Riot

“Of the agency. Of everything that ties you down to a life you don’t want.” She smiles. “You see, almost everyone bet on the Crusher. But Pax and I, we bet on you.”

“Why didn’t you bet on Crusher? Your son?” I shake my head, then think better about it when the pounding headache intensifies. “Why did you give me your scarf? Why did you want me to win?”

“Because, my dear boy.” She lifts her hand, pets my hair. “Yours would be the only real victory. And I’m quite fond of you, as well.”

“Thank you,” I tell her and lean in to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “For everything.”

“Now you make me blush.” She beams at me and waves a hand. “Come on. Let’s go collect your money and get you two home. James is waiting outside with the car.”

“It’s a limo,” Pax whispers dramatically as she helps me dress in my loose jogging pants and my jacket, then pulls me up from the bench. “And the driver’s name is James. Can you believe that?”

I’d believe anything right now.

Pax helps me limp out of the locker room and through the corridors running through the administrative offices of the club. Ellen precedes us. She talks to people like she knows them. Scratch that, she does know them. Clay Baran’s mother. Sergei Baran’s lover.

Jesus Christ.

Soon she has people running back and forth to do her bidding, and with Pax’s help, I make my slow way to the back exit. Can’t remember this building being so big. It’s taking forever, and my legs are shaking.

Shit, I survived the fight against the Crusher. I fucking won.

Unbelievable.

Finally we’re stepping outside, the cold biting into any exposed inch of flesh, making my stomach contract and my ribs flare with pain.

Awesome.

A limo is idling there, just like Pax said, and a driver in a dark two-piece suit is holding the door open.

Well, fuck me.

I manage to bend over enough to slide inside, and lean back against the seat with the smell of leather and plastic, closing my eyes.

Pax sits beside me, taking my hand in hers, and yeah, this is the closest to heaven I think I’ve ever been.

Then Ellen slips into the passenger seat and James behind the wheel, and we’re off. Where to?

Who the hell cares?

“Here.” Ellen twists around and thrusts a fat envelope to me. “Yours.”

“What’s that?”

“Your money.” She waits until I take the swollen envelope, then turns away again. “Won fair and square.”

“That’s your money. You bet on me.” I swallow thickly. “When no-one else would. You and Pax.”

“We bet on your behalf. That’s what family is for. Take it and stop talking. You need to rest.”

I gape at the back of her seat, and Pax laughs. It’s a clear, happy sound, and I turn to her, passing her the envelope.

“It’s yours, Riot,” she says, pushing it back.

“Then take care of it for me, okay?” God, I’m K.O. “Can’t think right now.”

“Sure.” She gives me a soft smile that eases the pain that seems to radiate from every inch of my body. “Rest. You need to be well for the Christmas party.”

What party? I want to ask but I lean back instead and let the car’s engine lull me into sleep.