Page 70 of Carry Your Debt

“Hey man,I thought Brick was on the schedule tonight. You got me down for the first round with a…Dionysus?” I call to Oz as I round the doorway into his office.

Tristan hates that he’s an Ace, but the guy doesn’t seem to care much for the Club’s dealings outside of his little haven down here in the Underground—the fighting pit hidden beneath the Guardhouse. He only cares about filling his cage with bodies each week.

And how many rounds they can last.

I’m his top earner.

“Nah, Brick called in last minute, said his ‘Ma was in the hospital’,” Oz replies with air quotes from where he’s lazily reclining in his beat-up swivel chair. He follows by throwing his pair of ancient shitkickers up onto the desk and crossing them at the ankle.

“Smells like bullshit,” I offer. The aptly named meathead hasn’t turned a single match down since he signed on over the summer. I would have thought he’d miss his Ma’s ownfuneralif the price was right.

“Mm, I think this new guy was just hungry for a spot,” he bobs his head in agreement, a cigarette defying gravity as itdangles precariously from his mouth. “Must be a helluva sweet talker.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

“Yeah, big blond fucker,” he muses, lips twitching. “Might give you a run for your money, actually.”

“You meanyourmoney,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I don’t do this for the cash. Though every dollar I do earn, Atlas immediately invests for us—and in turn, I manage to rest a little easier at night. The only real currency worth earning here is the cold, hard satisfaction of my fist connecting with an opponent’s jaw. Blood pounding in my ears and a crowd so loud that it drowns out the sound of the angry hornets living inside my chest.

The nest of hornetsshekeeps fucking kicking over every time she walks into the fucking room.

Fuck.

Oz shrugs, oblivious to my internal war. “It’ll be a good fight.” Then he waves me off, reminding me I still need to get ready.

“Alright man, thanks,” I throw back at him as I turn and head out to claim my locker for the night. Just as I make it down the makeshift hallway outside the organizer’s office, however, I catch a glimpse of that increasingly familiar long, ash-blonde hair, and the furious buzzing starts up all over again.

Because I’m here tonight for one reason, and that reasonisn’tto see my 5’10’’, sass-mouthed ghost of my childhood past.

It’s to beat the memory of her out of my head using my cage rival’s face.

What I need to do is just head straight to the bathroom—tape up, stretch, and get myself into the mindset needed to walk out of that bloody arena as nothing but the victor.

Instead, I’m striding straight toward our specter like a man possessed, pulled like our chests are linked by one of those fucking red ribbons of fate, or some shit.

She’s not looking at me and I have to force down what feels like a growl. Her head snaps up from her phone only after my boots stride into view.

“Ares,” she greets warily, tipping her chin at me. No doubt trying to gauge my reception to her following all the messy bombshells she’s been dropping on my family this week.

Ares.

Definitely still getting my head around the fact she went to the trouble of giving us all codenames—though now I know a little more about her connections, thewhymakes a little more sense.

But I must not secretly hate it too much because my chest puffs right the fuck up at the sound of it.

And considering where we are, it’s pretty fucking fitting, actually.

“Winters,” I grunt. “You’re here.”

Of course, she’s fucking here, you idiot.

“Yeah,” she huffs, turning to elbow someone in the ribs. “AlthoughFight Night at the Undergroundwasn’t exactly what I had in mind for my Friday evening when I said I wanted to go out.”

Fucking tunnel vision.I was so focused on Sabine, I hadn’t even noticed the other man standing directly beside her.

“But D’s sick of being stuck in Rox City with only Knox to spar with, so I agreed to tag along. Thought I could also suss it out for recruiting potential,” she continues, eyes roaming over the rowdy, red-faced patrons slowly filling up the stands.

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