Downfall(39)

She was tiny. Way shorter than Orley and probably only a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her hands were taped similar to mine, and she squared her shoulders after giving me a long once over. We were so unevenly matched it was a joke. One uppercut or kick to the chest and she would break like a doll.

The older man shrugged, eyes glittering with glee. “Any fighter we picked. Those are the rules. We want him to fight her, and if he doesn’t, we automatically win.”

I spit out my mouth guard and growled, “Fine. You win. I’m out of here.” There was no way in hell I was laying a hand on that girl.

I was turning around to walk back to the locker room when the man who set this up grabbed my forearm in an iron grip. “Not so fast, kid. You don’t get to just forfeit and walk away. You win, you get the money. You lose…”

I frowned, realizing I should have asked for more precise details before agreeing to this mess. “I lose and they get back the money they paid. I know the drill. I wouldn’t have agreed to the fight if I couldn’t afford to lose.”

The dark head shook in the negative and the old man let out a scoffing laugh. “No, kid, their terms are different. Your boss should’ve laid it all out for you, but he’s convinced you’re unbeatable.” Normally, I was, but this was not a twist I was expecting. “If you lose, their terms are you leave town immediately. No coming back. If you lose, they expect you to get gone.”

I balked. “What?” Leave the city? That was impossible. Almost as impossible as fighting fairly against the small woman watching me with careful eyes. “I can’t do that.” There was no way I was leaving my mother here, and I wasn’t willing to walk away from Orley and Noble so easily either. “I never agreed to those terms.”

The man next to me sighed and narrowed his eyes at the older man openly mocking my surprise and refusal to fight. “You agreed when you said yes to the fight. You win, we get a stupid amount of money… lose… and you have to agree to go.”

I looked at the woman, then back at the man who had brought a lamb to the slaughter. “Who is this guy?” And why did he have such a personal vendetta toward me?

“Channing Vincent. He’s old money and deeply involved in local politics. He’s a corporate raider. Buys up struggling business and devours them from the inside out. Makes his money on other people’s misfortune.” The lyrical voice sounded almost impressed.

I snorted. “Don’t you do the same thing?”

Unsurprisingly, the man next to me nodded. “Yes, which is why you shouldn’t take this gauntlet he threw down lightly. He clearly wants you out of the city. You need to know why. If you have to go through the girl to get that information, then do it.” He turned and walked away without another word. He stopped next to a very large African American man and bent his head to speak softly. The bald, well-dressed man had been the head of the Devil’s security for as long as the man had been running the underground. He was a misleadingly gentle giant, and I could tell by the way he was glaring at the rich men across the room that he wasn’t any happier with the turn of events than I was. Sure, someone like the Devil could go through an innocent woman to get what he wanted. I wasn’t wired that way. If I was forced to hurt the girl, I had no doubt my conscience would never get over it. Any wounds I left on her would be nothing compared to the ones I ripped into my own morality.

But what choice did I have?

I couldn’t leave the city or my obligations.

A bet is a bet, even if the terms sucked. Nothing about any of it had to be fair. That was the risk you took when you banked on something illegal for a good portion of your income.

Growling a long list of swear words under my breath, I shoved the mouth guard back in and slowly stomped my way to the center of the roughly drawn circle. I kept my eyes on the girl as she followed suit. When she was standing directly in front of me, our size difference was even more acute. I towered over her and had to outweigh her by a solid hundred pounds, if not more. I wouldn’t even fight a man if the difference were so obvious.

The girl lifted her eyebrows and very quietly muttered, “They know you don’t want to hit a girl. This is a set up. That old rich guy wants you gone.” She popped her mouth guard in so the conversation had to end and stuck out her taped-up hands for me to touch.

With little other options, I lightly bumped her fists with my own and tried desperately to figure out a way I could take her down without actually hurting her. I hoped the regular rules might bend in this particular situation. No one wanted a dead girl on their hands…. Did they? Sometimes, when dealing with these guys, it was hard to tell.

I was so caught up in my own shit I had no time or self-awareness to prepare for the flying roundhouse kick that immediately took me to my knees. I landed on the concrete with a thud, ears ringing, head thundering from the impact. The girl bounced lightly on her toes a few feet away, watching me warily. Shaking away the fog, I climbed to my feet and watched as the girl dropped into a low, professional martial arts pose. I wasn’t sure if it was Taekwondo or karate since I only knew the basics of both, but this chick was trained and she could do some serious damage. My roaring head was proof of her abilities.

I had just found my balance when she started another attack. Her feet moved so fast it was almost impossible to keep track of them, and her tiny fists felt like hammers when they made contact with my chest and ribs. I played defense, blocking kicks and punches as she moved to the outer edge of the circle. With a roar of frustration, I finally managed to duck under one swinging leg and get close enough to wrap her in a submission hold. I took her to the ground with an arm around her throat and one of my legs keeping hers immobile so I didn’t get kicked in a place guaranteed to bring me down. I tightened my hold until I could hear her breath struggling to escape.