“You have a death wish or what?” Auger interrupted. He shook his head irritably and tried to focus. “Sometimes I really wonder about you, Bryce.”
“Whatever,” Bryce muttered sullenly. He elbowed past Auger and stood for a moment on the upper deck, getting his bearings.
Auger kept carefully silent as Bryce scanned the crowd on the busy upper deck, looking for some sign of the promoter, Orion. Music played from the DJ booth in the corner which almost everyone ignored as they leaned in toward each other, laughing and chatting. A certain buzz hung over the crowd, a sound like a wasp nest that hadn’t been disturbed yet. Everyone was waiting for the same thing.
There were men in suits with the top buttons of their custom-tailored shirts casually undone. A few women clustered in small groups or hung on the arms of their dates. People looked around for other people just like them, as though it was some kind of competition just to be rich.
So these were wealthy business types looking for entertainment only, just like Bryce had said. They probably wouldn't even watch, just place a few bets to show each other up. Auger held back a sigh of relief.
Easy money, he thought. Finally, something easy.
“We’re going below deck,” Bryce muttered, his eyes sweeping the crowd again for good measure.
“What?”
“Follow me.”
Auger stepped in behind Bryce as he crossed the busy upper deck and ducked through a door and down a short flight of stairs. The boat was enormous. It was like an office building or restaurant on the water.
As they descended a couple levels to more casual surroundings, Auger started to feel slightly more at ease. The upper deck had been a throng of nattily dressed rich guys who looked like they had stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Auger was sure he had spotted at least two famous people. It was certainly not the secret gathering of gamblers and bloodthirsty promoters he was expecting. Not like every other grungy, dark fight he’d ever done before. It was practically… boring.
Some part of him loved this, and another part of him knew that loving it was exactly the wrong thing to do.
Just get in, dance around, accept a couple body blows, and collect the cash, he reminded himself. You can do this. Easy money. No matter how civilized these people look, they’re still paying to see somebody get their ass kicked.
Bryce walked ahead as though he knew his way around, and Auger just followed him like his big, dumb pet. Around a corner, he saw a commercial kitchen and a huge dining room with gleaming walnut walls and windows on three sides. Down one more flight of stairs, Bryce hesitated briefly then turned a quick right and shoved open a blank door.
“Jesus, it’s about time, Bryce!” came an annoyed voice like a tornado siren.
“Yeah, yeah, traffic,” he muttered, pushing his way in and dropping his gym bag on the nearest chair.
Auger came up close behind him and looked around. The small cabin had been set up like a backstage dressing room with tables on each wall and three other guys staring into the lighted mirrors. It smelled close and fetid like a locker room.
“Traffic, my sweet ass,” the voice drawled. Auger squinted at the scrawny blonde as he dropped an eyebrow pencil on the table like some kind of diva and pursed his lips. “And who’s this?”
“Oh…” Bryce stuttered, standing aside so everybody could get a look. “Everybody, this is Aug— Odin. Odin, this is Nickie, Trent, and Twister.”
Auger choked back his opinion of the ridiculous stage names and held his hand out to each in turn.
“Nice manners, country boy!” slurred Nickie in that same sneering sing-song. Auger just pasted a smile on his face and nodded, moving on to shake the next guy’s hand.
“Ignore him; he’s an asshole,” Trent said confidently and stood with his hand out. He seemed all right, smiling at Auger for real like a regular guy he could see hanging out with.
“You watch your mouth!” Nickie yelled to Trent.
Auger turned to the last man sitting in front of a mirror. He was about the same size with the distinctly knobby, striped muscles of a long-time steroid user.
Twister turned in his seat and raised his heavily muscled arm in the air. He shook Auger’s hand briefly, too hard. Then turned back to the mirror, silently greasing up his pecs and shoulders. He had smooth, sleek skin that gleamed like tanned leather.
Jesus. This asshole, Auger sneered silently. He measured him up mentally. Something told him he should have shaved his chest after all. Twister would be next to impossible to get a good grip on. He looked as slick as a seal.
Bryce elbowed him to get his attention and pointed at the line of small lockers. “Just stuff your clothes in there. Jimmie should be here somewhere… he’s the other lightweight. You probably guessed you’ll get Twister.”