Page 3 of Sold to the Fighter

Chapter Two

Theo

Fuck this.

What in the hell is going on at this chapel out in the middle of nowhere?

I have to try hard to control my breathing as I watch the two figures in front of me enter the building. Though I can only see their silhouettes, it’s obvious that the girl doesn’t want to be here. The sight of that man’s grip on her arm makes me clench my jaw.

I should have forced Damien to come with me. I reread his last message on my burner phone:

I don’t want you to be blindsided. Just so you know, the auction isn’t about goods, but girls.

I bunch my fist against my thigh. It doesn’t sound any less vile than the last time I read it.

I might have to punch someone out before the night is over. There’s no one to restrain me, so I have to get myself under control. I think about the cheering crowds as I enter the fighting ring, the calm and calculated persona I wear like a cloak as I size up my opponent, and the cool-headed Dom who controls the pleasure of his sub.

As I remember who I am, my rage calms and I am once again the cold bastard that many people know me to be. I know I can fit into this world, at least long enough to find the person I came here to find.

Fighting in the underground since I was a teenager has opened my eyes to a lot of shady dealings that I’ve grown used to. Now, at thirty-eight, I don’t see things in black or white, but in different shades of gray, ash, and any color in between.

“Welcome to the chapel,” the guard at the entrance greets in a monotonous voice. “Your ticket please.”

I show him the ticket, then gesture at the entrance. “I have an appointment with Richard Pierce. Is he in there?”

There’s an unmistakable edge in my tone, and the guard visibly straightens. “Not yet,” he answers. “But you can go in for the show while you wait for him.”

“The show,” I drawl frostily, arching a brow.Fuck.

The guard swallows. “Please go in.”

I walk through the small alcove and then follow a corridor to a flight of stairs until finally I’m entering a large hall with a wide, elevated stage. The dimly lit room has plush seating in place, each with a small desk-like compartment attached. I’m not surprised to find the space occupied by other guests, but I don’t bother to exchange pleasantries. Instead, I head to the back and settle into an empty seat in a dark corner, keeping my gaze on the entrance so I’ll know the moment Richard arrives.

Distaste curls inside me at the thought of the old man. He was my father’s friend and business partner when he was alive. They opened a club together and made steady money, paying off the loan they owed the bank.

When we lost my mom to a car accident, Dad was understandably distraught. He couldn’t cope or supervise the club like before. Richard took the opportunity to make deals with major drug dealers in the city.

By the time my father became aware, the club was already well-known for dealing drugs. Dad was so furious that he threatened to alert the cops if Richard didn’t stop dealing. Richard ended up finding a new space for his own club where he continued his shady dealings, taking almost all of their customers with him while he asked my father to pay him back for his share of the bar.

The bar ran down after that, and my father couldn’t pay off his debt. He gave in to his grief and his shame, and he became an alcoholic.

I had just turned eighteen when this all happened, and since I was big for my age, I started attending underground fights with my friends. Aside from the fact that the money was good, I needed a way to channel all my rage and anger.

I got beat up in my first two fights, but I learned and started to use my body to my advantage. Fighting felt good—I could let go of all my pent-up emotions.

I lost my dad a year later. He drank himself to death.

Though I knew it wasn’t completely fair, I wanted to blame Richard for my father’s decision to take solace in alcohol. My father didn’t want to be connected to Richard in any way, which only pushed him deeper into the bottle. I vowed to pay off his debts and ease his mind, but he died before I could fulfill that vow.

So, here I am, waiting for Richard Pierce. I’ll pay him off, and my father’s soul can finally rest.

I take another look at my surroundings. I’m not surprised that Richard is a regular at this place; he was well on his way to being a pathetic fucker when he fucked my dad over.

“Gentlemen. Welcome,” the auctioneer says, taking my attention off the patrons. “Welcome to another week of our auction here at the chapel. Tonight I bring you an array of untouched and delectable goods, and I’ll be back in a minute to unveil them one after the other. Sit tight!”

Motherfucker.

I hate him already. As I stare at his smug face, the need to punch him flares inside me, but I push it back. I’d rather be anywhere but here. But I’m willing to sit through this vile auction just so I can complete my vow to my father. I don’t know what that says about me, but I gave up on walking the straight and narrow the moment I took out my first opponent in a fight.

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