Uncaged (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (49 page)

Pierce’s expression has lost all its buoyancy. He actually looks concerned, and it’s freaking me out.

Quickly, he moves toward me, and guides me back from the door. He places his ear against it. The atmosphere has switched from awkward and argumentative to extremely tense in just two seconds flat.

Why doesn’t the door in his place have a fucking peephole?

My heart is racing. Something very definitely feels wrong.

I shadow him, watch as he unlocks and opens the door. In the hallway outside are two men in suits. I don’t fail to notice that they both sport the same tattoo on their necks, the left side just below the jawline. It’s a symbol of some kind, but I can’t make it out. One of them has his hands behind his back, and I see that they are beneath his jacket.

It dawns on me a second later: That man must be gripping onto a gun!

“Who the fuck are you?” Pierce asks, standing in the doorway. The men try to enter the apartment, but Pierce puts a hand out. “Uh-uh. Talk here, or fuck off.”

The two men look at each other. One of them is about five-eight, bald, with the build of a 1920’s Chicago gangster caricature, the other Pierce’s height, skinnier, and with a scar running down the side of his face. It joins his eye to his chin.

I touch Pierce’s elbow. These guys are definitely not door-to-door vacuum salesmen.

The stocky bald guy steps forward. “We work for Lev Fallon. You know of him, I presume?”

“Yeah, I heard of him,” Pierce replies.

“He’s setting up a fight.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“Next week, Friday. One fight only.”

“Against who?”

“Anton Vasilev.”

I see Pierce’s fist clench. “Never heard of him.”

“Fallon has arranged this fight in cooperation with the Mogilovich family. I take it you know who I refer to.”

Pierce’s body stiffens a little. He obviously knows, but the name means nothing to me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that these names are those of mobsters, though. Or the mafia… whatever they’re called.

I don’t like this one bit.

“Why me?” Pierce asks.

“He’s been a long-time fan, mate.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You stand to earn two million bucks.”

Pierce, in the process of closing the door, opens it. “Two mil? For one fight? You’re shitting me.”

“Pierce!” I hiss, but he ignores me.

“That’s right. Two percent of the forecasted winnings.”

“Don’t tell me your boss is placing a fifty mil bet on me.”

“He represents a conglomerate.”

“Other
fans
,” Pierce sneers.

The stocky man straightens his tie. “He believes you can win.”

There’s a stony silence. The air between them turns thick as treacle.

“I won’t talk to some fucking goon.” He waves them off with his hand. “If your boss has something to ask me, then he can talk to me personally. Until then, you’re wasting my time.”

The man with the scar pulls out a radio, and when he clicks the button on the side, it bursts to life with a static hiss. “Boss, he says he’ll only talk to you.”

There’s a pause. A voice comes through with a thick Australian accent. “Be right up, mate.”

“He’s here now?” I ask. I pull Pierce to the side, press the door shut, and shoot him an angry glare. “Who is this guy that’s coming up?”

“Lev Fallon, one of the local mob bosses.”

I blink. “Pierce, you asshole. You can’t involve me in this. How the hell did they get your address?”

But he doesn’t reply. It’s clear to me that he doesn’t know. Suddenly, I’m feeling overwhelmingly disappointed.

“Jesus, Pierce! Are you listed anywhere?”

“No,” he says. “I got this place under a friend’s name.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Fuck’s sake, Pen, I fight underground. You can make an enemy or two that way.”

“Well,
they
found it, so obviously you weren’t careful enough. Or they got to your friend.”

“Doubt it,” Pierce said. “He’s in Rio.”

“As in Brazil?”

“Yeah. He owns a few bars out there.”

“Well, you certainly involve yourself with stand-up people, don’t you?”

Pierce leans into me, eyes hard. “Climb down, Pen.”

“I’m going.”

“No, don’t. I don’t want them following you.”

I suck on my lower lip. Fuck. He’s right.
That asshole!

“You gotta stay with me right now, Pen. I can protect you if you’re with me.”

“Against the mob? I doubt that.”

“Stay
here
.”

“What do they want?”

“You heard them,” Pierce says. “They just want to set up a fight. It’s just business.”

“Just business?” I hiss. “At your fucking
house?
”

“It’s the fucking mob, Pen. This is how they do business.”

I fold my arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”