Chapter 2
Two
VIOLET
Ihate these fights. I’ve been here almost every night for months, hoping to catch a glimpse of my sister, but she’s never here.
When I first moved to Vegas, no one knew, or wanted to tell me, where some of these shadier fights went down.
I spent so many months just combing the streets for Rosie that I know this city inside out.
But I finally caught a break when I had someone getting inked in my chair tell me about this. It doesn’t have a name, and it doesn’t officially exist, and yet it operates every night of the week.
I try to be here as often as possible, and it fucking sucks. The men are lewd and sweaty. Loud. Drunk or stoned and so fucking handsy it drives me nuts. Even having a woman on their arm doesn’t keep them from reaching out with their free hand to try to grab my ass.
Fucking gross.
Most of the girls here show a ton of skin, wear so much makeup I’m surprised there’s any left on the shelves in stores, and look like they’re trying too hard to impress everyone else in the room. And I’m not judging them for it. They look great.
I, on the other hand, usually come here straight from work, so I don’t dress up.
Not that I have that kind of wardrobe anyway.
I’m a jeans-and-T-shirt kind of girl, so that’s what I come in.
No one seems to pay me any attention at all, but rather they strut around for each other and watch the fights.
“Ooooh!” the crowd moans when the guy in the cage knocks the other guy out and then puts his hands up and peacocks around.
Suddenly, a hush falls over the crowd, and I hear the people around me whispering to each other.
“He isn’t on the docket.”
“—haven’t seen him here in months.”
“God, he’s so damn sexy.”
My mouth twitches, and I stand on my toes so I can scan the area, looking for what they’re talking about, when suddenly a man walks by that has my breath leaving my body.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Bronzed skin. Tattoos. Shaggy dark hair that curls at the ends. He’s already covered in a sheen of sweat, and when my eyes move up, I find that his own eyes, deep brown, are pinned to mine. Hot. Curious. Full of power. And it sends a zing right down my spine.
He lifts a brow.
I glance away.
Shit.
What the hell?
When I’m brave enough to look up again, he’s staring straight ahead at the other man already in the cage.
“That guy owns this whole operation,” I hear someone say behind me.
“Like the entire fight club?” Someone else asks.
“That’s right. Scary motherfucker. Haven’t seen him fight in a while.”
Oh God. Is this the person my sister was talking about in her letter? Is this Damien?
“Mateo Cabrera,” the man behind me says.
Hmm, so not Damien.
But he might be Damien’s boss or know where he is. He could lead me to my sister.
Mateo enters the cage, and the crowd is going crazy, people are screaming out bets, and it’s absolute chaos.
He’s not bouncing around like the other guy, who looks a little bigger than Mateo. No, Mateo just stands there, his face completely stony, staring at his opponent like he’s going to kill him.
Jesus, he might kill him.
One thing I’ve learned is, this is not structured fighting like regular MMA. There aren’t rounds. These dudes just fight until one of them is knocked out or taps out.
It’s ruthless. Brutal. And sometimes it makes my stomach roil.
But if there’s a chance that I could find my sister, I’ll deal with it and show up every goddamn day.
The bigger guy makes the first move, but Mateo deflects and punches Big Guy in the kidneys. They grapple. Big Guy gets a jab in on Mateo’s chin, and Mateo smiles.
He smiles.
And God, if it’s not a sexy-as-fuck smile.
You’re not attracted to the scary human trafficker, Violet. Jesus, get a grip.
I stand perfectly still, taking in what’s happening in the cage, no longer skimming the crowd for my sister.
I can’t tear my gaze away from Mateo.
He lets Big Guy get a bunch of shots in, and just when I think that he might fall, he turns the tables and comes in swinging, as if Big Guy is the devil himself.
Every muscle in Mateo’s body is pulled tight, bulging and sinewy, as he unleashes what looks like years of fury, pummeling Big Guy until the man falls.
Mateo hits him one more time and then backs off as Big Guy lies lifeless. His chest is heaving, sweat dripping off him, and his whole body is flexed from the exertion.
Why does he have to look like that?
Mateo doesn’t acknowledge the crowd as he leaves the cage and makes his way through, back to wherever he came from, and after Big Guy is dragged away, another set of fighters step up.
And I decide that I can’t let Mateo just go. I have to follow him. I have to figure out if he knows where my sister is.
He must be an associate of the asshole who has Rosie.
And he’s the only lead I’ve had in the two years since I moved here.
I fight my way through the crowd to the back of the arena, trying to see where Mateo went, but I can’t see him. He’s already gone.
