The other man looked annoyed. “Why the hell do you gotta ask me that every time? Have I ever ordered you to throw a fight?”
Gage shrugged.
“You know what I want, brother. Beat the shit outta your opponent and make us some goddamn money.”
“Gotcha.” He had to admit, he thoroughly enjoyed seeing the aggravation clouding the other man’s eyes. Gage always made a point to inquire whether he should throw the fight, just because he knew that the implication that Mitch fixed matches pissed the guy off. He also knew it was the truth—more often than not, Mitch did arrange the outcome of the fights.
But Gage had never lost or thrown a match. Not once during his professional days, and not once in the seven fights he’d already given Mitch.
“How’s my man Denny doing these days?” Mitch asked.
His shoulders stiffened. “He’s good. Clean as a whistle.”
“Good. Good for him.” The man clucked his tongue. “It was such a bloody shame, seeing him fall off the wagon again.”
“I bet it was,” Gage murmured, not believing a word of it.
Mitch had relished having Denny under his thumb. Dealing drugs for him, doing his dirty work in Southie. The bastard had probably come in his pants after Denny’s royal screw up, because now he had Denny’s big brother under his thumb, too.
“Tell him to stop by and see me one of these days,” Mitch said. “I know he’s out of the drug business, but we’re still buds, no?”
“Sure, I’ll tell him.” Yeah, fucking right.
A bone-jarring crunch had them both cocking their heads at the cage in time to see one of the fighters stumble backward, fist pressed to his nose as blood poured down his chin.
“Damn right!” Mitch shouted, clapping his hands in delight. “That’s it, Colin! Show that mofo who’s boss!”
“I’ll find you after the match,” Gage muttered, edging away from O’Donnell.
He stalked toward the locker rooms, desperate for some peace and quiet. It didn’t take him long to get ready. He was already wearing his boxing shorts, so all he had to do was strip off his hoodie and wifebeater, kick off his sneakers, and he was almost ready to go.
He sank onto the splintered wooden bench and taped up his hands, grateful that nobody was around to chat him up. Christ. He was so sick of this shit. He’d quit fighting for a reason: because he was tired. Tired of walking around black-and-blue all the time, tired of the ache in his bones. His nose had been broken so many times it was a miracle it’d stayed on his face, and he’d dealt with so many fractured ribs he was surprised he’d never punctured a lung.
Three more.
He took a breath, clinging to the reminder. Three more matches, and he and Mitch would be square, Mitch and Denny would be square. And he had a good thing going over at Sin. The club had turned a profit in its first year of business, which meant he had a ton of cash in his bank account. He didn’t need to fight anymore. He didn’t want to fight anymore.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat in the locker room. Other men wandered in and out, changing into fighter gear, shooting the shit with each other, but Gage just sat there, shoulders tense, gaze downcast, until a male voice finally called his name from the doorway.
“Holt, you’re up.” One of Mitch’s people entered the locker room. LeSean something or other.
Gage got to his feet. “Who am I facing?”
The beefy black man actually cracked a smile, something Gage had never seen him do. “Robbie O’Reilly.”
He blew out a curse. “Seriously? That crazy fucker from Dorchester? Why does he keep coming back?”
At least it made sense now, why Mitch had looked so annoyed at the thought of Gage losing. Mitch was no doubt eager for him to kick O’Reilly’s ass like he’d done last month. During their previous meeting, O’Reilly had fought so dirty Gage had no choice but to go apeshit on him, and the results had been a damn bloodbath.
“I guess he likes getting his ass whupped,” LeSean answered. “Watch yourself out there, white boy. I saw O’Reilly fight at that gym in Roxbury last week and it looks like he’s added biting to his li’l bag of tricks.”
“Wonderful.”
LeSean clapped him on the back. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll tap him out.”
Yeah, but how bad of a beating would he take before that happened?
Chapter Five
Skyler’s cell phone rang just past midnight. She’d been watching a Top Chef marathon in bed, so she was fully alert as she reached for the phone. Her heart jumped when she glimpsed Gage’s number on the screen, and she wasted no time picking up with a quick, “Hello?”
