Page 74 of Last Chance at the Someday Café

When Morgan stopped, she nearly plowed into his back, catching her breath as she caught herself, her hand against his broad, muscular spine. Heat seeped into her palm, and she yanked her hand back. He didn’t even notice.

The thin man whose fists were full of money stepped into the circle. Morgan stayed put. He let go of her hand and a shiver of fear slid through her. Without his anchor, she’d be swept away. As if sensing her fear, Morgan turned to face her. “Stay with them. You hear me?”

She turned to find Wyatt and DJ standing just inches behind her. She nodded, realizing what they’d all meant trying to warn her away from this.

Morgan stepped away, but the crowd didn’t follow him like before. He stood there, flexing, clenching his hands at his sides. The muscles of his arms bunched beneath his suntanned skin.

“You’re in for a treat tonight, folks,” the man in the center of the circle cried above the crowd. “He’s back. Morgan Thane. And he’s aching to bring on the pain.”

Morgan’s jaw twitched, but that was all the reaction Tara saw to the man’s words. She gulped. Was this for real?

Across the circle, another man stepped out of the crowd. “Yeah?” His fists at his sides. “You think you can beat me?”

“He sure as shootin’ can, Kenny,” Dewey cried with a hoot of laughter. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“This ain’t no toothpaste commercial, Dewey.” The man leaned in close, breathing into the smaller man’s face. “Let’s get down to business.”

Morgan turned his gaze to the money man, and, with a knowing glare, jerked his chin toward Tara. Dewey turned and met her wide-eyed stare. He nodded and moved to stand right in front of her. She had to shift to the side to see.

Where a normal boxing ring had a bell, this place had an air horn. Tara slammed her hands over her ears as the sound cut through her brain. She dropped her hands as the two men shifted toward each other.

Morgan was moving around slowly, prowling the clearing, never taking his intense gaze from the big man before him. Her heartbeat pounded hard. She realized she wasn’t breathing and forced her lungs to expand. She couldn’t afford to do anything stupid like pass out. She’d be trampled under the crowd’s stomping feet.

The big bruiser of a man took the first swing, his fist hitting nothing but air.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

MORGAN KNEW HE was going to win. Not that the fight was rigged—something common in the illegal rings—but because he’d done his homework. He’d pumped Dewey for information and learned Kenny’s weaknesses. Kenny had gotten old and too comfortable in his prowess. He banked on new guys being too afraid of him. And it often worked.

Morgan knew better.

He also knew that he had to focus on the fight or get the shit beat out of him again, which meant he couldn’t scan the crowd to search for Sylvie. Instead, he cut a deal with Dewey.

Dewey didn’t care how he got his money, as long as he got it. Morgan had sweetened the pot for the greedy bastard. If Dewey found Sylvie before Morgan did, there was a big fat reward in it.

Dewey knew where Sylvie was, Morgan was sure of it. He’d hinted that he’d tell Morgan for the cost of a fight. Morgan had agreed. He’d have agreed to just about anything for that information.

Morgan should have thought of that idea months ago.

Still, when Kenny’s fist connected for the first time, Morgan cursed. It still hurt like hell, but the pain gave his anger focus. Yeah, he was gonna win.

And he was going to find Sylvie. He’d known her too long. While she’d changed, she hadn’t changed that much. She couldn’t stand not having his full attention. He just had to wait for her to show herself. And act like he wasn’t looking for her, pretend he was ignoring her. That’d trip her up.

So with Dewey on the lookout for Sylvie, Morgan focused on putting Kenny on his ass in the dirt.

Blood stained Morgan’s knuckles. His? Or from Kenny’s nose? It looked a bit more crooked than before.

The mountain of a man was going to have a nasty shiner in the morning. Still, Morgan wasn’t off the hook, either. His hand needed a bucket of ice. It stung. As did his jaw.

---