Page 35 of Claiming Veronica

“I’ve got guys coming for it,” Pike answered. “They’ll be bringing it.”

Luther gave me a nod, but he didn’t say anything. He liked to see things for himself. Always needed proof before he bought into anything.

We drove in silence for a while, the only sound the rumble of the Lincoln’s engine. I’d had to leave my bike for this trip, and it bummed me out. Riding motorcycles was among my few joys, but the Navigator was nice.

The warehouse wasn’t far off in an industrial park. It wasn’t too far from the Phoenix airport that it would be inconvenient, but it wasn’t too close to anything open. It had been a good pick. It was a spot that no one cared about anymore except people like us—people who could see the potential in dark, empty spaces.

We pulled up to the building just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the last rays casting long shadows over the pavement. The warehouse loomed ahead, stretching against a train track system that must have fallen out of use. It looked like a place where violence belonged as if it were waiting for it.

I stepped out of the SUV and waited for everyone to follow. Pike gave Luther a dirty look, but I guessed he didn’t have much use for people in suits. Luther ignored him, which probably pissed him off. Maybe that was what the dirty look was about. Luther moved with the same relaxed confidence he’d always had, even as a younger kid. His dress shoes clicked against the concrete as we approached the entrance.

Inside, the space was vast and open, the high ceilings echoing with our footsteps. A few metal beams stood in the corners, remnants of whatever this place used to be, but now it was empty—a blank canvas for what was coming.

"The cage will go in the center," I said, pointing to the wide-open area in the middle of the room. "We’ll have seating around it, but we’re keeping it tight—small intimate tables with big spenders up close and then the crowd there. No amateurs. Just the ones who know how to keep their mouths shut."

“I can make that happen,” Russell said. “I’ve got a setup crew organized already. Just let me know what other details you’ve got. I’ll tape off the areas and get your final approval.”

Russel was exceptional at his job. He ran shit like this with an unparalleled efficiency. How he transformed an empty warehouse into an actual venuenever ceased to amaze me. There was an ambiance that went with what we did. Sure, we would keep the gritty feel. People liked that, but we would add some lighting and tables. Some ropes. I wanted people to see it as an ‘event.’

Luther nodded, eyes scanning the space, his fingers speeding over his phone, taking notes. “Like Chicago? And the fighters?"

“Yeah, like that setup.” It was nice when we were all on the same page. Russell nodded and moved away to coordinate with Jolly. Another thing that I enjoyed about Russell was how well he worked with the other man. He was an easy team member.

I smirked. This was the part I knew would get his attention. Matteo Spato did have one cherry-picked fighter I kept in the line-up and a few small fish, but Vince Rourke wasn’t one to sleep on.

"Got a couple of heavy hitters lined up," I said, opening the file I’d brought in. I picked up the first one and handed it to him. "Vince ‘The Crusher’ Rourke. Ex-con spent most of his time inside, knocking guys out for sport. He’s vicious. He fights dirty but gets the job done. He’ll be the crowd favorite. Spato’s pick, but he’s good.”

Luther scanned the paper, his eyes narrowing in that calculating way. "Looks like he’ll put on a good show. What about the challenger?"

Pike didn’t say anything, but I’d asked him if he had anything on Spato that I hadn’t been aware of. Spato was new to me as some broker, but I wasn’t sure why he was out trying to boost fights. I was still searching for connections. When I’d asked Luther about him, he’d stonewalled and looped around in a way that made me wonder if he knew more about him than he was letting on.

“I’ve got a few possibilities for a contender. I haven’t totally decided. This might be one. Javier ‘The Ghost’ Diaz," I said, handing him the next file. "Former MMA fighter. Real slick. He is fast, technical, and knows how to avoid a hit, but when he lands one, it’s game over. He’s the underdog—people love to bet against him, but he’s got a way of bringing in the bets.”

Pike looked at me with surprise. "Sounds like a solid match."

"It’ll be more than solid," I promised. "We’ve also got a wildcard—Donovan ‘The Butcher’ Crowley. Newcomer, but he’s got a reputation. Fought in a couple of underground rings down south. The kid’s brutal. He doesn’t stop until he sees blood. Could be good to have him in a latermatch, up against whoever survives the first round."

“I’ve got a dozen more here that I’ve separated and paired up.” I pointed them out and passed out the sheets for them to look at. This was my brother’s first glimpse of me working, and it was a weird feeling. It shouldn’t matter so much, but I wanted him to be proud of me.

Luther placed the files down and glanced back toward the center of the warehouse. "This is going to be a good one, Havoc. I’m going to get the bet site up and going. You want to set this up for next Saturday?”

I nodded, stepping forward into the dim light, letting my fingers brush along the rough walls as I walked the perimeter. "And security, Pike? Your crew can help with that?”

“Yeah, we can lock it down," he assured us. “I can have a crew inside and one outside. If you want people on lists, let me know how that works. Do you let people come armed to these things?”

“No. They’ll need to be checked at the door—all of them. Women, too,” I shot him a look. “No exceptions.”

Luther laughed darkly. “Fuck, remember that chick. Hairpin. Man, she stabbed that guy. He bled like a stuck pig.”

“I do remember.”

“Got it.” Pike nodded. “Women, too.”

“The only people we want fighting are the people being bet on. I don’t want side shows.” I didn’t care if people wanted their drama, but they could do it elsewhere. “The same goes for alcohol and drugs. Find it, confiscate it. It gets left at the door. We’ll have a bar. This is our circus, and we’re here to make money.”

During the fights, we’d make sure that the bar was open and a certain discrete amount of party drugs were sold. However, we’d learned our lesson after the Francisco incident.

“Too right,” Luther agreed.

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