Page 86 of The Way We Are

Air whizzes out of her nostrils when I shake my head. “But I can give it to you tomorrow,” I promise.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest before locking her eyes with mine. Her stare leaves no misgiving on what she's doing. She is gauging the truth of my reply.

“Please, Regina. I’ll tell you everything I know tomorrow.”

“Everything?” Regina asks, seeking clarification.

Hello nerves, please meet tension.

“Yes,” I agree, ignoring the worry bombarding me.

“I meaneverything, Ryan—your father, your fighting career. The pretty blonde the FBI photographed you with the past week.”

I take a step back, not anticipating her last sentence. “The FBI has me under surveillance?” Once again, I don’t know why I’m asking a question.

“Had,” Regina corrects. “They stopped when I told them you were one of us.” She takes a step closer to me, adding to the tension stealing the oxygen from the air with every second that passes. “You are one of us. Aren’t you, Ryan?”

I nod, not trusting the gleam in her eyes that warns me she will slice off my nuts and hand them to me on a silver platter if I don’t answer the way she wants.

She smiles a grin that makes me more nervous than calm. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. I’ll tell Beno to keep an eye out for your application.”

I lose the chance to ask who Beno is when she pivots on her heels and starts to leave. “One night, Ryan. If you fail to arrive at my office tomorrow morning, I will arrest you,” she warns.

She doesn’t face me while issuing her threat. She doesn’t need to. The caution in her tone is potent enough her honest eyes don’t need to fortify it.

I wait for her frame to disappear into a sea of men before joining Savannah at the side of the ring. Isaac is already in the middle of the ring. I don’t know what has caused his face to age ten years in twenty minutes, but if it's the same ruckus that has forced the crowd to swell toward the boxing ring, I’m confident it's something compelling.

“What’s going on?” I ask Savannah, taking the seat next to her.

Bile scorches my throat when she locks her glistening eyes with mine. “It’s her brother. Her boyfriend’s fighting her brother.” Her chin quivers when she nudges her head to the brunette being held back from the ring by the same goon who held a gun to Isaac’s temple months ago. She's the same brunette I saw Isaac walking down the corridor with earlier.

Oh shit.

The scene unfolds in sickening detail when I follow the direction of Isaac’s slit gaze. He isn’t just glaring at some random unknown low enough in the mob rankings his son’s beating will go unnoticed. He is glaring at Col Petretti.

Fuck.

34

Ryan

“Throw in the towel,” Isaac pleads, glaring at Col. “He’s your fucking son.”

Col shakes his head, denying Isaac’s request with an arrogant edge. His glare reflects one of a monster, equally evil and without fear. All he has to do is dip his chin a mere millimeter and his son’s life will be spared. But he refuses to end the fight, because for some fucked up reason, gaining the respect of his associates is worth more than his son’s life.

Unlike Savannah, my eyes haven’t left the ring the past twenty minutes. Every hit, punch and kick Isaac inflicts to Cj’s body is met with an equal amount of devastation and admiration. I need him to win this fight, but I hate seeing him in this predicament.

Even knowing he doesn’t have a choice, his girlfriend hasn’t stopped screaming at him the past twenty minutes. Her pleas didn’t waver when a man thrust a gun into her ribs. No matter what he does, Isaac will leave this warehouse as a loser. He has the match in the bag, but his relationship is more destroyed than Cj’s badly bruised body.

“Is it over yet?” Savannah asks, her low tone revealing she's on the verge of crying.

I tug her tightly to my body, hoping the frantic beat of my heart will drown out Isaac’s girlfriend’s pleas for him to stop. It's pointless when Ophelia’s cries grow more frantic from spotting Isaac mouthing an apology to her brother. She knows what's about to happen. We all do.

Savannah grips my body so hard, her nails pierce my skin when a bloodcurdling scream booms around the room. Isaac just completed a round-house kick to Cj’s temple, ending his fight with the violence nearly every man in this room craves—every man but me.

My heart wallops my ribcage when Cj’s eyes roll into the back of his head mere seconds before he plummets to the ground. The thud of his unconscious frame hitting the mat is drowned out by the roar of the spectators celebrating Isaac’s triumph with dollar signs flashing in their eyes.

When the bookies discovered Isaac’s true identity, his odds dramatically dropped. They failed to see the determination of the man behind the mask. A handful hoped the odds would sway in their favor. I knew without a doubt they would.

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