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Donnie picks up speed, leaving me behind in the street.
The guy dodges cars to run after him but comes back alone and winded. He's tall and scary looking with a square face and thick black eyebrows. His angry eyes focus on me. "Your brother's an asshole."
"Hey." How does this guy know me? He looks familiar.
"Tell him he owes Rocco Maretti twenty large."
Ah, yes. Rocco Maretti is the son of a New York real estate mogul. My father runs in the same circles with his father. "What?"
"Twenty thousand dollars." He speaks slowly like I'm stupid. I know what it means. "He said Foster would lose. He scammed me."
Donnie did that? I'd heard he was betting on football, but he wouldn't take bets on an underground fight. Who would bet twenty grand against the Unstoppable Foster Dunham?
"Are you saying my brother is some kind of bookie?"
His head tilts and his eyes look me up and down. I'm a little overdressed in a ruffled blouse and bootleg jeans, but nothing too revealing.
"You're not working with him?" He squints at me like I'm a bug pinned to a board.
"No," I reply, shocked by his question.
"He said you were."
"I'm not."
He stalks toward me and his hands land on my shoulders. Thick fingers dig into my skin. Pain shoots down my back as it hits the wall of the firehouse.
"Back off, Rocco." What a freaking jerk!
Puffs of stinky air from his breath hit me in the face. "How did a nut bag like him get a sister as pretty as you?"
My hands push against his chest, but he grins and doesn't budge.
Okay. I need a plan. Stay calm. Surely someone will come out of the abandoned firehouse soon.
Nope. I hear cheering. They're starting another fight. No one is coming out here. Darn. My plan is to kick him in the balls and run. I'm fast. He won't catch me even if I'm wearing a pair of three-inch heeled boots. "Let me go."
He smashes his lips to mine. I try to pull back but he has me pinned and my head smacks against the wall. He rips my blouse, exposing my bra. "You pay his debt."
"No!"
He grabs my boob and tries to kiss me again. I bite his lip, but that only deepens the determination in his eyes.
He reaches for my pants, but thank God I wore jeans and I'm able to move my hips enough to make it impossible for him to get the zipper down.
"You playing me, Milana? Saying no? I hear you screw Donnie's friends when he gets in a jam."
"Stop!" I'm pounding his shoulders like I just saw Foster do, but he's bulky and hard. My punches bounce off him like rubber. I'm trying to get in a position to knee him in the balls.
There's no way I'm letting this guy rape me.
I lean my head back and scream. "Help!"
A rough hand over my mouth muffles my cries.
Urgent footsteps run toward us, and the pressure of Rocco's filthy hand on my mouth disappears. The sound of fists cutting through air and connecting with flesh hits my ears.
A tall guy wearing boots, jeans, and a black denim jacket is fighting Rocco.
