He faltered for an instant before returning to his reps with even more vigor. Posturing was the name of the game. “Not so nice to see you. You’ve looked better, my man.”
“Yeah, well, shit happens. Mine can be fixed with surgery. Yours…well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
“What do you want?”
“Now, see, that’s not the way to talk to a fellow competitor. How long have you been training here?” I knew exactly how long. He’d strutted into The Cage less than three months ago. Word was he’d run into some trouble at his last gym in the Bronx. He seemed to have a talent for getting into fights.
A talent or a predilection. I never took anything at face value. For all I knew, maybe Costas wanted to be known as a troublemaker. We all had our own reasons.
Costas popped to his feet, bouncing back and forth on his shiny sneakers. “Listen, I don’t have time for games. I’m here to train and win. So were you once. Maybe you should consider if your payday is worth the cost.” He pointed at my eye. “Looks pretty fuckin’ painful, dude.”
Back to the payday crap again. Those rumors had dogged me for months. Some guys had decided I’d won so much because I had the right people in my pocket, and those people must be paying my competitors to lose. Then they’d begun speculating how long it would be before they put their money on another fighter and I’d start taking a dive instead.
A drug dealer from the east side had done me the favor of sketching out a potential earn out schedule, the one I thought I’d left in my jacket the day before I’d given it to Mia. It meant a guaranteed payday—no worries about losing, since that would become my goal—and I’d face less risk of getting hurt because I’d be bowing out in the first or second round.
Like…oh, what had happened last Friday night.
I scraped my hand over my scalp. “Out of curiosity, how many dumbass motherfuckers do you know who get knocked out cold to throw a fight?”
Costas stared at me, obviously weighing his words. “Just because I changed up the game plan on you doesn’t change yours. You expected to get a green fighter you could easily goad into getting you to tap out after some grappling. You claim you had an off night and you walk away with a fatter wallet. Me, I have to deal with the whispers that I’m a chump who can’t win on his own.”
“You jabbed my eye multiple times in the first round. You know that shit’s not allowed.”
He shrugged. “If you can play dirty, so can I.”
“Oh, and as for a fatter wallet, you do realize how many small time players we have betting on these fights, right? Or is your green dick taking too much of the blood supply to your brain?”
Costas’s eyes flashed, and he eliminated most of the space between us. If he expected me to be scared, he’d soon realize the error of his ways. Just because I’d been a mess when I walked into the ring the other night didn’t mean I wouldn’t get my own back, busted eye and all.
I had something to fight for now.
“Yeah, and we also have plenty of big time ones. People love promoting winners and making kings out of nobodies.” He jabbed a finger in my chest, officially kicking me over the line from merely annoyed to fucking pissed. “For all I know they got a package deal with you and your little piece of ass. Are you working in tandem to discredit real fighters now?”
I shoved him back against the wall, throwing an arm bar across his throat he couldn’t have dislodged on his best day. “You say whatever you want about me. Tell everyone you want that you think I’m a shady motherfucker who’s become too much of a pussy to risk his pretty face on a real bout and takes the sure money instead. But don’t you dare say a fucking word about her or it’ll be the last thing you ever say. Count on it.”
Costas hissed out a breath and cut a glance behind me. “Big fucking talker when you have your buddies behind you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Slater, Joe, and Emerson crossing the gym. They didn’t look real friendly either.
“I don’t need backup,” I said, loud enough for them to hear. “Do I look like I need fucking backup?”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got it, Fox. Punk ass bitches who come in off the street and try to take over need to be put in their place.”
Emerson. What the hell? He’d only been training with us for a few weeks, and he’d never been anything but mild-mannered and polite. The rumor mill had been spinning overtime lately that he and one of the other fighters had something going. Ever since that talk had started, he’d been lyi
ng low. I didn’t care either way. A fighter was a fighter, and a friend was a friend. But as much as I liked the kid, I never would’ve guessed he would have my back.
Costas sneered. “You know who’s a punk ass bitch? That woman of yours. Came in here to bother me when I was minding my own business.” He shifted so that he could speak more clearly, but he wasn’t getting free until I decided to let him. “You should be happy I agreed to fight her. No one else would’ve. I’m actually giving her cred.”
“You’re giving her nothing, because she’s going to take out your ass while you’re too busy kissing it.” He gasped out a laugh and I tightened the pressure until his eyes bulged.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew he could kick out at me anytime, but he knew what kind of shit that would bring down on his head from my guys and me. Though I hadn’t planned on their presence, I couldn’t say I minded having help if necessary. Costas was a wiry, tough bastard and he’d shown he didn’t care about playing by the rules.
Funny how he was the first one to cry foul about them being broken.
“Think I’m lying? Watch her take you down. And I swear to God, if you claim it was anything but fair and square, you’ll answer to me.” I pushed up on his chin until we were eye-to-eye. “Oh, and about that? If she even breaks a nail because you pull BS with her like you did with me the other night—the eye gouges and groin jabs—you’ll discover I’m much less tolerant when it comes to her safety. Remember that, fucker.” I banged his head against the wall and started to lower my arm, fully intending to let him go. He’d gotten the point.
Then again, maybe he hadn’t.