Shit.
I huff out a breath and decide that I’ll wait for him in the parking garage. He has to leave this building at some point, and I can try to see him before he drives away. I have no idea what I’ll say, but I’ll figure that out while I wait.
But before I can get out the door, a man steps in front of me. He’s in a suit, and he’s fucking huge. His shoulders fill the whole doorway.
“I’ve been told to have you stay,” he says, and I look behind me, sure that he’s speaking to someone else, but no one else is looking this way.
“Me?”
“You.”
“Oh.” I laugh and move to walk around him, shaking my head. “You have the wrong person. I assure you—”
“You’re the right one. Come with me.”
“No.”
His eyes narrow. “I won’t tell you again.”
“And I won’t tell you again that I’m not going anywhere with you, asshole.”
“I love a woman with a fucking backbone.”
I turn at the deep voice and find him standing behind me. Mateo.
More than a head taller than me. Sweaty, broad, inked up.
And he’s smiling at me.
Fucking hell this is unfair.
“I’m not going anywhere with this guy.” I point my thumb at the beefy man behind me, and Mateo nods.
“I can respect that. But can I ask you to wait for me in my office?”
No. Get out of here. Danger, Violet, danger.
But . . . Rosie.
“I need a shower before I talk with you, and I don’t want you to leave.” A line appears between his eyebrows, and he looks like he wants to say something, but before he can, he’s jostled from behind, pushed right into me.
“Ouch.” I cringe and wiggle the toes that were just stepped on.
“Fuck.” Mateo’s head whips around, and he growls, “Watch where the fuck you’re going.”
I’m blinking in surprise when he turns back to me, and his face smooths out.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, you just got my toes. Listen, I think you have the wrong girl.”
“I don’t.” He flashes that smile again. “And like I said, I’d like a moment of your time.”
“But if I say no, I’m free to go.”
That line forms between his eyebrows again, and he looks almost pissed that I’d suggest otherwise.
“Of course. I’m not—” He huffs out a breath and pushes his bruised hand through his wet hair. “Fuck, I’ve never been this bad at this. Please don’t go. Give me fifteen minutes. Snake will escort you to my private office to wait for me.”
“Snake.” I lift an eyebrow and turn to the man, who only nods at me once. “Did your mother not like you or something?”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t reply.
“Fine, I’ll wait. But if you try to hurt me—”
“No one’s going to hurt you,” Mateo says, his face sobering, and despite what I think he might be into, I actually believe him.
And then it occurs to me that he doesn’t know that I know his name.
“I don’t follow a man anywhere when I don’t know his name.”
His deep-brown eyes warm. “Mateo. And you are?”
“Not sure whether or not I like you.”
He barks out a laugh and nods at Snake. “That’s fair. Show her to my office. I’ll be there soon.”
The crowd swallows him up as he walks away, and Snake gently puts his fingers on my arm, leading me down a private hallway and into the biggest damn office I’ve ever been in. It’s bigger than my apartment.
“He’ll be here in a few,” Snake says and then backs out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
He doesn’t lock me in, and I breathe a sigh of relief at that.
There are windows that look out to the Strip, but we’re not very high up, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re one-way glass, so he can see out but no one else can see in.
The furniture is surprisingly modern. Lots of glass and chrome, with black leather chairs. It’s fancy.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I sit in one of the chairs facing the desk and try to decide what in the hell I’m going to do when he walks back in here.
I realize that he doesn’t necessarily scare me. Sure, he could easily hurt me, or even kill me, but I don’t think that’s the objective here. He can’t know who I am, and even if he did, I’m just a tattoo artist in Vegas. So that doesn’t worry me.
It’s not long before the office door opens and Mateo strides in, dressed in black jeans and a black Henley, the sleeves pulled up just below his elbows, showing off the ink and veins on his forearms.
His eyes light up when he sees me.
“You stayed.”
“I guess I did. Why did you want to see me?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment as he pours whiskey into two glasses and passes me one, then takes a sip out of the other.
Deciding that I can use a little liquid courage, I take a sip, holding his gaze, and enjoy the way it burns going down.
“Why were you here tonight?” he asks, throwing me off guard.
“Because I like to watch fights.”
I take another sip and stand to look out the windows. Mateo’s leaning back against his desk, watching me.
“Is this one-way glass?” I ask him.
“Yes.”
Nodding, I turn around and face him. “Is that all you wanted me for? Do you poll everyone who comes in here?”
“You don’t belong here.”
Okay, that doesn’t feel good. Fuck this guy.