Knuckles (Insatiable Series) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2017-06-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Chris knew that he shouldn’t be there—everything in his entire being told him that he shouldn’t be at the fight. It wasn’t just because of the bet he had placed.

Or because he had stolen heroin from one of the fighters and Tony himself.

Or because the money he owed Tony was due today.

In fact, Chris could come up with more reasons to wait at a local pub and call Will in an hour or so than grains of sand on the Siesta Key beach. And one of these grains was the tension in the air in Tony’s Gym, heightened by the presence of many tattooed Mexicans and the two dozen Harley Davidson’s out front. This was a toxic mix, he knew.

There was a lot riding on this fight, and if it went the way that Chris thought it would—that he had bet it would—then a lot of people were going to be very upset with the result.

Tony included.

The man had shown him compassion in his warped way, but he had a feeling that today, tonight, he might not be so forgiving.

Chris grimaced, and tried to relax the arm in his makeshift sling. The half dozen or so Advil helped numb the pain, but it was still there.

It was always there.

No, he knew that he should have been far away from this place, but Chris just couldn’t help himself. This was his chance, his chance to make it big, to make enough cash so that he wouldn’t have to do stupid shit like make counterfeit one dollar bills.

Or get involved with Mexican gangbangers that ultimately ended up dead, riding the coattails of his conscience on their way to the afterlife.

Chris shook his head, trying to focus, to maybe even enjoy the fight.

A haggard looking woman in a leather skirt that ended just high enough to reveal dark blue network of veins on her thin-skinned thighs came by with a tray of beers, and Chris took one, paying with a handful of his counterfeit ones. He wasn’t sure why he had done that, as he still had some fifteen or so regular dollars to his name, but in retrospect, it wasn’t the brightest decision. But like everything that day, the most logical of choices seemed to elude him.

The lights suddenly flicked, and the announcer read off the records of the two fighters as they made their way to the ring.

Chris stood on tip-toes to try and get a good look at Peter’s face as he made his way to the ring, but he couldn’t see above the gray ponytails of the bikers in front of him.

A commotion to his left drew his attention, and he turned in time to see a Mexican gangbanger shove one of the bikers, sending him reeling. The biker was caught by two of his colleagues, and he was thrust back in the direction of the banger, his hands knotted into fists. But before he could throw a punch, one of Tony’s men stepped between them and shouted something that Chris couldn’t make out with noise all around him.

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