Down and Out(68)

Macy snorts and picks up her cup. “No, but that’s because I’m a *, and I’d be afraid of getting my face rearranged. I’ve worked hard to get to this level of mediocrity,” she deadpans, gesturing to her face and hair as she takes a sip.
Macy’s crazy. She might’ve had an ugly duckling phase in high school, but she’s a swan now.
Toying with the sleeve on my cup, I meet her eyes. “Jimmy asked me to join.”
“No way,” she squeals, her face growing animated as she leans forward. “Are you?”
Sighing, I say, “I don’t know. Punching someone in the face is a little different than getting into a full-on brawl.”
I’ve been in more than my fair share of fights with various foster siblings, and while I was always able to hold my own, this would be different. This would be against a trained fighter, not some scrawny kid who stole my iPod.
“Hmm.” Macy frowns, then shrugs. “I still think it’d be cool to do once, just to be able to say you’ve done it.”
I freeze as an idea takes root in my head, gaining momentum and spreading through me like wildfire before I can stop it. Maybe I could fight once and walk away.
It’s insane, I know, but why not? I could pocket the money and walk away.
Limp away is more like it.
Damn voice of reason won’t shut her friggin’ trap today.
“Macy, you’re a genius,” I say, digging in my purse for Jimmy’s business card. I finally find it folded up at the bottom and yank it out, then look up at Macy’s confused face. “Hey, can I borrow your phone for a sec?”
“Sure,” she says slowly, shifting to pull it out of her pocket.
She hands it to me and I mumble my thanks as I hurry to the bathroom, where it’s bound to be quieter.
Locking myself in a stall, I dial the number on his card. A woman answers after two rings. “James Dormandy’s office. How may I assist your call?”
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting a secretary. “Um, I’m Savannah Ryan, returning a call for Mr. Dormandy.” That’s not exactly true, but whatever. It sounds better than “I have some questions for Mr. Dormandy regarding the proposition he made me last night, involving certain illegal activities and an obscene amount of money.”
“Hold, please.”
I stare at the back of the stall door for what seems like forever before the line clicks and I’m greeted with, “Savannah, so nice to hear from you.”
“Um, hi,” I stammer, not entirely sure where to begin. “I had some more questions for you, if that’s okay.”
“By all means.”
Exhaling away from the mouthpiece, I place my hand on my head, trying to gather my thoughts. It’s like trying to collect air in a jar. “If I do this, is there like, a minimum number of fights I’d have to do?”
“No, not at all. You’re free to leave the organization at any time.”
“So I could fight once and turn around and leave?”
He chuckles and I hear what sounds like leather creaking on his end of the line. “If you want, but that’s not a very big payday. That’s only, what, seven thousand dollars, potentially?”
“Seven? I thought you said five for the match?”
“Five just for fighting. It’s seven if you win.”
“Oh.” Seven thousand dollars? Holy shit.
I’d be stupid not to do this…right? I mean, that’s a guaranteed five grand even if I lose.
Jesus Christ, if I won one of these a semester, I could put myself through school.
As I ask him how we proceed from here, I can’t help but wonder how pissed Declan’s going to be when he finds out. Something tells me it’s going to be a lot.





Math, man. I hate it.
These numbers are starting to bleed into one another, so I push the papers on my desk away and scrub my hands over my face. The gym’s making money. That’s all I need to know right now.
A knock at the door has me looking up, seeing Marcus standing in the open doorway with an odd expression. “What’s up, man?”
He steps into my office and shuts the door behind him. When he faces me, he looks grim. “I just got a call from Jimmy’s secretary, asking me if I could fit in a new fighter.”
“Okay. . .” I frown and lean back in my chair. That’s not really new. Every now and then Marcus helps Jimmy out with his new recruits, until they can find trainers of their own.
So why the hell is he acting weird about it?
“This new fighter’s a woman,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans against the door. “Your woman.”
“What?” I let out a mixture of a scoff and chuckle as I stare at him, trying to gauge whether he’s full of shit or not. “The hell are you talking about?”
He pushes off the door and walks over to my desk. “I’m talking about Jimmy seeing your girl deck Jamie last night, and now he’s got it in his head that she’s a fighter. I told you two weeks ago that he was thinking about starting a women’s league.”
I stand so fast my chair rolls into the wall as I walk around my desk. “I thought you were kidding about that!”
His hands push on my chest, stopping me. “You gotta be smart about this, bro. You go up there and just start yelling, and you’re asking for trouble. You gotta calm down. Talk to her.”
His calm, rational response just pisses me off even further, because I know he’s right and I don’t want to hear it. I just want to know what the hell she’s thinking. “Since when are you the Dalai f*cking Lama when it comes to chicks?” I ask, brushing past him.