“Make it $100, and Celia will do it.”
“Deal.”
“We will be there in five.”
The line goes quiet.
“What?” I shrug, looking at Knox, who is shaking his head at me.
“You expect to pay that much money every time you throw a party? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just clean this up yourself?”
“I didn’t make the mess.”
He puffs out a sarcastic laugh. “I wasn’t even here last night, but here I am with a trash bag in my hand.”
“Thanks, Man. I always knew you were good for something.” I pat his back and walk into the kitchen to get a bottle of water.
I pull open the fridge. Aside from three cans of beer rolling around on the bottom, it’s completely empty.
“Hey,” I raise my voice to get his attention in the other room, “you think we should pay them to go buy groceries for us, too? I mean, while she’s here, we might as well take advantage.”
He joins me at the refrigerator. “Only you would actually take advantage of your little sister and her friends’ kindness.”
Now it's my turn to laugh. “Marni? Kind? I’m sure she’ll be propping her feet up and drinking our beer while Cinderella cleans.” I slam the refrigerator shut, as the loose cans inside begin rolling over the rigid grooves of the shelf-pan inside.
“Well, her friend is getting the money, so I’m sure that’s exactly what will happen. Marni doesn’t need the money.”
“No shit, I’m pretty sure her trust fund is three times the size of mine.”
“You poor thing.” He fakes a frown. “You’re only getting ten million instead of thirty.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if I want it. I hate money.”
“You only hate it because you’ve never had to live without it. Your rich ass wouldn’t survive as a poor man.” He chuckles, as he continues, “You’re paying someone a hundred bucks to clean, and now, you want to pay her to get groceries. You’re more spoiled than thirty-year-old milk.”
“I plan to create my own kingdom, you’ll see.” I smirk. He doesn’t believe me, but my dreams are not my dad’s. He thinks he has my future all mapped out. The only way I even get my trust fund is if I sign a five-year contract to work beside him. His work is not clean; it’s dirty, and it’s a messy business. He wants me to take over one day. I’d be okay with the small businesses he owns in Redwood as his cover, but I’m not a big fan of racketeering or extortion. I’ve known for a year now that Dad isn’t Redwood’s upstanding businessman that people view him as. I’ve seen first-hand what that type of work can do when you get involved with the wrong person.
I’d rather create my own legacy and do something that I enjoy in the process, like fighting. There is nothing quite like stepping into a ring and knowing that you can focus on the worst aspect of your life, then beat the shit out of it. It might not make the problem go away, but it helps alleviate some of the pressure on your mind. I’m no longer just behind the curtains; I get centerstage, twice a month. I fought at the club in Redwood, but not often. None of my boys will ever understand why I do what I do, but they don’t have to.
Twenty minutes later, Marni and Celia come strolling in, and Celia is wearing a big ass pair of rubber gloves.
“What’s with the gloves? Planning on shoving your hands somewhere dirty?”
“She’d be in a hazmat suit if she listened to my advice.” Marni scowls. “Now get the hell outta here, so she can clean up this thing you call a home.” She points her finger at the door.
“You heard the lady, let’s go.” I nod toward the door.
Once we’re outside, I stuff my phone into the pocket of my gray sweatpants and walk over to the driver’s side door of my car. A quick glance across the street, and I notice Harper sitting on the front step. She seems upset. Her hands flying around as she talks, like they always do when she’s either excited or angry. This time, it’s the latter.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but the way her eyebrows jump to her forehead and her body tenses when she talks, I can tell something is wrong. I tell myself that it’s not my business, but I can’t help but wonder if there's trouble in paradise for little Miss Perfect. I’m taken aback when she chucks her phone into the grass and drops her face into her hands.
I’ll be damned; the princess does cry.
Tears that were not caused by me.
Someone else did this to her.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The theater is nothing like the old warehouse ring I had in Redwood. It’s bigger, much bigger, and much more professional. Walking into the large open-concept entrance you’d never suspect that behind the doors ahead is a room where magic happens when the lights come on, the banners beam, and the speakers are turned up.
Kip looks up at the vaulted ceiling. “This place is…”
“Fucking amazing. That it is. We’re rolling with the big boys now.”
“You are rolling with the big boys. Let’s get that straight,” Knox says, “I’m here for moral support, and that’s it. I’ll never get involved in this shit again.”
“Same here.” Kip raises his hand like a schoolboy with a question, only it’s a statement.
“Duly noted.” I slap his hand down. “How did I end up being best friends with two of the biggest pussies in town?”
“Because no one else would put up with you.”
I pull open the double doors, and my eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Beautiful,” I mutter under my breath. It is, in my mind, anyway.
“My man.” Blaze throws his arms up and walks toward us. He gets a firm grip around my bicep, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve got the muscle,” he pulls his hand back and taps two fingers to his head, “but, do you have the ambition?”
“My demons would say that I’ve got more than enough ambition.”
“Good. Use them to your advantage. Pull out all the darkness inside of you and use it.”
“He’ll have nothing left if he pulls out all the dark because that’s all he has in there.” Kip chuckles, as he pats the back of his hand to my chest, trying to be funny. I know they all think it’s true. Shit, even I believe it. The light inside me burnt out, and there’s a good chance, it’s never coming back on.
“We’ve all got demons. The trick is, not letting them win the fight up here.” He taps his fingers to his head again. “Instead, throw them out there.” He points at the cage. “So, you wanted to talk.” He looks at the paper in my hand. “What'd ya got there?”
“Right.” I hold the paper up. “I wanted to talk about the lineup for next week. I think this is good, but have you considered the possibility that starting off too strong with the first fight is going to hinder the excitement for the remainder of the night?”
“You’re starting.” He huffs. “I don’t get what you’re saying.”
“Exactly. You said it yourself, I’m the star of the show. So, why throw me in first? Shouldn’t we build the anticipation to the main event?”