Better When He's Bold
Page 32

I plopped down in one of the wingbacks across from him and just stared at him while he talked on his cell phone. His dark eyebrows were pitched low on his forehead and his hair was standing up in the front like he had been shoving his hands through it, instead of lying flat in its usual ruthless style. I crossed my ankle on my knee and tapped out a random beat with my fingers while he glowered at me. Nassir didn’t play well with others, and now that there was an unknown quantity in the mix, our uneasy truce might prove to be too much for him to handle.
He barked out something in a language I didn’t understand and threw the phone on the desk in front of him with way more force than the action required. He leaned back in his chair and glared at me with glowing eyes.
“If you ask me if I shot that guy, I very well may punch you in the face.”
That made me grin.
“You have any idea who might be behind it?”
“Someone clumsy and obvious. It was foolish and gratuitous.”
“The kid was overkill.”
“The kid was to make a very clear point.”
I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward with my forearms resting on my legs.
“What do you want to do about it?”
He grumbled something I didn’t quite make out and raked his fingers through his dark hair.
“I’m having one of my guys go through the security footage outside both of the clubs to see if we can see anything. We need to know who to look for before we can decide what we want to do about it.”
“All right.”
I didn’t think we were going to be in agreement about it, but so far, so good. Granted, I didn’t trust Nassir, but until he gave me a reason to doubt his judgment, I was okay with handling this one step at a time. It was just logical.
“Now let’s talk about the fights this Friday night.”
His candy-colored gaze went sharp, and the edges of his mouth dug in at the sides.
“What’s there to talk about? I’ve been doing fight nights as long as you’ve been running the streets. This isn’t anything new.”
“Right, but now I’m running the odds and I want to know what magic you’re going to pull so that you have a guaranteed winner. If you’re gonna play dirty, I want the odds to reflect it.”
“That isn’t how you make money, Race.”
“No, but it is how you make the bet clean.”
“Who cares about a clean bet?”
I hooked a thumb at my chest. “I do.”
His frown dug in deeper, and we had a tense moment where we just stared at each other without speaking.
“That is naive and foolish. It isn’t what this partnership is about.”
“Look, I watched you set my best friend up against guys who were doped up, guys with knives stashed on them, guys who were fighting for their lives because you threatened to kill them or their loved ones if they lost, and I never did a goddamn thing about it. You want to weigh the fight in a certain fighter’s favor, then that’s on you, and we know the crowd loves that shit. But when it comes to the money, it’s going to be a clean bet based on real odds. The payouts will be larger, but so will the stakes. Trust me on this.”
He didn’t want to concede. I could see it all over his face and in his posture, but for whatever reason, he had decided that it was easier to work with me than constantly against me, so he dipped his head in a single nod.
“Kenmore is going in with a healing ACL tear. He thinks he’s okay to fight, but the other side knows about the injury and will do their best to take full advantage of it. You can’t rule a guy like Kenmore out, though; he fights because he loves it, not for the money.”
That meant the odds had to be skewed in the other guy’s favor, but if Kenmore managed to pull out a win, the payout would be enormous for those who were brave enough to bet on the underdog.
“Got it. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
I pushed up out of the chair and looked back at him when he called my name as I reached the door.
“I know you’re in this with me, Race, but if blood gets spilled, are you honestly ready for that?”
Like I said before, I didn’t really know much about Nassir’s past, just that he had come on the scene about the same time that Bax and I got tangled up with Novak. For the most part he kept the Point alive with entertainment, oiled hands that needed oiling, and made things happen when no one else seemed able to. I had never actually seen him use his hands on anybody—never seen him lift a finger to hurt another person—but there was something about him, some innate quality that swirled under the surface of those unusual eyes that hinted at an untapped wealth of violence and mayhem just waiting to be unleashed.