Page 41 of Framed

I didn’t do sleepovers

I didn’t do feelings

Two very simple rules that I had the women I allowed in my bed agree to. Memorize. They were even required to sign a contract stating that in the case of something like this happening, they legally couldn’t say a thing. I would pay for any damages and medical bills or a therapist if needed one, but they could never mention the situation.

However, this was the first time I’d ever had to actually enact the contract, but trust me when I said, she’d rather it be my way than my father’s. It was her unfortunate luck that my father was a good friend of hers, and they had a standing tee time at numerous country clubs across the country.

Stupid fucking whiskey.

Had I known this was how my morning was going to go after a night of a few shots, I would’ve ditched like I normally do. It’s been a while since I indulged in the after-parties the team usually threw at my condo. After all, I had to keep up my own football star party-boy persona for the public, but I couldn’t care less about the party scene.

Never had.

“You have ten minutes to get the fuck out.” I didn’t even try to be nice. I was pissed that I let it get this far and that I didn’t kick her out after we fucked like I usually would.

It’s my own fault. I let my control slip.

It’s been all of two days since I spoke to Scarlett. I was still tailing her as my assignment required, but I hadn’t attempted contact again.

I could feel Tucker watching me again from his spot but I didn’t look his way. I kept my glare pointed at Janice. She didn’t deserve it but I knew what I’d find if I looked at him.

That fucking pitying look of his.

I didn’t want his pity.

I wanted him to get her the fuck out of my house before I lost my shit more than I already had. I had a fight tonight and I needed to get myself in the right mindset.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Tucker moving in the direction of the girl. She cowered against the wall as he got within a foot of her and then stopped.

“I can take a look at your throat. I’m a doctor.”A med studentbut I didn’t correct him. Matter of fact, I didn’t spare either one of them another glance as I stalked toward my bathroom.

I’d owe him one later.

chapter seventeen

Xavier

“Uhoh,someone’sina pissy mood.” My bar manager, Ethel, smirked as I walked through the door ofSweat. Ethel was an old friend of my mother’s who showed up with the keys to an empty department store four years ago. She was the executor of my mother’s will. My mother told her that in the event of her death, Ethel was to give me the keys to this building on my eighteen birthday. I think Ethel took that literally because she showed up at Father’s house at midnight the night of my eighteenth birthday.

Thankfully, he was too busy banging a hooker after one of his fancy political bullshit dinners to give a fuck about my birthday, so he never saw Ethel. He didn’t know about the bar or the underground fights. I intended it to keep that way. Ethel had been with me since I opened the bar three years ago on my nineteenth birthday. Naturally, I ran into some legal troubles surrounding the idea of a nineteen-year-old bar owner, so Sweat was also legally in her name.

Even though I turned twenty-one last year and could technically own Sweat now, I thought it would be wise to keep the bar in Ethel’s name until I can find a way to sever all ties with my father. She didn’t question or refute it. I had a feeling she knew my reason why. I couldn’t give him any more ammunition or allow the last thing that connected me to my mother to end up as collateral in his twisted game.

“Isn’t today your day off?” I ignored her statement, taking a seat in the bar chair as I rested my hands under my heavy chin. My head felt like it had taken itself apart and both halves had sparred with each other. “Whiskey, neat.”

Aside from a few bikers playing pool in the back, the bar was pretty much empty, which was unusual for a Friday but normal for fight nights. There would be a line out the door soon enough to get downstairs and many college students who weren’t allowed downstairs would be up here drinking. Party upstairs and fight down below. The operation worked.

The fight club was, well, a fight club. You had to sign a nondisclosure agreement just to get to the door and had to pay a hefty amount to remain in the club. You weren’t allowed to discuss the fight club or any of the fighters outside of the ring. Down there you were sworn to secrecy. You’d be surprised how many blue-collar, high-dollar suits I’d had reach out to me to join. Not many were permitted, but still, the percentage was staggering.

Applications for the club weren’t formal—many were actually referrals by mouth and went through an extensive vetting process spearheaded by Briggs. He handled most of the behind-the-scenes work and I took care of keeping things in order in person, unless I had a fight or game. Then he would come and step in for that. Which meant, he should be in a little later tonight.

“Manners, use ‘em.” Ethel didn’t look up from wiping the spot behind the counter as she continued, “Don’t got no one to cover.”

“What happened to the girl you hired last week?” Ashley, Anna, something with an A. A blonde number with a great rack. She was a looker but not a total ditz, one I was sure my regulars here would enjoy. Thought at the very least she would last longer than a week. A couple of months maybe.

She waved her hand in the air as if the thought was absurd. “You know how those college students are. Think they want to slum it up and roleplay as the poor kid until it’s time to do actual work. No offense, boss.”

“None taken.” I shrugged. I knew the persona I had to play. That’s all it ever was though. Everything I had, I had to work for. Father didn’t believe in handouts and didn’t like the idea of me having a silver spoon in my mouth, even though that’s exactly how he was raised. Hypocritical piece of shit. I’d had to work hard to keep the bar open and it wasn’t until I started hosting underground fights in the basement that I started turning a profit after the operational costs of this place.

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