Page 141 of Rebel Hawke

I don’t know how I never saw this coming. His appearance at the studio…connected to the damn gym. The way he tried to get close to Wren and question her at the event about my training. He was checking up on me. “What are you getting at, Damon? Cut to the chase.”

Because if I have to spend one more minute in this car with this motherfucker, I might take my chances and deck him.

“I’ve been monitoring you the last few months, ever since I saw you and your lovely sister bleeding out on that warehousefloor.” He offers a little grin. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.”

“Truly flattering, but your point, besides the fact that you love to gloat about the Hawkes being in pain?”

His eyes widen slightly, as if he’s somehow shocked I would take his statement that way. “It wasn’t meant as a gloat. Far from it.” One corner of his lips tips up. “I appreciated your tenacity, the fact that, even as you lay dying, you still had the energy to voice your displeasure about the situation, to try to protect the girls. Quite valiant, really.”

I sneer at him, fisting my hands so tightly my knuckles ache. “Gee, I’m glad you approve. Now, what the fuck do youwant?”

The vehicle takes another turn, and he glances out his window again. “I want you to throw the fight.”

My back stiffens, and I turn fully to face him. “Youwhat?”

He twists toward me and gives me a tight smile as we make a left. And I suddenly realize where we’re going—straight toward The Hawke Hotel.

Now, fully staffed and bustling, everyone is preparing for the opening of the hotel and casino floor, not to mention the fight.

“I have to say, Atlas, I’ve been impressed with your improvements. Three months ago, I never thought you could win this fight.” His shoulders rise and fall, as if the insult isn’t meant as one. “And I made some odds with that understanding, with the belief that you would never come back to full fighting shape, that you would never stand a chance against Gordon.”

My lungs tighten, making it almost impossible for me to draw in air.

“I never thought you could win, but now…”—he drums his fingers against his thigh—“I think it’s more than likely. And if that happens”—he gives me a hard look—“I’ll lose billions.”

Billions with aB.

Holy fuck.

That’s what this has all been about. From the day he weaseled his way into meeting Wren, it has always been about getting inside information onme. So he would know where he stood when it came to the thousands of people who placed bets with the various illegal books around town he now controls.

He set the odds, and they are not in his favor now.

If I win, he’sfucked.

We pull to a stop in front of The Hawke Hotel, and I stare up at it in all its glittering, opulent glory.

A stunning building, truly.

Storm and Landon outdid themselves with the design and construction, both inside and out. And Kennedy’s visions for the interior helped ensure it will become a major destination for those hoping to experience the crème de la crème that New Orleans has to offer.

I wish I could enjoy it.

But now, it’s become a place I avoid.

Mostly because going anywhere near the arena built on the backside where events will be held—including my fight—makes me queasy. Looking at it now, knowing what Satriano wants, I know what I have to do.

Without looking at him, I offer my assessment of his predicament. “That seems like ayouproblem.”

He leans over to stare up at the building himself out my window. “I would agree with you, save for one tiny factor.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“The fact that your cousin placed a ten million dollar bet on you to lose, and I know he doesn’t have the money to cover it if you win.”

The hell?

Satriano must be mistaken because what he just said makes absolutely zero sense. No one would ever bet against me. Butif they did, getting together that amount wouldn’t be out of the question for anyone.

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