Page 81 of Undercover Agent

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Page 81 of Undercover Agent

I get to the dingy bar first. Dirty floor, shitty booze selection, and everyone looks pissed off. Pretty much what I expected from Buck.

I sit at the end of the bar and order a whiskey. He’s making me wait.

A pretty woman a few seats down keeps giving me the eye. She’s my type, too. Curvy. Short. Tattooed. Just about my age and hot as shit.

I throw back my booze. It’s been years since I got laid. Four years. Maybe five?

I should find someone to share a night with. Used to make sure I did it at least once a year or so. But then a winter passed, and another.

I take care of myself. It’s fine. Haven’t really thought about anyone since Miranda.

Buck leaves me sitting there long enough, and the woman casts me so many flirty smiles. My brain can’t avoid wandering to the other thing. Damian.

How many nights I’ve woken up with a hard dick and that man on my mind.

I don’t even know what I want to do with him. Grab his tight body and thrust against it. Growl and bite him and feel him twitching against my muscles.

I just know I started thinking about it, and now I can’t stop. I’ve only ever been with a woman, so maybe my desperate body is confused. Too many years in solitude, and I’m reaching out for anyone close.

Except I don’t want just anyone. I want Damian, and the yearning doesn’t feel confused.

Old moments flit back in my memory. Appreciating the bodies of other men at the gym. Charged moments in the locker room. I always thought that was normal, just bodies reacting to bodies.

All men have moments like that, especially when we’re young. At least that’s what I told myself.

“Enzo. Motherfucker. You know it’s been ten years since you called me?”

I look up. “Sounds right.” I signal to the bartender for another round. “You look older.”

Buck snorts out a rough laugh. “Prick.” He sits on the stool beside me, a big guy with a bald head, and we rest shoulder to shoulder, my t-shirt against his old suit jacket. “Where you been?”

“Nowhere. Home.”

“The dogs?”

I nod. The bartender deposits our drinks, and we clink them without a word.

Most everyone in the boxing world falls into two camps. People who ostracize me because of my public image or criminals who wouldn’t mind killing me. Buck is a rare exception. We’re not close friends, but he’s always been honest, and we’ve appreciated that in each other over the years.

“You still in the game?” I ask.

“Arranging fights. Pulling strings. All behind-the-scenes shit, but not nearly as much as I used to.” Grimacing, he leans back. “I’m going to catch up with you and retire some day, Enzo.”

“About that.” I grind my jaw. This is even harder to say than I expected. “What do you think the chance is you could get me a couple fights?”

The asshole guffaws. “You shitting me?”

“I’m serious.” My voice is steady. “I know I can’t have a proper career. But there’s other ways to get in the ring. You think you could get something together that’s worth my time?”

He narrows his brow. “You willing to work with the fixers?”

I growl. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

“I don’t,” he says defensively. “But I still can’t help you. Word is clear. Anyone works with the Sledgehammer, it’s slit throats. You either belong to the mob, or you’re not fighting.”

Anger and frustration rise up, prickling the back of my neck. “That shit was twenty fucking years ago. You’re telling me there’s no way to get me back in a ring? I don’t need fame. I just want to pocket a little money and feel alive, for fuck’s sake.”

Sighing, Buck turns to face me with a half-cocked, apologetic smile. “Listen. Enzo. You’re a good guy who got caught in a shitty, shitty situation. That’s why I agreed to meet you for a drink. I feel for you. But you’ve got no future in fighting. Nothing you’d accept, anyway.”


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