Page 67 of The Players

“Can I use your phone? I need to—”

“Didn’t bring one. No one does, since we won’t be coming back here.” Her mouth tightened. “As soon as I’ve paid my debt, I sure as hell don’t intend to return.”

Neither did she.

“Time’s up, ladies,” the guard bellowed. “You know the drill. Get up, into the cages.”

Cages?

Before she could ask anything, they were herded through the door. Bright lights met her, as Carmen followed the other women onto a big stage. On it was a row of cages. Underneath the stage was a round puddle of mud. Before it? Hundreds of people shouting, whistling, and clapping.

Crap.

She’d entered a women’s wrestling match.

CHAPTER 24

CARMEN

As the reality of what was happening hit her, Carmen wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Just a few hours ago, she’d been grocery shopping, unaware that such a thing as underground women’s wrestling existed. Her biggest concern had been choosing to make a pasta dish or burritos.

She tried to come to grips with the experience of standing on a platform. There was an actual line of people walking up and down the stage, passing the cages one by one. She noticed that not all her “colleagues” looked like her, which she presumed resembled a deer looking into headlights. Some of them actually rejoiced at the visitors cheering them on.

This went on for almost fifteen minutes, when Carmen suddenly caught a break. A familiar blond head in a sharp designer suit walked her way. Sy’s friend from the wharf. She was saved!

Her mind raced, as she tried to remember the name that went with the face. Then it came to her—Angel.

She yelled his name. This raised a few brows around her, but it did work. Angel walked up to her, hands in his pockets. Practically every woman in his wake eyed him like he was a piece of candy.

His eyebrows shot up when he stopped before her. “Yes?”

“I’m Carmen, Sy’s—”

“I know who you are. Didn’t know you were into wrestling, but hey, whatever floats your boat.” His eyes scrutinized her from head to toe. “I’m guessing it’s not just for your cinnamon buns why he keeps you around.”

“Please help me out,” she pleaded, clutching onto the bars of her cage. “I’m here by accident. If you could just explain that I don’t belong here—”

“Are you saying you were forced into wrestling?”

“Well, no, but…”

“So, you’re here because you wanted to?”

“Of course not!” The mere thought was ludicrous. “It was the only way to get away from that broom closet.”

“What was the only way?”

“Look, there’s no time to explain how I ended up here, but surely you understand—”

“Not really.” He inspected his nails, as if she was already an afterthought to him. “I doubt Brian will see it like that either.”

“Brian?”

“The guy who owns this place. Scary dude.” He fake shivered. “Not as scary as Kristoff, of course, but you get the gist. The only women who end up here are the ones who owe him and choose to fight to pay off their debt. He doesn’t force them into wrestling. Are you saying that one of his men forced you up the stage?”

“Um… no.” No matter how much she wanted to get out of this mess, she couldn’t be responsible for someone else taking the fall for her.

“Ah, well, in that case, I’m guessing you’ve entered willingly but had a change of heart. Problem is, that goes against Brian’s policy. Makes him go all biblical on you and shit.”

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