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“Of course. Gave him my card, too.”
“Mm.” I pushed open the door to the dressing room and downed a bottle of water.
“You got the spot, Grim. How’s it feel?” He grinned and leaned his hip into the doorway as I stripped down and grabbed the soap.
“Makes all the training worth it.” I turned on the shower and stepped into the cold spray. “Do we have the schedule yet?”
“I’m gonna zip out and get it.”
When he left, I cooled my body down with icy water, washed up, and got changed. Just as I fastened my watch around my wrist, the door swung open.
“Grim Gates?” a man asked.
“Who’s asking?” I eyed my security guys who stood behind him. One had his hand on his gun. He mouthed the word “sponsor,” and I made a note to kill Ricky for not locking the door behind him. I’d deal with Trevor, my head of security, later for allowing this guy to get in. Ricky may have left the door unlocked, but it was Trevor’s responsibility to watch my back. Since our arrival back in the States, I noticed he’d slipped more than once when it came to my protection.
“Congratulations on your win. That fills the last spot for contenders.”
“Thanks.”
“One of the sponsors of the tournament would like to have a word with you if you have a sec.”
“I suppose I could do that. Just give me a moment.” I quickly sent a text to Ricky to let him know what was going on, then told one of my guys to follow us and make sure Ricky would know where we’d gone. I followed the man down a hallway and into a large room.
A well-dressed man sat in a chair and studied me as I came into the room. He had maybe ten years on me, and from the look of him, I guessed he was European.
“Mr. Gates?” His Italian accent confirmed my suspicions.
“I am.”
“Please have a seat.”
“All right.” I glanced at a couple other men in the room then looked over my shoulder to see Ricky pleading with one of the men to let him through the door.
“He’s with me.” I lifted a brow, unimpressed that once again Trevor hadn’t stepped in and made sure Ricky was able to join me. At a look from me, the Italian gave a nod to let him through.
“Thanks a lot.” Ricky looked pissed.
“You were impressive between the ropes.” The Italian smiled, but there was a hint of something much darker there, something I could identify with.
“Thank you.”
“Do you think you can win this tournament?”
“I know I can.” I held his gaze.
“I see.” He tilted his head slightly. “You didn’t come across as cocky?—”
“I’m not,” I assured him. “I’ve just trained with the best, and trained hard. I take my time to make my moves.”
“But you win in five seconds or less,” one of the men chimed in. “Where’s the time to plan your moves?”
“I’m quick.” I pointed to my head.
“I would like you to throw the next fight.” The Italian man in the chair brought my attention immediately back to him. He rubbed a finger over his lips as I gathered myself. I couldn’t help but notice the large black ring he wore.
“Excuse me?” I needed him to repeat that.
“When you signed up for this tournament, you gave a stage name, nothing more. So, no one knows you. You came into the ring and beat every opponent. You turned the crowd in your favor. Rumors will spread and bets will be made.” He adjusted a cufflink and looked directly into my eyes. “So, I want you to throw the next fight then come back swinging in the next and take it. Let’s give people something to talk about, a reason to come, to bet even more on you in the next round.”
