Page 112 of Embriagado

“We still need to talk about what I’ll get out of this arrangement.”

His eyes widened right as the elevator stopped, and I released him in time for the doors to open.

Brushing a hand over his suit, he huffed a laugh. “First, make sure to win, then come to me with demands.”

The suffocating rage I’d felt this far finally melted and was replaced with thrilling excitement.

Pushing from the wall, I walked out of the elevator while he stayed inside.

“I will win,” I said, a cocky grin on my face as I watched him.

Not saying a word, he stood still, yet I managed to catch the tiniest smile spreading on his lips right before the elevator’s doors closed again.

30

SANTIAGO

“You have two weeks before your first fight,” he said, his back facing me as we stood on the docks. “In those two weeks, make sure you practice.” The sounds of the waves crashing followed his words until he glanced at me over his shoulder.

“Do you have a place to train?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

He turned back to look at the ocean, hands crossed behind him.

“Spend every spare moment practicing, and when you’re not, be sure to come to the hotel. I’ll rehire you in a better position with a higher salary. For this arrangement between us to work, I’ll have to keep a close eye on you so you don’t ruin it for me.”

He was always so officious and secretive. From telling me to meet him on this shipping dock in the middle of the night to planning everything ahead, he sure had his mind set on something. Only question was⁠—

“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked. Pulling my hands out of my pockets, I waved at his 100K bike. “I mean, it doesn’t look like you’re short on money.”

Staring at him, my eyes fixated on his white hair, which almost seemed silver under the moonlight. This man… If only I knew what was going on inside his head.

After a few more moments passed in which we stood in complete silence, he turned to look at me, his amber eyes like a flash of light in the dark night.

Pow!

I smacked the punching bag.

Pow!

Another punch, then another, and⁠—

“Fucking asshole,” I swore, remembering that conversation we had last week. Of course, the smug fucker didn’t answer my question and instead told me to mind my own business.

Fucking psychopath!

Not only was I about to fight for him and risk getting my ass sent back to prison, but I was doing it of my own free fucking will, all while he wouldn’t even so much as tell me why. Why did he need the money? Pure greed? I punched the bag again, my muscles tensing with the hit as I tried shaking the thought away. He didn’t seem like the greedy type. That said, I knew nothing about him. That was the whole fucking problem. A few months ago, I’d thought he was this beautiful man I was meant to fuck, only to learn that the guy was a cold-blooded killer. How did he become like that? I mean, a person had to go through shit to be this morally bankrupt, and I doubted me kicking his ass a few years ago was the reason for that. What was more, how did one learn to kill, and so efficiently, too? I doubted Ace and Ricky were his only victims, but somehow, even after he pointed a gun to my head and was about to kill me not once but twice, it was still hard for me to imagine him with blood on his hands. He was simply that pure, almost like a god, but then again, wasn’t God the most ruthless of them all?

With sweat drenching my body and my head full of those annoying thoughts, I moved to the speed bag, where I started working on my rhythm and timing. Hitting it at a repetitive pace, I tried to focus, but my mind once again slipped to Ariyan. To the words he said, the way he smelled and felt, to how his touch burned me alive and⁠—

“Here so late?”

I stopped at once, the speed bag still bouncing back a few times as I turned to look at the person talking to me.

Shit.