1
Saint
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Michael St. John,” Knox, the head of security for the Lennox Hotel and Casino, greeted me with a chin lift. I rolled my eyes, and he grinned. “You ready for tonight, princess?”
I squinted at him in annoyance and grunted, “Fuck you. When have I ever been unprepared for a fight?”
Knox smirked, and I considered giving him a tap on his face...with my fist. He was deliberately trying to get under my skin. We’d known each other for years, ever since we started competing in small-time fights in our twenties. He’d gone into security, only fighting for an outlet, whereas I’d gone pro and made a name for myself as a deadly MMA champion. Between my fight salary, sponsorships, and fight night bonuses, I was the highest paid MMA fighter in the UFC this year. I could have retired as a millionaire several years ago, had even decided that if I retired, it would be in Vegas, and bought a big ass house on a horse ranch nearby. But I enjoyed the sport, and nothing else interested me, so I’d keep fighting until I had damn good reason not to.
Knox was frequently at my fights and loved to bust my chops. I gave as good as I got, but in the end, it was all just friendly bullshit. If either one of us ever needed something, the other would be right there to help. I knew I could count on Knox to bring the shovel and find a place where no one would ever find the body.
Tonight was the finals, the match that would decide who fought in the championship. I’d won the belt three years running, and this year would be no different. I was looking forward to going up against my next opponent. I knew Sam a little, and I’d followed his season. He was going to make me work for it, so it would be a fun fight.
“There something you need, Dawson?” I asked as I wrapped up one hand.
“I wanted to give you a heads-up. There’s been a change on the roster for tonight.”
My head snapped up, and I stopped what I was doing to stare at Knox. “Where’s Sam?”
Knox folded his arms over his chest as his brow furrowed. “In the hospital with a broken leg, three cracked ribs, and seven broken fingers.” His expression turned dark and suspicious. “A couple of my men found him in the garage getting the shit kicked out of him by at least six guys. They jumped in to help and managed to do some damage before the fuckers ran off like pussies.”
“Robbery?” I asked, unable to say much else because I was still reeling from the news. Sam was a big fucking guy and a straight arrow, so I assumed it had to be a robbery.
Knox shook his head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t make sense, though. One of my men said he recognized a few of them as thugs who worked for Jimmy Benton.”
My eyebrows shot up. “The bookie?” My head automatically began to swivel from side to side, a denial rolling off my tongue. “No way. I’ve never met anyone more straitlaced than Sam.”
“I agree. But I also trust my guys. Something isn’t right here, and I’m going to look into it.”
An offer of help was on the tip of my tongue when we were joined by Drew Lennox, the co-owner of the arena, and he cut me off before I could speak. “We’ll take care of it, Saint. Focus on the fight.”
I wanted to argue, but he was right. Especially now that I was going to be up against an unknown opponent. “Who’s the replacement?”
“Vince Butler.”
“What the fuck?” I shouted, making the spectators nearest my corner jump. I ignored them as I fumed, “How the fuck did that scrawny motherfucker end up competing in the finals?” This was Vince’s first year in the UFC, and nobody had expected him to make it past his first few opponents. He was a shit fighter, but the little asshole fought dirty. Though we couldn’t prove anything, we all suspected that he’d cheated his way to the top. I’d been happy to see him take a beating in the pre-qualifiers and lose the fight. But with Sam out of the competition, it seemed he’d scored high enough to be the wild card.
Drew blew out an agitated breath and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t usually put any stock in rumors, but the word is that Vince is in deep with the seedier side of town. In this instance, I’m inclined to believe it.”
Knox glared at the Octagon as though the fucker was already in there. “Watch your back, Saint. If the talk is true, he’s probably desperate, and that can make him easy pickings or very dangerous.”