“Hey.” His deep voice slid into her ear and rippled through her body. “Can I see you tonight?”
Wow. Okay. She hadn’t expected to hear from him tonight, and she frowned when she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. In her very limited experience, anything after 11 p.m. equaled a booty call. That was just Sex Etiquette 101.
On the other hand, hadn’t they agreed this arrangement was 100 percent sex-centered?
On the other other hand, just because she’d agreed to a casual fling didn’t mean midnight booty calls were okay. Did she really want to give him the impression that he could call her at any hour of the day and she’d be like, Sure! Come over and fuck me!
Except…the word no got stuck in her mouth. Because darn it, she wanted him to come over and fuck her.
Gage must have sensed her internal dilemma because he laughed softly. “I know it’s late, but I just finished…work.” The stilted pause between the words raised her guard, but he hurried on before she could question it. “I would’ve called earlier if I could. But if you’re too tired or don’t feel like it, then that’s fine. We can just see each other another ti—”
“Would you just get here already?” she interrupted.
Oh boy. Her voice sounded breathy to her ears. She had it bad.
“What’s the address?” He paused as she recited it, then said, “I’m on my way.”
Skyler flew out of bed the second he hung up, self-consciously examining her bedroom. It was messier than usual, which prompted her to run around like a madwoman in an attempt to tidy up. Thank God her room was on the third floor and had its own private bath—if she’d shared a floor with Lacey and May, they might have witnessed her cleaning frenzy and teased her mercilessly about it.
Luckily, her roommates weren’t even home tonight. Lacey was still at the hospital, and May had left a note on the fridge about spending the night at her boyfriend’s.
She and Gage would be completely alone.
Nervous excitement scampered down her body and flew into her stomach in the form of butterflies. She was dying to see him again, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure why she was so taken with the guy. He was a man who’d once made his living with his fists, who now owned a club called Sin. Sin, of all things.
The only sin she’d ever committed was…well, having sex in a nightclub with a man she barely knew. Unless smoking pot qualified as sinful—she’d done a bunch of that during freshman year when the stress of college had gotten too overwhelming.
Damn, girl, you’re so wild.
Skyler laughed out loud. Yep, she sure was wild—it was Saturday night and she was at home watching a cooking competition on TV.
No, it’s Saturday night and you’re about to have a sexy late-night visitor.
Hmmm. Fair point. Maybe she was broadening her wild horizons, after all.
It felt like an eternity before the doorbell finally rang, though in reality, only ten minutes had passed since Gage’s call.
The first thing she did after she’d opened the door was gasp. “Oh my God! What happened?”
Genuine confusion filled Gage’s expression. “What are you talking about?”
She touched his face without thinking, and he winced when her fingers skimmed the bruise marring his left cheekbone. “Oh, right. That. Don’t worry about it. Just a bruise.”
“Did you get in a fight?” Her concern levels remained on high as she grabbed his hand and ushered him into the living room.
He spared a glance at his surroundings, unfazed by the sparse amount of furniture. “I fought in a match tonight.” He shrugged. “My opponent was kind of a dick.”
She furrowed her eyebrows. “I thought you retired.”
“Not really.” He didn’t offer any more details.
Jeez. She’d probably have better luck extracting answers from a CIA operative.
“You’re wearing pink again.”
The gruff observation made her grin. “Sharp as a tack, aren’t you, big guy?”
Amusement twinkled in his gray eyes, but they darkened seductively as he examined her pink tank top and matching boxer shorts. “I’ve never hung out with a girl in pink PJs before.”
“No? What do the women you know usually wear to bed?”
He smirked. “Nothing at all.”
“They’re lucky, then. I can’t sleep naked. My butt and boobs get too cold.”
Gage barked out a laugh, then stepped forward and pulled her in for a kiss.
Shock waves hit her the moment their lips met. God, she loved kissing him. Loved that he didn’t try to drown her in saliva or gnash her with his teeth. Everything he did was deliberate and skillful, from the firm press of his lips to the sensual swirl of his tongue. She moaned against his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip as heat spread through her and settled in her core.