Hoops Shorts: A HOOPS Novella Collection

And the second? Well, I was just as selfish as all the rest of these motherfuckers. Luna had been special to me for a long time. Almost since the beginning. I’d regretted that fucking pact just as much as everyone else.

But deals had a history of getting me in trouble.

I was a simple guy. They didn’t call me Tank for nothin’. I never expected much out of life. I had a shit childhood, so it’s all I ever thought I’d get. Luna never talked much about her past, but the little I did know, well, I know we got some things in common. Dad who ran out on us. I never spent time in foster care or on the streets like Luna, but my mom was a drunk and an addict who never gave a shit about me or my four brothers.

So I’ve always been the kind of guy who leaped first and looked later. Did it get me in trouble? Sure. Did I always care?

Not when I wanted something bad enough. And the truth was, if Luna was saying yes, then so was I. However it turned out, I was fucking in for the ride.

Somebody had to keep Mason and Bishop from killing each other. And if I was on the inside, I could protect my girl.

Or so I thought as we all walked into the huge arena for the boxing match, the biggest in Vegas. We’d been running around all afternoon between sound check and dropping off our luggage at the hotel. There’d barely been time to get up to the room to shower and change.

Bishop led the group, Cash right behind him. Then Mason, who looked out protectively as he shielded Luna from the manic crowd. And I thought the energy before our concerts was intense. But our fans had nothing on these boxing maniacs.

I followed behind Luna, also keeping an eye out. We had security too, walking in front of Bishop and tailing me. For an event like this, with so many celebrity types packed in with everyday folks, this arena could pack in 20,000 people, and on fight night, it was stuffed to the max. The hotel had been the same. Vegas was always humming and full of people, but it swelled like a soaked sponge on fight night.

I tried not to think of the last time we’d been here. Cash had gotten us kicked out of town on a rail. There were only a few hotels we were still welcome at, and that number was shrinking with every visit. The casino bosses only liked whales if they occasionally lost. When Cash just kept winning and winning and winning—well, they were all sure he was a cheater, even if they never could figure out how he did it.

Trying to convince a hardened casino runner that the man was just preternaturally lucky… well, these were men who’d been around the block a time or two and seen everything there was to see. And they didn’t believe in luck.

They believed in the house always winning. Not some fancy boy rockstar who liked to wear glitter eyeliner and skinny jeans cleaning them out of a million bucks every time he came through town. When that million edged into ten million last time…

Well, it pushed the owner of one of the less reputable casinos—one of the few that hadn’t blacklisted Cash already—too far. His goons had come after us in an alley after a show with fucking billy clubs.

That was shit I did not need in my life. The whole reason I’d gotten into music was to get outta fucking street fighting.

The crowd roared to a deafening level and I wished I’d thought to bring ear plugs. I didn’t need any more hearing loss than I already had.

I was only twenty-nine and I had the hearing of a retiree ’cause of all these years on a rock stage with the speakers blasting out my ear drums. Oh, the rockstar life. Everything I ever dreamed of, right?

Everything I was willing to sell my damn soul for…

But it provided for my brothers. And that was all I’d ever cared about. It was worth the price. Or so I always told myself.

We arrived at our seats and I looked around, scoping out the venue. It was fucking huge in here. We’d played this stadium before, but we were over at the MGM Grand this time. Obviously, the place was set up with the ring as center stage tonight.

And the front seats all around were blocked off, with lots of security standing around. Most other seats were filled. There were a lot of familiar faces—not people I knew personally but ones I recognized from the movies and TV. Some from sports. It was a celebrity thing—arriving late or just before an event. As if somehow arriving early felt desperate. Just seemed respectful to me, but whatever. I was fine following Bishop as long as he wasn’t leading us into stupid shit.