Page 142 of Rebel Hawke

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shifts in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee, showing off his Italian loafers. “I don’t know how it’s managed to slip the Hawkes’ observation, given the number of eyes and ears you have all over the city, but your cousin, Coen, has a bit of a gambling problem.”

My ability to speak seems to have fled as I try to process his words.

Coen…

The most restless Hawke has beenunusuallyso lately.

He’s been secretive.

Dismissive of our concerns over his well-being.

Fuck.

Damon shrugs nonchalantly, as if we’re discussing the weather and not a multi-million-dollar potential debt that, apparently, he thinks Coen can’t pay. “I’m sure he has no idea the bookies he’s been placing bets with work for me or that the debt would be to the Satrianos. If he did, he likely never would’ve done it. But as it stands, if you win that fight, Coen is going to find himself in a very precarious situation.”

Like the one I’m in right now.

Jesus Christ.

Satriano doesn’t have to tell me explicitly what would happen.

I’ve been around this town and these people long enough to know. I’ve seen what men like him, Roselli, and the Abellos are willing to do. And this time, I can’t even blame him because Coen’s the one who has apparently gotten himself into this shitstorm.

“I’ll pay what he owes. Whatever it is, I’ll cover it.”

He issues a dark chuckle. “Oh, Atlas, I don’t want your money. I don’t even want his. If youwereto win, it serves my purposes much better to have Coen indebted to me.”

Of course it does…

“But you’re notgoingto win, Atlas. You’re going to do what I ask.”

Coen has dug himself into a hole, inadvertently gotten into bed with the mob, and yet, I’m the one with my head in the fucking guillotine.

21

ATLAS

The moment I step through the door into the condo, let it close, and drop my bag to the floor, Wren’s soft footsteps sound upstairs.

Shit.

I haven’t thought this through. As soon as Satriano dropped me back at the gym, all I wanted to do was get home, to get back here, to get back to Wren. But I never considered what I would say when I saw her or figured out how to explain that I’ve been thrown into this quicksand with no foothold.

What the fuck do I tell her?

The bedroom door swings open. She steps out onto the landing, staring down at me, concern furrowing her brow. “Where have you been all day? Astrid texted. She said she talked to you at the gym, and it looked like you were done hours ago.”

I was…

Then I lingered far too long, going through Jenkins’ desk and office, staring at the photos on the wall of all the people he’s trained over the years. Some taken there at the gym. Someringside. Including ones of Jimmy with my grandfather when he won his first belt and with me at my first professional fight. And so many of him with Wren when she was living here.

The same bright smile and joy radiated from her then as it does now.

Which only made me want to head home more.

But Satriano intercepted me and set me on the twisted road I now find myself on. One with a massive fork in it. And nothing good seems to wait at the end of either.

---