The promoter cleared his throat. "I'd have to call my guy," he said. "Move some things around. But I could manage that kind of capital. That is, if you’re providing the kind of return I’ve heard you’re getting for investors."
I turned my head slowly, and nodded. "Perhaps I underestimated you, Mr. Coker."
That was another lie. We were right on base with our estimation of him.
I leaned back and crossed my arms as the announcer brought out the fighters, satisfied with the fact that this was a done deal.
I was feeling smug.
Coker was ours. Hook, line, and sinker. His fighter just needed to lay a good beat down on the other guy, so I could be impressed with him. Then it was just a matter of trying to convince Coker he should not give us his money.
The funny thing was that the more you suggested someone not do something, the more intrigued they were by the prospect of doing exactly that.
"And in the blue trunks," the announcer's voice blared, "is Silas Saint."
As soon as he said the name, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I hadn't heard that name uttered in years.
Not since I was seventeen.
Silas strode across the ring. Even before he reached me, I knew it. The way he moved, his build...
But it wasn't just his rippling muscles or the chiseled cut of his jawline that told me it was the same Silas from my past.
It was something intangible, the way he triggered some kind of sense memory. It was like every cell in my body knew it was him in that ring, a shock of electricity running through me in response to his mere presence.
Even if I hadn’t heard his name, I would have known. I knew it was him the moment I saw him.
My heart caught in my throat, and I held my breath as he turned, walking towards my side of the cage.
And then he looked at me, directly into my eyes.
Those damn baby blues, I'd know them anywhere. They haunted me. He haunted me, the memories of him, of the way he used to look up at me, his face buried between my thighs.
I was his first love.
He was the only man I'd ever loved. The one I'd left behind, without saying goodbye.
And he was standing here, so close I could have stood up and reached for him. As he walked along the edge, his eyes never left mine. He turned his head to look back at me even after he passed me.
Silas Saint.
I felt the familiar rush of attraction, something primal, an old feeling from years ago. It was the same thing I'd felt for him when we were kids.
His expression was hard. Angry. I recognized the look-it was the same expression he’d have after his father’s drunken outbursts, when he’d step in to save his mother.
I was so caught up in the fact that Silas had materialized from somewhere deep in my subconscious and was now standing right in front of me again that it took me a minute to even realize the implication of his being here.
Coker wasn't on the up and up. It's why we'd chosen him as a mark. He had a history of rigging fights.
Coker would want to impress me. He'd want to win by any means necessary.
And that was a problem.
Because either Silas was about to get beat down - and really hurt - or Silas was about to kick the shit out of Coker's guy. In which case my con would be done. Over.
Either way, my cover was about to be blown.
Beside me, Coker stood. "Son of a bitch," he said, his hands clenched into fists.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing I can't deal with," he said. "Excuse me."
I watched him head toward one of his cronies on the far side of the ring, and my heart sank as I watched Silas on the other side, his head bent, talking to the guy in his corner.
I hoped Silas knew what the hell he was doing. And what he was in for.
I slid my finger over the screen on my phone and sent a simple text.
We have a problem.
I thought I was fucking hallucinating, seeing her standing there.
Tempest Wilde.
There was no way on God's green earth I ever thought I would see her again after she had up and left West Bend without a word.
We were seventeen.
Tempest had blown out of town, without even giving me the courtesy of saying goodbye. She'd cleaned out my little stash of savings, too, the money I'd been hoarding to get away from my crap family. And my wrestling medal from the state championship, the one that meant everything to me.
Back then, her leaving was the end of the damn world to me.
I recognized her as soon as I saw her. She was a few years older, sure, and her hair was darker, not the honey blonde it used to be, but hell, I would have known her anywhere.
And there she was, on the arm of Roy Coker.
The asshole who'd almost gotten me killed.
Trigg was in the corner, saying something to me. He spoke, but I didn't hear him. All I could think about was her.
I hated her back then, after she’d left.
I could feel the anger pumping through my veins. I was already ramped up after what Coker had done to Abel, but seeing her standing there with Coker was the damn icing on the cake.