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Kaos takes another step closer, and then another, until the tip of the knife rests against his hard abdomen. I always forget how fucking huge he is until he’s towering over me like this, and I feel impossibly small as I crane my neck to look up at him.
His dark eyes stare back at me with an intensity that makes me desperate to clench my thighs together. Why does the giant asshole have to be so fucking attractive? It should be illegal.
“Kaos,” I warn, my voice wavering despite how hard I try to keep it even.
“Go on, Princess.” He nods down to the knife, and I finally realize what he means. Does he want me to stab him? I’ve heard stories about these men being crazy as fuck, and I’ve definitely seen some of that in my time here, but this might just be the most unhinged thing any of them has come out with so far.
I open my mouth to respond, to tell him I’m not going to stab him because I know better than to hurt a member of the Syndicate, but then he steps forward, and the tip of the blade slices into his tattooed stomach.
When the first rivulet of blood drips down toward his low-hanging sweatpants, my breath stutters in my lungs, and all I can do is watch as he presses forward, pushing the knife deeper.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
KOVU
Irub my hands over my face as my gaze flicks between the wall of security feeds.
The fight club is becoming more and more of a problem, and yet we’re still struggling to figure out exactly what’s happening.
Because the thing is, it’s not any one thing. There’s an array of new issues that have popped up over the last few months, and while the perfectly timed fights and occasional break-ins are getting on my nerves, I still can’t prove there’s anyone targeting us.
It’s not as busy tonight as I thought it would be, but that makes it easier to keep my eyes on the four men who have been present every time something has gone wrong in the last few months.
Damien Santiago is a low-level guy who works for the Knight family. He does an array of jobs for Christopher but doesn’t work with him directly.
Stewart Drummond does odd jobs for a few families. Some surveillance, the occasional delivery of a person of interest, but not high enough in any of the organizations to make me think he’s working with anyone to take us down from the inside.
Carson Driver isn’t aligned with any of the families as far as I can tell but does some delivery work between the five families and their ties outside the city if they’re not able to, or would prefer not to, send their own men.
And the last is Eric Arnold. I don’t know much about him other than that he has a nasty gambling habit and always seems to be able to talk his way out of anything, which puts him at the top of my list. The problem is that Crew trusts him. Eric grew up in the same neighborhood as Crew and Caleb, and while he didn’t do much to help us rise to the positions we now hold, he’s stepped in to help us a few times when we’ve needed it.
But I’m not willing to count him out. Not when it feels a little too convenient that he’s been here for every single incident, and despite losing almost every bet he places, he’s still here with a fistful of cash the next night.
I glance over at my phone, where I have the camera for Camilla’s bedroom on the screen. I didn’t want to leave her tonight, not after the way she was when she came home with Bishop, but after all the time we had to take out when we were trying to get her back from Davenport, I can’t afford to lose anymore, not with fight night coming in a few weeks.
When I started this place, I knew I wanted to have a few big nights a year. I wanted our underground club to be the place to be. Where celebrities came to see the dirty side of the fighting, where professionals came to fight with no rules, no limitations, and where we could rake in so much fucking money, our lives before we climbed the ladder are nothing more than a distant memory.
It’s good for us to have multiple streams of income, especially when the five families seem to be getting more and more cocky and the threat of being overthrown becomes more likely as days go by, and I’m proud the fight club is one of the main earners for us.
I watch as Eric mills around, his eyes locked on the two men grappling in the center of the ring. They’re practicing rather than trying to beat one another to a bloody pulp, so I’m intrigued that he’s interested. His thirst for blood almost rivals my own. Almost.
Shoving my chair back, I tug my leather jacket over my hooded sweatshirt and move out onto the main floor for a better look. I may be tattooed from head to toe and imposing as hell, but you’d be surprised by how easily I can lurk in the shadows.
I make my way through a few groups of men, ignoring the blatant drug deal that’s taking place on neutral territory. As a rule, none of the families should be conducting any kind of business outside their own territory, but I don’t want to draw attention to myself right now.
The closer I get to Eric, the more confident I am that he’s part of the issues we’ve been experiencing. Call it a hunch, call it whatever the fuck you want, but the way he watches the two men grapple in the ring is almost too intense.
I keep my distance as I make a circle, keeping him in my line of sight the entire time, but he doesn’t move from his spot, the glass of whiskey in his hand untouched.
After a few more minutes of watching, I decide enough is enough. I want to know what the hell he’s doing here, and if I have to tie him up out back and beat the answers out of him, I’m more than happy to do just that. It’s been too long since I’ve made someone bleed.
I move quietly toward him, keeping my eyes on our surroundings as I close the distance. Except before I can reach him, blaring sirens and flashing lights fill the warehouse.
One second, everyone is minding their own business, and the next, chaos ensues. The fighters slip from the ring and head for the back entrance. The drug dealer bolts for the bar, and everyone else heads in various directions while shouting at whoever they’re with.
It’s not until I turn back to Eric that I realize he’s gone, and the drink he was holding is sitting on the edge of the ring.
Fuck. How am I meant to tell Crew that one of his oldest friends is betraying us? And what’s more, not only can I not prove it, but I haven’t been able to figure out exactly why either.
