"Did you notice I said managing fighters, plural, a few seconds ago?” he asked, forking up a mound of potatoes.
“I did notice that, yes.”
I’d figured he was talking long term, building the business once Matty was established, but now a sinking feeling came over me and I set my fork down.
“Have you heard of Diego Ricon?" Mick paused to dig into his lobster tail before meeting my gaze again, eyes alight with banked excitement.
I ran through my mental files and then nodded. “Yeah. Middle weight out of New York.”
"He's a beast, am I right?"
I wasn't sure about all that, but he was a solid fighter. Clean, crisp shots, good technique and he moved well. "I like him. He's in great condition and got some real potential. I think he's a good choice if you're looking for another guy to build alongside Matty somewhere down the line."
Mickey's grin went from smug to Cheshire Cat and that sent a sizzle of unrest through me.
“I'm not looking for another guy. He's going to be THE guy."
I shook my head and frowned at him, hearing his words but not understanding them. "Matty's THE guy, remember?”
"That's what I thought too, but after some thought I’m realizing those McDaniels boys are a little too mouthy for my liking. The second our deal has concluded, Matty's going to take all my hard work and flush it down the drain and walk away. I need somebody who is going to stick in. So there's been a change of plans. We keep Matty happy with a couple little fights, but Diego gets the big ones."
I swallowed the urge to ask exactly what hard work he’d put in as he shifted in his seat to face me full on.
Mick let out a long breath. "I want you to be happy. You know that's very important to me. That's why I went all the way to Wisconsin to get you that day, remember?"
If I didn't, his pointed monthly reminder would have kept it fresh in my mind.
"But I need you to be a team player here and think about the business. Matty's a wild card. I don't like him. I don't trust him. For all I know, he's going to sandbag just to discredit me."
“He would never do that. And what you’re asking me to do is wrong. To pick up another guy in the same weight class and then cast Matty aside like used toilet paper. He’ll never agree to take the backseat. That’s not what he signed up for.”
"Isn’t it?" Mickey's eyes grew shrewd and sharp, and my gut roiled the way it did whenever I saw that ugly side of him I tried to ignore. "The McDaniels boys owe me, and I expect to square up. He agreed to be my guy to pay off a debt. That means I say fight, and he asks who, how, where and when.” He held up a finger and pointed it at me. “Not why. There's nothing in the contract I gave him that says I’m going to make him a star.”
A wave of nausea battered at my lunch, urging it to make a reappearance, but I swallowed it back, struggling to process it all. Had that been the deal they’d made? Mickey must have had Matty in a terrible spot to get him to agree to that. It was flat out extortion. And suddenly Matty’s apparent dislike of Mick made a lot more sense.
How the hell was I going to tell him this? That our plans had turned to ash and he was going to be stuck in a year-long contract that would get him nowhere. He was going be furious.
Almost as furious as when he found out about Mickey and me…
Matty
"You two are acting like a couple of teenage girls in the lunch room. What gives?" Bash sucked down half a bottle of Gatorade in one swallow before pinning me with a cold stare. "And don't try to fluff me off this time. One of you motherfuckers is going to come clean, or I'm going to start cracking skulls."
Reid looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. You, bro?”
I took that to mean that he wouldn't rat me out and was willing to take the ass-whooping if there was going to be one. Good to know. But it had gone far enough and it was only a matter of time before I had to come clean. He’d gotten as long of a reprieve as I could give him. And now that the wheels were in motion, there was nothing he could do to stop any of it anyway.
So I gave it to him straight. “I'm working with Mickey Flynn. He’s Kayla’s boss."
Bash's eyes went glacier blue, and I knew I was about to get an earful. I tried to head him off at the pass before he worked up a full head of steam.
"It's a short contract. One year and I'm free to find new representation. He wants-"
"What he wants is your fucking soul, you stupid asshole. God, how could you be so thick?” He raked his uninjured hand over his face and scowled at me. “This is what he's wanted from the start. To get us wrapped up with him so he could play puppet master. We just got free and there you go again, half-cocked and loaded for bear."