Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
“You’d give your life for her, wouldn’t you?” Curtis says, almost to himself. Then louder, “Lucky for you, I’m only asking for one fight.”
“What do you mean?” I push past numb lips.
Curtis’s eyes twinkle with something ugly. Something unmistakably greedy. “I’ve had five years to plan my return to Boston. A lot of time to collect information, on you, especially. You’re on your way to the top, aren’t you, Whitlock? They’re calling you the second coming of Jack Dempsey. So far, you’ve flown under the radar, but your poised for success now.” His mouth ticks up at one end. “You’ve got that first big professional bout next week—and you’re the favorite in Vegas. By a damn mile. Must be nice.”
“I don’t pay attention to the odds. I just fight.”
“Well some of us don’t have that luxury. We have to make a living. And in my case, I need my authority back. My influence.” He stabs a finger into the table. “I used to rule this fucking neighborhood until your wife screwed her father—and me in the process. Now I have to get my clout back. Only way to do that around here is to line the pockets of people who matter with money. You getting me? I need a cash cow. A payday to make me valuable again to the men who’ve stepped up in my absence to run Southie. Otherwise they decide they don’t need me anymore. You can take a guess how that ends.”
I know a lot more than he thinks.
Curtis was always going to get out of prison. We didn’t know it would happen early. But I’ve been preparing, nonetheless. Getting my ducks in a row so I could protect Grace when the day arrived. Now it’s here—and yeah, I know about the men he’s talking about. The criminals who have been running the gambling and extortion scene ever since Curtis got locked up. Those men come to my fights. We greet each other by name.
But Curtis doesn’t know that.
“Just tell me what you want,” I say.
After a small hesitation, Curtis leans forward into the light. “You’re going to throw the fight next week. End of round three, you hit the mat.” He runs his tongue around the inside of his bottom lip. “I’m going to bet heavy on your opponent. My associates will do the same. I’ll prove my worth once again and pick up where I left off. As king of these streets.” A pause lingers. “And your wife doesn’t get a bullet in the head. Everyone wins.”
My stomach roils violently.
A bullet in the head.
Jesus Christ.
Never in my life have I considered taking a dive. There’s no honor in throwing a fight for money. But I would sacrifice my own life, my career, everything to keep Grace alive. End of story. So there is no hesitation at all when I answer, “Done. I’ll do it.” I swallow a rusted nail. “Please, just don’t hurt her. Once I do this, it’s over. You forget she even exists.”
“You have my word.”
The thing is, though…his word isn’t worth a damn.
And as I sit there across from the devil, who lights up another cigarette to celebrate what he perceives as a victory, I’m already formulating a backup plan. Once again, I knew this day would come and I prepared as much as possible. I didn’t anticipate Curtis wanting me to lay down during a fight, but I can adapt. I can bob and weave.
Curtis stands. “Let me walk you out.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say through my teeth, but he’s already striding past me, leaving a cloud of smoke behind him in the stale bar air. Grinding my molars, I follow him, past the gaping row of customers and out onto the sidewalk where the sun has dipped behind a gathering of dark clouds. Signaling a storm.
“Remember,” he says, putting his hand out for a shake. “End of round three. No earlier and no later.”
Grudgingly, I shake his hand, my skin crawling the entire time. This is the hand of the man that might have killed the love of my life. But if I refuse to shake, a man like this would take the slight and let it fester until it turned destructive. I’m trying to defuse this time bomb, not set it off. I pull my hand away as quickly as possible, though, swallowing another wave of nausea. “I’ve got it,” I grit out. “End of round three.”
“Good man.” He shakes his head on the way back into O’Keefe’s. “It’s a shame you have to lose your first fight. You could have been one of the greats. Men do stupid things for love.”
He has no clue what I’d do for this love of mine.
As far as I’m concerned, his proposition was a no brainer.
I’d walk through the fires of hell for my wife, let alone lose a boxing match on purpose.