Page 53 of Fight Me Daddy

I plopped down on a cushioned stool at the bar and held up a finger. A guy walked down and nodded at me before he waited.

"Anything strong," I muttered.

"Cheap or good?"

"Cheap."

He disappeared and I wrapped my arm around my ribs. My body was sporting a ton of bruises and my lip still leaked blood. I knew there were other injuries, but I was too damn busy trying to stay on my feet to lick my wounds.

"Vodka," the man grunted as he set a glass in front of me. "Shit burns like hell, but it's cheap."

"I don't care." I dug into my pocket and passed over the funds before I grabbed the glass.

"You got your ass kicked."

It wasn't a question and he was correct. At first, I'd thought I stood a chance, but my opponent had been better than me. Much better. Every move I made, he countered. Every time I tried to dodge he put me on my ass so fast it made me dizzy.

"Yeah," I said as I downed the vodka and choked. I coughed, my chest aching as I rubbed the back of my hand against my mouth.

He nodded. "You win some. You lose some. Here." He refilled my glass. "One on the house. You'll do better next time."

I wanted to laugh. Next time? There was no way in hell there would be a next time. Conor was paying me to get information, but I wouldn't come back to fight even if he tripled the money he'd given me before.

That's a lie. For triple, I would lick his boots and take fifty punches without blocking.

Thinking about it made me shiver. I was changing. Every damn day I was getting worse, letting their world draw me in and turn me away from who I used to be. Was that how my father felt when he got mixed up with them? I'd been in control at first, but now I was spiraling.

Instead of responding to the bartender, I took my glass and threw back the shot. Heat swept through my body and I asked for one more. One part of the job over. One more to go.

Conor said he would pay me for good information. So far, what I had was a bunch of nothing. But if I was going to get that cash, I needed to find something. My eyes drifted to some men in the back and I froze. One guy's shirt was open. A tattoo peeked out of it and I recognized the shape of the snake and skull.

That had to be it.

"I'm gonna sit over there. Can I still get a drink?"

The man nodded. "I'll have someone bring it over."

I tossed a few more bills to him as a tip before I got up and sucked in a sharp breath. My body desperately needed a comfortable bed after I took a long, hot bath. But I had to focus.

Slowly, I limped my way back to a table and stayed as close to the little group of men as I could. They all wore dark scowls and thick brows and as I listened I could hear the Russian accents as clear as day. I frowned and when my drink came over, I sipped at it instead of throwing it back.

"When are we going to do more than start petty fires and rob these assholes? I'm tired of this bullshit. I want blood."

"Chill out," another, deeper voice answered. "The boss wants us to take them down before we take over."

"How long is that going to take? I'm sick of shitty bars and cheap whores."

"You couldn't afford expensive ones if you tried," deep voice barked back. "Shut the fuck up and do what you're told. If Andrei heard you talking like that..."

I glanced over my shoulder. As soon as the name was mentioned, Andrei, all of the men at the table stopped talking. They glanced around as if they waited for the man to appear and my stomach clenched. Whoever he was, they were afraid of him. And they didn't seem like the type of guys that were scared of much. Icy blue eyes met mine and I jumped.

"You," the deeper-voiced man stood up and knocked over his beer. "What the fuck are you doing?"

My heart leaped into my throat. I opened my mouth to lie my way out of it, but the look in their eyes made one-word pop into my mind. Run. I shot up and Ignored the pain that flared all over my body.

"You're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Come here."

"No thanks."

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