Page 10 of Steel Rain

I let out a breath, pressing my body down on top of his, feeling the space between us fold as I turned into dead weight on top of him.

But he wasn't struggling. Why wasn't he struggling? He flailed a kick or two, but it was half-hearted! He should be using more of his weight to throw me.

Then he tapped, his hand patting against my trapezius.

I instinctively let go - putting my arms out and backing away from him.

He looked at me, his eyes sober, determined. He nodded.

I got up, stuck my hand out to him and pulled him to his feet. The crowd cheered around us. We came in for one of those one-arm embraces. He patted me on the back in congratulations.

I spat out my slimy mouthguard, watching it bounce on the canvas mat. I got on my tiptoes to whisper into his ear as I wrapped a second arm around him, "What are you doing?"

"It's gonna be okay," he said, squeezing his hand on my shoulder before the referee separated us and grabbed my arm.

The referee put my hand up as the victor, and Guile nodded his head and brought his index finger up to his eyebrow in a mock salute.

I looked out at the crowd on their feet, clapping and laughing. They were entertained. That was the job.

As much as we waxed poetic about the honesty of the octagon, the fight, the feel of bodies clashing in an ancient competition, therealjob was to entertain the people who were too rich, too sophisticated, and far too neat to ever be caught dead on this side of the chain link.

I caught a dark stare from across the fence, his eyes on me. Then he glanced at Guile who was making his way out of the ring. Ajax LeBlanc was looking between us as if he was trying to piece together some mystery that Guile and I were the key to unlocking.

When our eyes met, Ajax frowned, tensing with an expression I wasn't quite able to read. Whatever he was thinking, I knew it wasn't in my favor.

Chapter 6

Ajax

Somethingwasgoingon.The fight might not have been rigged, but there was something happening that wasn't on the up and up.

The referee raised her arm, and she scowled.

I touched the karambit at my hip again. I stroked the hilt the way a villain might pet their cat. It was a mindless gesture, like pacing, or twiddling your thumbs that could sometimes help the brain solve problems.

Her little friend had lost, but whatever feeble ending had happened, from the take down all the way to his submission had been ... irregular.

But why would the guy give up a fight? Why would he take the hit to his reputation by losing to a woman? He might never get over that. Rose Legaspi had paved the way for female victories in the Underground, but it still wasn’t accepted. It still wasn’t a normal enough occurrence.

I watched the blond Clark Kent-looking Captain America trudge away, his coach screaming into his ear the whole time as he made his way to the locker rooms.

He should fire that coach. He clearly couldn't keep his cool.

This was something that a lot of coaches forgot. We ride the coattails of our fighters to success. It is our job to back their play, at least in public. No matter how dumb that “play” might be.

The scar from my gunshot wound ached as I recalled a time when I had done just that, and I didn't regret it one bit.

Eoghan clasped his hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into the here-and-now.

"I think we should go see our little Irish lassie, don't you?" he said with a smirk. "Dairo and I have rememberedexactlywho she is."

He and Dairo shared a look. Whoever she was, it was significant. I had pledged to not get involved in the Irish Mafia bullshit while I paid my debt to Eoghan. But maybe just this once, I'd ask a question or get to know a little something about their world.

Namely, the full identity of the woman with steel gray eyes. A name was just a name, after all. How dangerous could that be?

"Who is she?" I asked, and Eoghan smiled as if he had something he could hang over my head.

"Finally interested in Green Fields business, coach?" His brow lifted as he followed the woman back to the combined locker rooms. Man or woman, this venue was only equipped with a single locker room, so they shared.

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