“The same deal we already have,” he replies without pause for thought. “Just on a bigger circuit.”
I scoff, confident my fists won’t make him enough coin he’s willing to lose himself in the process. There has to be more at play here than I’m seeing.
My inner monologue trails off when a disturbing thought enters my mind. He had images of Demi schmoozing men who lost their lives in the ring. That means he’s known of Col’s operation for months, and he’s done nothing about it. That makes him as corrupt as Col, and in a way, he’s partly responsible for my opponent’s death tonight. He has the resources to stop Col, yet he doesn’t. If that isn’t proof I can’t trust him, nothing will convince me.
Needing time to work out a plan of attack, I mutter, “You have my number.”
Agent Moses bobs his head like a bobble-head toy, unaware I’m not straight-up agreeing with his plans. “You made the right decision, Ox,” he shouts as I push through the swinging entry door.
Just as I’m about to round the corner I left Demi on, my path is blocked by a man I’d guess to be mid-twenties with blond hair, a wiry beard, and icy-blue eyes. The fact he steps back in my way when I try to move past him reveals he bumped into me on purpose, much less what he says next, “What happened to your knuckles? They look a little busted up.”
Even without him carrying a weapon, I know he’s an agent. They have a scent I plan to scrub from my skin the instant I get home. A smell that makes me as pissed as fuck I ever thought I wanted to be a part of their operation.
“It’s nothing,” I reply with a smile, acting as if his narrowed gaze isn’t bouncing between my bloody knuckles and swollen cheek. “Some dude was sniffing around my sister. I told him to back off with more than words. I’m sure you’d do the same for your sister.”
He lets me sidestep him this time around, but I only make it two steps before a name stops me in my tracks. “Justine?”
After wiping the riled expression off my face, I spin back around to face the unnamed agent. I’m pretty good with faces. If I’ve seen his before, he must have had plastic surgery. That’s how unrecognizable he is.
I jerk up my chin as if my blood isn’t boiling. “How do you know Justine?” Since she’s the only common denominator we have, I work with it.
“I don’t know her,” he replies, way too cockily. While smirking at my stunned expression, he digs a photo out of his pocket like it’s a portrait of his family, then unfolds it. “I’m just surprised the guy you beat up doesn’t have a single mark on his face.” He waits for me to absorb Justine sitting across from Dimitri Petretti in an intimate setting before he adds, “If she were my sister, I wouldn’t have let him get that far.” When I snatch the long-range photograph out of his hand, he mutters, “You can keep it. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”
He hits me with a cocky wink before he saunters away. As he breaks through the front entry door, I stumble upon Demi being held up by a tall man with a shiny head. He isn’t holding her up with any part of his body. He’s talking—a lot.
“I-I-I’m sure,” Demi stutters out when I join them next to my bike. “But thank you for the offer.”
I picture the horror on my mother’s face if she ever discovers what I did tonight when the man in a plaid shirt shifts on his feet to face me. He doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face reveals he thinks I’m responsible for the marks on Demi’s face. In a way, he’s right. If I hadn’t fallen into Agent Moses’s trap, Demi would have been uninjured, so every mark on her face is my fault.
The agent’s Russian accent is thick even with the gun on his hip being government-issued. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Demi waits for him to join the other agents in the bar before she updates me on what their conversation was about. “He’s a federal agent, Maddox. He wanted to know who hit me and asked if I’d like to press charges.” After shoving a card for Special Agent in Charge Tobias Brahn into my hand, she scrubs a hand down her face like it isn’t battered. “Jesus. If my uncle finds out I spoke with anyone in the FBI, he’ll—”
“He won’t find out,” I assure her, confident the men she thinks are her uncle’s enemies aren’t. “But you need to be careful who you talk to. It’s just you and me, all right? No one else.”
Her brutal swallow reveals she understands my underhanded request. I don’t want word getting out that I’m a killer.
“I won’t tell a soul. You have my word, Maddox.”
Some may say I’m a fool for believing her.
I’ll tell you it’s a Walsh trait.
19
Maddox
As we reach the road my family cabin is on, I lower the revs of my motorbike. I’ve taken every back road known, whizzed past the main entrance three times, and rode the last two miles without headlights, hopeful our arrival would occur without fanfare. I should have realized Sloane would detect Demi’s presence half a mile out. She barrels down the front stairs of the cabin before we’re halfway down the driveway, and even quicker than that, she tugs Demi off my bike before removing her helmet.
“He’s dead,” Sloane states matter-of-factly after taking in the bruises on Demi’s face. “Saint, get my gun. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“You have a gun?” Demi and Saint ask at the same time.
Before Sloane can answer, her focus shifts to the set of keys Caidyn hands me. They were passed over with two overflowing suitcases of clothes. “What’s that? Were they clothes? I’ve told you before, you don’t need to pack clothes for a weekend trip. My parents have everything we need at my family’s country estate.” After bouncing her eyes between a silent Caidyn, Saint, and me, she locks them with Demi’s. “We’re not going to my family’s estate, are we?”
The fact she thinks a couple of days at a country manor is a solution for our predicament shows how little she knows about Demi’s family. Saint didn’t question me when I requested for him to pack Demi’s things. Caidyn was a little more vocal, but more on the location of our hideout than the fact we need to bunker down while planning our next move.
Gratitude smacks into me when Demi slips her hand into mine before she tilts into my side. I thought seeing me kill a man would have her pulling away, not drawing closer. I’m as grateful as fuck it seems as if nothing has changed. “Maddox and I need to get away for a couple of days.” She wets her dry lips before forcing out a set of words I’m certain will hurt her friend but must be said. “I want to go with him. I feel safe with him. He will protect me.”
“Okay,” Sloane replies, her one word groggy. “Then why don’t we come with you guys? We can pretend we’re ranchers living off the land. I’ve got my boots. I’ll go grab them. Anything else we need, I’ll buy on the way.”
Demi stops her dart up the stairs by shooting her hand out to caress her arm. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her best friend can see the pleas in her eyes, so I won’t mention the constant shake of Saint’s head.