by Reilly, Cora
My lips twitched at her joke. “No. I’m not scared of anything.”
She laughed then quieted as her blue eyes traced my face. “I should go.”
She got out and closed the door, quickly running for cover. I watched her fumble with the keys for a while before she disappeared from view. Strange girl.
LEONA
I glanced back out the window as the Mercedes sped off. I couldn’t believe I let a total stranger drive me home. And I couldn’t believe I let him buy me food. I thought I’d outgrown that kind of thing. Back when I was a little girl, strangers had occasionally bought me food because they pitied me. But this guy ... he hadn’t showed any signs of pity. He didn’t watch me open-mouthed, only to tear his eyes away the moment I noticed his gaze and he definitely didn’t look ashamed for his own wealth. And the suit ... somehow it seemed out of place on him.
He hadn’t revealed what he did for a living. Not a lawyer or businessman, then what? Maybe his parents were rich ... but he didn’t seem like the trust fund type.
Not that it mattered. I’d never see him again. A man like him, with a car like that, he must spend his days on golf courses and in fancy restaurants, not in the places where I could work.
Dad wasn’t home. Considering the force of the rainfall, I’d be stuck in the apartment for a while. I walked into the kitchen, checked the fridge, but found it as empty as it was this morning. Then I sank into a chair. I was cold and tired. If I wanted to wear these clothes tomorrow, I’d have to hang them so they could dry. The dress was the nicest piece of clothing I owned. If I had any chance securing a job at this arena, I needed to wear it.
So far, this new beginning wasn’t very promising.
The next day I went in search for Roger’s Arena. It took me a while, and eventually I had to ask passersby for the way. They looked at me like I had lost my mind, asking for a place like that. What kind of place had Mercedes guy suggested to me?
When I finally found Roger’s Arena, a nondescript building with a small red neon sign with its name beside the steel entrance door, I stepped inside. Now I understood why people had reacted the way they had.
The bar wasn’t exactly a cocktail bar or night club; it was a huge hall that looked like it had once been a storage facility. There was a bar on the right side, but my eyes were drawn to the huge fighting cage in the center of the large room. Tables were arranged all around it with a few red leather booths against the walls for the VIP customers.
The floor was cement and so were the walls, but they were covered with wire mesh fence. Woven into the wire were neon tubes that formed words like honor, pain, blood, victory, and strength.
I hesitated in the front, half a mind to turn around and leave, but then a black-haired woman headed my way. She must have been thirty, thirty-one. Her eyes were heavily lined and her lips were a bright pink. It clashed with the red glow of the neon lights. She didn’t smile but didn’t exactly look unfriendly either.
“Are you new? You’re late. In thirty minutes, the first customers will be here, and I haven’t even cleaned the tables or the changing rooms yet.”
“I’m not really working here,” I said slowly. And I wasn’t sure it was a place I should consider working.
“You aren’t?” Her shoulders slumped, one of the thin spaghetti straps sliding off and giving me a glimpse of the strapless pink bra beneath her top. “Oh damn. I can’t do this alone tonight. Mel called in sick, and I ...” She trailed off. “You could work here, you know?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I said, even though the fighting cage freaked me out. Beggars can’t be choosers, Leona.
“Perfect. Then come on. Let’s find Roger. I’m Cheryl, by the way.”
She gripped my forearm and pulled me along. “Is the pay bad? Is that why are you having trouble finding staff?” I asked as I hurried after her, my sandals smacking against the concrete floor.
“Oh, it’s the fighting. Most girls are squeamish,” she said offhandedly, but I had a feeling there was more she wasn’t telling me.
We walked through a black swinging door behind the bar counter, along a narrow corridor with bare walls and more doors, toward another massive wooden door at the end. She knocked.
“Come in,” said a deep voice. Cheryl opened the door to a large office that was foggy from cigarette smoke. Inside, a middle-aged man, built like a bull, sat behind a desk. He flashed his teeth at Cheryl, his double chin becoming more prominent. Then his eyes settled on me.
