Page 480 of The Sinner: James

“I don’t know if I can––”

“You don’t know. Then my offer is off,” I say, sweeping the roll of cash off the table.

“Wait. Wait,” he says, his hands jerking up in the air.

“They’re gonna kill me if I tell you.”

“Not my problem. Besides, you might die at my people’s hands anyway,” I mutter around my cigarette, slipping the money back into my pocket.

His eyes linger on my jacket.

“Put it back on the table,” he says.

There’s nothing like a small-time crook.

“Try not to waste my time,” I say.

With one swift motion, I retrieve the money and plop it onto the table before spinning the other chair around, straddling it, and setting my elbows on its wooden back.

“Talk,” I bark, tipping my chin in his direction. “How much money?”

“Half a mil.”

My eyebrows tilt in surprise.

“How come he owes that much?”

“He’s fighting. For them,” he adds sheepishly, unsure of my reaction.

“What’s their cut?”

“Sixty percent.”

“Hmm...”

That’s a big cut.

Was he stupid? Or was he stupid?

He searches my eyes for a moment.

“That’s the normal cut,” he says. “All fighters pay the same percentage to the owners. He’s the only one who’s stopped paying it.”

“When did he stop?”

“A while back.”

“Why did they keep him then?”

“He’s made good money for them, brought in a lot of people, and drawn the prizes and payouts up.”

“That’s why they want him back?”

“Yes. And to recoup their fee.”

Hmm... So he’s not stupid after all.

“What made you think he was back?”

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