Seventeen
Hungry For It
Juliet
G ETTING OUT OF the car, I scanned the windowless building Maximo had parked in front of. “I thought we were going to one of your properties.”
He hadn’t said as much, I’d just assumed.
“We are.” Taking my hand, he started walking toward the doors.
“This is one of your casinos?”
I’d picked Dad up from a variety of nontraditional casinos, including the airport, gas stations, and even an old church that’d been converted into a strip club and casino. This wasn’t even in the top ten strangest setups I’d seen, but I was still surprised.
He burst out laughing and his steps stopped so suddenly, I nearly lost my balance. He grabbed my waist to steady me. “This is not one of my casinos. I own the warehouse.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know?”
“Do I look like the kind of man who runs a casino out of a warehouse?”
No, you look like the kind of man who runs the whole damn world.
I lifted a shoulder. “No?”
“Is that a question or an answer?”
“An answer?” At his narrowed eyes, I held my hands in the air. “I don’t know what that kind of man would look like.”
Gripping my hand again, Maximo started walking. “Jesus, I’m taking you to my actual resorts ASAP so you don’t think this piss-poorly of me.”
Yay.
Taking in the empty lot and horror movie vibe, I couldn’t help asking, “Why do you hold fights here?”
We stopped outside a set of metal double doors.
The dim overhead light played with the darkness, adding shadows to Maximo’s defined jaw and cheekbones.
He looked menacing and hot . There was something unreadable in his expression as he curled his hand around the side of my neck, his thumb stroking across the bite mark. “You’ll see.”
With that ominous answer, he released me to touch his thumb to a keypad similar to the ones at home. There was a beep and a click before he opened the door, gesturing for me to enter first.
It may not have looked like an arena from the outside, but the inside sure did.
And a nice one, at that.
Rows of empty padded folding chairs surrounded the ring in the center of the humongous room. Speakers and lights hung from the high ceiling, stocked bars lined the walls, and a blank scoreboard was suspended over the ring.
With a hand at my lower back, Maximo guided me around the edge of the room and down a long hallway. He put his thumb on another lock and opened the door to an office.
He grabbed a remote off the desk and turned on a small TV. “Stay here while I check on everything.”
“I can help,” I offered, not wanting to miss a moment of the excitement. There were a lot of things I hated about my childhood, but boxing wasn’t one of them. It was thrilling and primal and beautiful in a violent way.
“Maybe next time. Marco will be outside the door.”
And then he left.
I scanned the office, but it was just beige concrete walls, two doors, a metal desk, and a few metal filing cabinets. Trying one of the drawers, it loudly slid open.
Empty.
Boring.
I opened a door to find a tiny bathroom that’d seen better days. I used it anyway, scrubbing my hands like a surgeon when I was done. Flopping down on the desk chair, I spun around a few times before leaning back to watch the TV.
After forty-five minutes—or a sitcom and a half in TV time—there was a ruckus in the hall.
People must be arriving.
I cracked the door to check it out, but the only view I got was of Marco’s broad back.
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Need something?”
“No, I—”
“Then close the door.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I just wanted to see.”
“Close the door, Juliet.”
“Fine.” Since I couldn’t see anything past the human door that was Marco, I closed the actual one. I climbed onto the desk and flicked through the stations, growing more and more envious of the people in the arena.
The air was always wired before a match. The blood lust and violence. The adrenaline. The savageness. It was unlike anything else.
Instead of experiencing that high, I was stuck experiencing the low that came from shitty TV.
After another sitcom, the door swung open, the low rumble of chaos growing louder. Maximo stood in the doorway, his expression blank.
I turned off the TV and approached, his sharp eyes tracking my every movement. When I got within reach, he hooked a hand behind my neck and tugged me so I slammed against his chest. His head lowered and his lips pressed against mine in a bruising kiss.
There was a desperation to it I may not have understood, but I liked. A lot. His kiss wasn’t as cold and aloof as he’d been. It was hot and fervent.
Pulling away, he held my hand but didn’t speak as we left the room—not that I would’ve been able to hear him anyway. Conversation and laughter traveled down the hall at a steady roar. Since there was no cheering or flesh hitting flesh mixed in with the noise, I knew the matches hadn’t begun.
When we reached the main area, my steps faltered before stopping completely.
It was…
Insanity.