“I got us a new waitress,” Cheryl said, the hint of flirtation in her voice.
“Roger,” the man introduced himself, stubbing out a cigarette on the ketchup-smeared plate in front of him. “You can start working right away.”
I opened my mouth in surprise.
“That’s why you’re here, right? Five dollars an hour, plus everything you make from tips.”
“Okay?” I said uncertainly.
“Dressed like that you won’t earn many tips.” He picked up his cell phone and gestured for us to leave. “Get something that shows off your ass or tits. This isn’t a nunnery.”
When the door had closed, I gave Cheryl a questioning look. “Does it always go like that?”
She shrugged, but again I got the impression that she was keeping something from me. “He’s just really desperate right now. Tonight’s an important fight, and he doesn’t want things to get messy because we’re low on staff.”
“Why does it matter how I’m dressed?” Worry overcame me. “We don’t have to do anything with guests, right?”
She shook her head. “We don’t have to, no, but we have a few rich customers that spend good money ... especially if you give them some special attention.”
I shook my head. “No, no. That’s not going to happen.”
She nodded, leading me out back. “It’s up to you. You can leave your backpack here.” She pointed toward the floor behind the bar. I reluctantly set it down. I couldn’t keep it on me when I worked. She rummaged through a small closet to the left of the bar and appeared with a mop and a bucket. “You can start by cleaning the changing room. The first fighters arrive in about two hours, until then clean everything.”
I hesitated and she frowned. “What? Too good for cleaning?”
“No,” I said quickly. I wasn’t too good for anything. And I’d cleaned up every possible disgusting thing in my life. “It’s just that I haven’t eaten anything since last night and I feel a bit faint.”
The fridge was still empty, and I was still out of money. Dad didn’t seem concerned about food at all. Either he ate wherever he was at night or he lived on air alone. Pity crossed her face, making me regret my words. Pity had been something I had been subjected to far too often, and it had always made me feel small and worthless. Having a mother who sold her body on the street, my teachers and social workers had showered me with their pity—but never with a way out of the mess. When the guy from yesterday bought me food, it hadn’t felt like an act of charity.
Cheryl set down the mop and bucket and grabbed something from a fridge behind the bar. She set down a coke in front of me then turned and went back through the swinging door. She showed up a minute later with a grilled cheese sandwich and fries, both cold.
“They’re from last night. The kitchen isn’t open yet.”
I didn’t care. I scarfed everything within a few minutes and washed it down with the cold coke. “Thanks,” I said with a big smile.
She searched my face then shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but how old are you?”
“I’m old enough to work here,” I said. I knew I needed to be twenty-one to work in a place like this, so I didn’t mention that I’d just finished high school this year.
She looked doubtful. “Be careful, chick,” she said simply and pushed the mop into my arms. I took it, picked up the bucket, and headed for the door with the red neon sign reading, “Changing Room.” I wedged it open with my elbow and slipped in.
There were several ope
n shower stalls, a wall of lockers, and a few benches inside. The white-tiled floor was covered with bloodstains and dirty towels. Great. They’d probably been there for days. The smell of beer and sweat hung in the air. Good thing I learned to deal with stuff like that, thanks to my mother. I began mopping and was still at it when the door opened again. Two middle-aged men tattooed from head to toe stepped inside. I paused.
Their eyes wandered over me, settling on my flip-flops and dress. I smiled anyway. I’d quickly learned that it was easier to disarm people with a smile than with anger or fear, especially if you were a small woman. They nodded at me, disinterested. When the first began to tug at his shirt, I quickly excused myself and headed out of the room. I didn’t want to watch them undressing. They might get the wrong idea.
A few guests were already mingling around the now red-lit bar, obviously impatient for drinks. Cheryl was nowhere in sight. I set down the bucket and the mop and hurried toward the counter. Once behind it, I faced the group of thirsty men, smiling.
“So what can I get you?”
