Page 140 of Rebel Hawke

I open my mouth to object again and tell him to go fuck himself, but one of his goons in the passenger seat rolls down his window, eyeing me, making it abundantly clear that if I reach for the gun or say “no,” he’s going to make me pay for it.

“Fuck.”

Satriano loves to pretend he’s our friend now, that things have calmed down and tempers have cooled, but he’s the same thug he’s always been, just with a nicer smile.

I pull my hand away from the bag—not because I don’t want to shoot the smug fucker, but so I don’t end up with another bullet in me—and reluctantly stalk to the SUV.

He slides over in the back seat, making room for me.

Last chance to run.

Scanning the street both ways, I search for any potential escape route, but with the SUV blocking my ride and the sidewalks empty, there isn’t anyone to even alert anyone to what’s happening. No way I would get back inside the gym and the door locked before bullets flew, and even if I could, that glass wouldn’t keep them out for longer than it takes to shatter it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I tug open the door and step up into the Devil’s ride.

The goon from the front turns around and holds out his hand across the center console. “Your weapon.”

And my only means of defending myself in here.

With Satriano this close, I could easily knock him out with one well-placed strike, but I’d never get the driver and front passenger before one of them got off a shot.

Now I know how Pope feels whenever this asshole shows up with a medical emergency for him to solve.

Like a sitting fucking duck.

I dig my Sig out of my bag and hand it to the passenger goon before the driver pulls away from the curb. “Where are we going?”

Satriano smiles. “You’ll see.”

“What do you want to talk about, the weather?”

Which has been about as shitty as I felt the last week…

He glances out at the gloomy sky threatening rain again. “No. The fight.”

My hackles immediately rise, my hands fisting on my lap. “What do you care about the fight?”

“Oh”—he glances back over at me—“I care a great deal, actually.”

“Why is that?”

Satriano has absolutely nothing to do with The Hawke Hotel. He may have been one of the original investors in Cass’ attempt to compete with it, but once Cass kicked him to the curb and joined our ranks, it took Satriano completely out of the equation.

Supposedly.

And he certainly hasn’t had anything to do with my training or shown any interest in the boxing world at all, as far as I know.

The SUV makes a right turn, and a light rain starts to fall. Satriano watches it out his window, casually leaning his shoulder against it. “You know very well that I’ve stepped in and taken over all the interests previously controlled by Roselli in town.”

“Of course.”

Where the hell is he going with this?

His dark eyes meet mine. “That includes the sports books.”

Shit.

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