Chaos.
Wild .
There were beautiful women in various stages of undress hanging on men. Minidress clad waitresses navigated through the crush with practiced ease. The heavy stench of liquor and cigars clung in the air, mixing with wired adrenaline—a cocktail for depravity.
Noticing I’d stopped, Maximo paused, too, his eyes on me as a muscle in his jaw twitched. After a long moment, he tugged my hand as he continued down the aisle.
As we moved, I glanced around at people talking, drinking, and smoking. No one was dressed casually. It was all pristine suits and sexy dresses, and the smell of money filled the air just as strongly as the tobacco.
When I caught sight of an older, bald man openly groping a redhead’s breast, I dropped my focus to my feet.
Maximo stopped at the first row. Clearly for VIPs, the chairs had extra padding and there were small tables between each one.
He sat in the aisle chair, and I started squeeze by him when he pulled me into his lap. Settling me on his thigh with my legs between his spread ones, he wrapped an arm around me.
Surprised by the intimate hold, my eyes shot to his, but his stony stare was aimed outward at everyone else.
He was a king, daring anyone to challenge him for his throne.
No sooner had we settled than a pretty blond cocktail waitress appeared at our side. “Usual whiskey, Mr. Black?”
He didn’t even glance her way. “Two waters.”
“Yes, sir.” She sped away, ignoring anyone who tried to flag her down.
I sat stiffly on his lap, my spine steeled and my hands clasped so I didn’t fidget.
Never give away more than you want them to know.
Well, I definitely don’t want this lion’s den to sniff out my discomfort because they’ll pounce on the show of weakness.
Movement on the other side of the aisle caught my attention, and I watched as a woman leaned forward and lifted her short skirt to expose her ass.
The man she was in front of ran his hand along the top of her ass cheeks.
Only when he bent forward did I realize he’d been spreading a line of coke.
He happily snorted it before running his tongue along the residue.
He smacked her ass and she stood upright, tugged her dress into place, and walked away.
When I got a view of his face not coke deep in someone’s ass, I recognized him, though it took me a moment to place from where. He was a politician. I didn’t know what kind, but I’d seen his face plastered on billboards and the election ads that repeated every other commercial.
I shifted my gaze far from him and was careful not to let it settle in one spot for too long. Surrounded by drugs, alcohol, beautiful women, and rich men seeking a thrill, I was betting there was a lot happening I didn’t want to see.
The waitress returned and set the water bottles on the small table next to us. She didn’t wait for acknowledgment before moving on to serve someone else.
Maximo grabbed a bottle and released me just long enough to open the lid and hand it to me. I took a sip, but the cold water sat heavily in my stomach. He took it back and set it next to him.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
He just lifted his chin.
It wasn’t long before more people filled the seats.
A couple stopped in front of us. The man’s surprised eyes landed briefly on me before focusing on Maximo. He extended his hand. “Black.”
“Adams.” Without releasing his hold on me, Maximo used his free hand to shake before making introductions. “Juliet, this is Tony and Ella Adams.”
Ella smiled at me, offering a little wave. “I love your dress, Juliet.”
“Thanks, I love yours, too.” It was sexy and red, with a Jessica Rabbit-esque slit up the thigh.
“It’s fun to get dressed up every now and then.” She took the seat two over and Tony took the one on the other side, leaving an empty chair between us. I was relieved I wouldn’t have to make or listen to small talk all night.
All conversation quieted as the room turned electric.
Like everyone else, I felt the morbid anticipation of what was to come. My heart raced and it took everything in me to sit still.
A light-haired man climbed into the ring, gripping a microphone as he walked around.
“Ladies and gentlemen, betting for bout one is officially closed. You can place wagers on the other two until ten minutes before they begin, so if you’re feeling lucky, get your ass up and put your cash down. It’s gonna be a helluva night!”
Loud music blared through the speakers as a parade of people came down the aisle right next to us. In the midst of them was a boxer in green shorts, but there were no sponsor emblems attached to them.
That’s weird.
He climbed into the ring with part of his crew, the rest setting up outside their corner.
The music changed suddenly, thumping bass shaking the ground. Another parade of people and another fighter with no sponsor emblems on his blue shorts went past, rounding the ring for his corner. Unlike his opponent, he climbed in alone as his people raced around to get everything set up.