Relief flooded me as beer seemed to be the only thing they wanted. That request was one I could handle. If they asked for cocktails, I’d be lost. Half of them wanted draft beer. I handed them their full glasses and the other half got bottles. I quickly scanned the fridge. There were only three bottles of beer left, and I doubted they would last long. These guys looked like a case of beer would be a good appetizer.
Where was Cheryl?
When I was starting to get nervous, she finally walked through the door, looking slightly disheveled. Her skirt was askew, her top put on the wrong way, and her lipstick was gone. I didn’t say anything. Had she already earned some extra money with a customer? I glanced around toward the few men gathered at the tables and the bar. Some of them were throwing me curious glances, but none of them looked like they were about to offer me money for having sex. I relaxed slightly. It was a touchy subject for me because of my mom. The moment one of them put money in front of me for sex, whether I was desperate for money or not, I’d be out of this bar so fast. There was a strange atmosphere in the bar; people exchanged money, talking in hushed voices. Someone sat in the corner, typing into his iPad, as customers approached him and handed him money. He was a very round, very short man with a mousy face. He must be taking bets. I didn’t know anything about the laws in Nevada, but this didn’t look legal.
None of my business.
“Doll? Give me a beer, would you?” a man in his sixties said.
I flushed then quickly reached for a glass. It started to feel like this place might be prone to trouble.
CHAPTER 5
FABIANO
I pulled up into the parking lot of Roger’s Arena, killing the engine. My muscles were already taut with eagerness. The thrill of fighting still got me after all these years. In the cage, it didn’t matter if your father was Consigliere or construction worker. It didn’t matter what people thought of you. All that mattered was the moment, your fighting skills, and your ability to read the enemy. It was one against one. Life was seldom as fair as that.
I stepped into Roger’s Arena. It was already crowded. The stench of old sweat and smoke clung to the air. It wasn’t an inviting place. People didn’t come here for the atmosphere or good food. They came for money and blood.
The first fight was about to start. The two opponents were already facing each other in the cage in the center. They weren’t the main attraction. All eyes turned to me then quickly avoided my steely glare as I strode past the rows of tables filled with spectators. My fight was last. I’d fight the poor sucker who had proven to be the best over the last few weeks. Remo thought it was good to have me beat the strongest fighters to a bloody pulp in a cage to show everyone what kind of Enforcer the Camorra had. And I didn’t mind. It helped me remember the beginning, helped me stay grounded and vicious. Once you allowed yourself to get used to the easy life, you set yourself up for attack and for failure.
My eyes were drawn to the bar. It took me a moment to recognize her, since she wasn’t shivering and dripping wet like yesterday. She had long amber curls, sharp yet elegant features. She was serving drinks to the men gathered at the bar, men with eyes like hungry wolves. She was focused on the task, oblivious to their staring. Taking too long pouring a simple beer, it was clear she did not have any experience working in a bar. To be honest, I hadn’t expected her to start working here. That she had taken the job after seeing the cage told me one of two things: she was desperate or she’d seen worse in her life.
She glanced up, noticing my attention. I waited for her inevitable reaction, but it didn’t come. She smiled shyly, her eyes lingering on my clothes. No suit today. Black jeans and a black long sleeved shirt, my preferred style, but sometimes the suit was necessary. She hesitated then quickly returned to the task of serving beer to an old fucker.
Who was this girl? And why wasn’t she scared?
Tearing my eyes away from her, I headed toward Roger, who was talking to our bookie, Griffin. I shook hands with both men. Then I nodded toward the bar. “New girl?”
Roger shrugged. “She showed up in my office today, looking for a job. I need new staff.” He narrowed his eyes, regarding me with uncertainty. “Do you want me to alert Stefano?”
Stefano was our romancer. He preyed on women, pretended to be in love with them, and eventually forced them to work in one of the Camorra’s whorehouses.
I didn’t get along with him and gruffly shook my head. “She doesn’t fit the profile.”
I didn’t know how Stefano chose the girls he pursued, and I didn’t give a fuck.
