Page 18 of Never Die for a Sinner
“Beats slinging beer to lowlifes.”
“You forgetyou’reone of the lowlifes I sling beer to?”
“No, I didn’t forget.”
She shakes her head, laughing under her breath.
“Where’ve you been, anyway? I haven’t seen you around in the last couple of weeks.”
“Been busy.”
She smirks, wiping away a drop of beer that slips down her chin.
“By busy, you mean hiding out in some poor girl’s apartment, don’t you?”
“Jealous?”
“Nah,” she chuckles. “I know I was your favorite.”
“Or maybe I was just that drunk.”
“Right back at you, Black.”
We both turn around to watch the ring when a whistle’s blown. Whistles mean someone got hurt, and when I say someone got hurt, I mean someone’s either broken or someone’s dead.
A guy gets dragged out by two men, blood oozing from his mouth, while the crowd cheers on the man who did it to him. That’s just how it is here.
I once saw a man get stabbed with a broken bottle. He nearly bled out before his girlfriend managed to drag him out of the ring and presumably to a hospital.
The only rule is that your identity gets left at the door, and no one runs their mouth about what really goes on in the Tomb.
Anything else is fair game. Except for bottles. Diego said there was too much blood.
“You should think about it,” Cherry says without missing a beat, and I cast a sideways glance at her. Cherry’s good at confusing the fuck out of me. “I mean, find a nice girl and settle down. You know, instead of doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”
Here we go.
“Why would I do a fool thing like that, when I can just come here and see you?”
She rolls her eyes, not buying any of my bullshit.
“Because contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually like you. I just think you’re pretty.”
Never in my life have I been called pretty, but coming from Cherry, I know it’s best to just take it as a compliment.
“I mean it, Black,” she says, her voice quieter. As if talking about life outside the warehouse around us is forbidden. She glances back at the ring, where a couple of men are mopping up the blood from the last fight. “I see people get hurt in here every night. People die. This . . . isn’t the place for you.”
My number is called, and Cherry winces when I move to stand.
I appreciate her concern, but she’s wrong.
This is exactly the place for me.
Plucking my beer back from her, I down the rest of it before setting it down with a grin.
“Hope you bet on me.”
She doesn’t return the smile.
