Page 17 of Unlucky You

I was amused by the way his mood shifted. It wasn’t that he was offended by the assumption that my interests had bypassed him and skipped over to this Grand guy. If I wasn’t mistaken, the shift was of a more protective nature. He had settled into the role of a shield, which was odd because Grand had more than proven he could hold his own.

“Nothing too personal. Just a few…”

“You said you weren’t a reporter. Why the fuck are you asking questions about my cousin?”

Cousin.

Now it made sense

“And I’m not. This is more of a personal inquiry.”

He snorted. “Grand doesn’t do ring rats.” His eyes traveled over me from head to toe before he added with a snarky smile. “No matter how sexy they might be.”

“Cute, but you misunderstood. I’m not a ring rat. Maybe I should restate my interest. I’m curious about the way he fought. He let that guy use him as a punching bag for the first two rounds only to knock him out minutes before the end of the third. It all seemed so intentional and calculated. The skill with which he dropped that guy proves it wasn’t luck. He knew exactly what he was doing. What I want to know is why he allowed the torture to drag out when he clearly didn’t have to.”

Something about the guy’s mood shifted again. He studied me for a long moment before he stated, “Easy. There’s a bonus to the fighters when they give the audience something worth watching. A knockout within the first few seconds of the match starting is nice to see, but the thrill is quickly gone.”

“You’re saying it’s possible.”

“What’s possible?”

“That Grand could have dropped that guy within the first few seconds.”

“Hell yeah it’s possible,” he rattled off and laughed.

“Then why didn’t he?”

“I just told you why. Owners don’t want quick and easy. They want a match, and since he’s new, he had to prove he could provide one.”

I arched a brow, staring at him. “But that’s not what they got. There was nothing entertaining about Grand letting that guy beat the crap out of him while not fighting back. He barely moved and didn’t dodge any of the punches. He wanted to get hit, why?”

The guy’s expression stoned over. “Not my story to tell and I suggest you get the fuck out of here. You might not be a reporter, but asking questions like that, personal questions about the fighters, isn’t going to grant you any favors. You should leave,now.”

I glanced around, realizing no one was paying us any attention but he leaned in close.

“Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they're not watching. Trust me, they know everything that happens in here. Go back to the suburbs. This is not your scene, beautiful. Being here can get you into the kind of trouble you won’t be able to get yourself out of. This is underground shit for a reason. The precautions are set up to ensure the outside doesn’t get inside.”

I could tell he didn’t trust me. He still thought I was a reporter, so I reached into my pocket and removed a business card.

“Saniya. My name is Saniya and I didn’t lie. I’m not a reporter. My questions are strictly for personal use and to appease my own curiosity.”

He eyed the card before taking it. When I had his eyes again, he smiled handsomely. “Still doesn’t matter, photo girl. Thisisn’t your vibe. If we need to do a shoot, I’ll hit you up but this ain’t it. Don’t come back. I would hate to see a pretty little thing like you caught up by pissing off the wrong people.”

He pushed through the doors and as much as I wanted to follow, I knew better. I had done this long enough to understand the thin line between good and evil when it came to the threat of losing money. If the wrong people assumed I was here to disrupt their gambling events, then he was right, it could create problems. Problems I didn’t want or need. I got the shots Joe asked for and now it was time for me to go home.

I got home still feelingthe buzz of energy from being at the fights. It was a first for me. The savagery and finesse of the entire evening was interesting and had me needing to unwind. After a shower so steamy and hot that my skin felt sensitive, I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped into my room where I dried off, moisturized with brown sugar and spice body butter, then slipped into panties and a sleep shirt.

As exhausted as I was, I was eager to get a look at the shots I’d captured tonight. Mostly the ones of Grand. Making my way through my tiny but cozy space, my first stop was the kitchen where I removed wine I’d started last night, pouring the contents into an oversized glass that emptied the bottle.

I smiled after the first sip and headed straight to my living room where I had a tiny antique desk which housed my iMac. I hated how much it set me back but it had been a lifeline when it came to my career.

My cameras were already there after dumping them the minute I walked through the door so I got to work on the phototransfer. I spent the first ten minutes pretending to be interested in the shots from the first two matches before I gave into the impending nagging to revisit the fine ass man that had my attention since I laid eyes on him.

He was a beautiful work of art. Powerful. Still with hard lines that created the perfect visual of this fine ass man. Even still, he didn’t have the physique of a boxer. As solid as he was, his body was tall and lean. His muscles weren’t bulky like most trained fighters. More natural, as if they came from hard labor and life, not training. The guy he fought had more of a boxer’s build—thick, solid, and wide. Seeing the two paired, one would naturally assume Grand was the underdog.

“What’s your story?” I whispered over the rim of my glass before taking another sip.

Unfortunately, I would never know because I just needed to finish the job, edit, transfer the photos to Joe, then focus on my next assignment. However, the longer I stared at the photos of Grand, the more I realized I didn’t want to share him with the world. Maybe it was the threat from his cousin or maybe I was just being selfish. These photos, like many others, would be transferred into my personal file. The one I kept to show I’d earned my position but didn’t need to prove that to anyone but myself.

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