“So how’s it going?” I nodded toward Griffin’s iPad, where he managed all of the incoming bets.
“Good. The few idiots who have bet against you will bring us a lot of money.”
I nodded, but my eyes found the bar counter again. I wasn’t even sure why. I had driven the girl home last night on a whim and that was it. “I’m grabbing something to drink.”
Not waiting for either of them to reply, I made my way toward the bar. People chanced looks at me before sheepishly averting their gazes. It was annoying as fuck, but I’d worked hard to earn their fear.
I stopped in front of the counter and put my gym bag down beside me then sat on a stool. The men at the other end of the bar threw uneasy glances my way. I recognized one of them as someone I’d recently paid a visit to over three grand. His arm was still in a cast.
The girl I’d picked up on the street came over to me. Her skin was slightly tanned but didn’t have the unnatural orange tinge of someone who went to the tanning beds like most of the women who worked in our establishments.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she said, smiling that shy smile that reminded me of days long gone. Days I wanted to forget most of the time. She had a light sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks and cornflower blue eyes with a darker ring around the irises. Now that her hair wasn’t dripping wet, I noticed it wasn’t black but a dark auburn with natural golden highlights.
I rested my forearms on the counter, glad my long sleeves covered my tattoo. There would be time for the big reveal later. “I told you I frequented this place.”
“No suit but still all black. I take it you like it dark,” she teased.
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
Her brows drew together then the smile returned. “What can I do for you?”
“A glass of water.”
“Water,” she repeated doubtfully, the corners of her mouth twitching. “That’s a first.” She let out a soft laugh.
I hadn’t changed into my fighting trunks yet. I didn’t tell her that I had a fight scheduled that evening, which was one reason why I couldn’t drink or that I had to break some legs in the morning, which was the other.
She handed me a glass of water. “There you go,” she said, walking around the bar and wiping a table next to me. I let my eyes trail over her body. Yesterday I hadn’t paid nearly enough attention t
o the details. She was thin and small, like someone who never knew if there would be food on the table. But she managed to carry herself with a certain air of grace, despite her baggy clothes that hid the shape of her body. She wore the same dress from yesterday and those horrible flip-flops ... still completely wrong for the temperatures.
“What brought you here?” I asked.
Her father lived in a bad part of town. I couldn’t believe that she didn’t have anywhere else she could stay. Anything would have been an improvement. With her freckles, shy smile, and elegant features, she belonged in a nice suburb, not a fucked-up neighborhood, and definitely not working at a fight club in mob territory. The latter was my fault of course.
“I had to move in with my father because my mother is back in rehab,” she said without hesitation. There was no reservation, no caution. Easy prey in this world.
“Do I know your father?” I asked.
Her brows puckered. “Why would you?”
“I know a lot of people. And even more people know me,” I said with a shrug.
“If you’re famous, you should tell me so I don’t embarrass myself with my ignorance,” she joked easily.
“Not famous,” I told her. Notorious was more like it.
She waved a hand at me. “You don’t look like a lawyer or businessman today, by the way.”
“What do I look like, then?”
A light blush traveled up her throat. She gave a delicate shrug before she headed back behind the bar, hesitating again as she eyed my arms that I had propped up on the bar.
“Could you help me get a few beer cases from the basement? I doubt Roger wants to do it, and I don’t think I’m strong enough. You look like you can carry two or three without breaking a sweat.”
She turned and walked over to the swinging door leading to the back then looked over her shoulder to see if I was following.
I set down my glass on the counter and stood from the barstool, curious. She seemed completely unaware of what I was. And I didn’t mean my rank in the mob. People were usually uneasy around me, even without seeing my tattoo. She wasn’t a good actress, and I would have sensed fear had she harbored any. I followed her to the back and then down the long staircase into the storage area. I knew exactly where we were. I’d used it for a couple intense conversations with debtors. The door shut behind us. A flicker of suspicion shot through me. Nobody could be that trusting. Was this a setup? That would have been equally stupid.