Chapter 1
I won the fight in three rounds.
Not because the crowd loved me.
Not because Vincent wanted me to.
Because I had no other choice.
My knuckles were split.
My ribs burned every time I breathed.
My left eye was swelling shut.
But when the referee grabbed my wrist and lifted it under the hot lights of that basement fight club in Vegas, all I could think about was my sister’s tuition.
Five thousand dollars.
That was the deal.
Five thousand dollars meant Mia could start college in two weeks.
Five thousand dollars meant she would not have to take a second job washing dishes after class.
Five thousand dollars meant the promise I made our mother before she died would still mean something.
I stumbled backstage after the fight, spit blood into the sink, and sat down by my locker.
That was when Vincent came in.
He wore a silk shirt open at the throat and smiled like a man who had never kept a promise unless it made him richer.
“Nice fight, kid,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Shame about the money.”
I looked up.
“What money?”
He blew smoke toward my face.
“Yours.”
I stood slowly.
He did not step back.
“The odds flipped late,” he said. “Too many people bet on you. Club took a hit. You get half.”
“Half?”
“Twenty-five hundred. Take it or leave it.”
My jaw tightened.
“We agreed on five.”
Vincent smiled.
“Agreements change.”
I took one step toward him.
“I fought three rounds for that money.”
“And I run the room where you got to fight.”
He nodded toward the door.
Three men walked in.
Big.
Quiet.
Not drunk fans.
Not bouncers.
Men paid to hurt people without getting emotional about it.
Vincent tapped ash onto the floor.
“Teach the kid how business works.”
Then he left.
The first man swung before the door even closed.
I ducked.
Pain tore through my ribs, but I drove my fist into his stomach.
He folded and dropped to one knee.
The second grabbed me from behind, arms locking around my chest.
I slammed my elbow backward.
He cried out and let go.
The third pulled a knife.
For half a second, everything slowed.
The dull shine of the blade.
The sweat on his forehead.
The sound of bass thumping through the wall.
I kicked his wrist.
The knife clattered across the concrete.
I lunged for it before he could.
Then I stood there, breathing hard, holding the knife in a shaking hand.
“Get out,” I said.
The men looked at one another.
Then they dragged each other toward the door.
I waited until they were gone.
Then I walked out.
The club was still alive.
Music.
Bets.
Drinks.
Money changing hands.
Men laughing like nothing had happened twenty feet away.
Vincent stood at the main betting table, counting a thick stack of cash.
He looked up and saw me.
His smile vanished.
I walked straight toward him.
People moved out of my way.
He reached under the table.
I grabbed the edge first.
Then I flipped it.
Cash exploded into the air.
Chips scattered.
Tickets flew.
The whole club went silent.
Vincent rose with a gun in his hand.
“You’re dead, kid.”
Security moved in from every side.
Ten men at least.
I was still holding the knife.
My body ached.
My breath came rough.
But something inside me had gone calm.
Then the front door burst open.
Blue lights flooded the room.
“Police! Nobody move!”
Vincent’s face went white.
He looked at the gun in his hand.
Then at me.
Then he dropped it and pointed.
“He started it!” he shouted. “He attacked my men! He robbed the place!”
The police turned toward me.
Hands near their weapons.
I looked down at the knife in my hand.
Then I saw Vincent’s phone on the floor beneath scattered bills.
The screen was lit.
May you like
A text from someone saved as Chief.
Raid in 10. Get the cash out. Blame the new kid.
