Page 11 of Steel Rain

With a careless twitch of his finger, he gestured for his men to guard the door, barring entry for anyone else. Dairo nodded at the order and took his post, turning his back to us, with his hands clasped in front of him.

I followed my boss into the locker room, letting the door swing shut behind us. What I found made me want to punch my fist through the wall.

The two of them, Snow White and Guile, were nose to nose, red-faced and angry, like they were about to fight or fuck.

I hoped it was the former. Because if it was the latter, I would need to disabuse her of any notion that she and that pretty-boy had any sort of future.

Chapter 7

Sin

“Whatthefuckwasthat?” I said as soon as we got back to the locker room.

It was just me and Guile. He had kicked his coach out because the two of them were going to come to blows. The other fighters were in their own quiet corners of the room, talking to their teams and going over last-minute preparations, whispering in hushed mumbles.

But now, it was my turn to ride him for his little trick.

“What?” he said, exasperated, rolling his eyes.

“What?” I said in a bratty, mocking tone. “You threw the fucking fight.”

I said the accusation quietly, so that the other fuckers couldn’t eavesdrop. The walls have ears, and people are petty as shit.

“No!” He wagged a finger by my nose. “I would never throw a fight, bitch. I lost fair and square.”

“That’s total shit and you and I know it.” I poked a finger at his bare chest. I poked so hard that a small red circle formed. “How long have we been fighting together, dipshit? Seven years?”

“Since Officer Basic Course.” I knew the answer as well as him.

We had started training to fight in the Army, and kept it up. We were on the All-Army team, competing in combatives tournaments at Fort Benning. That was what rooted our friendship.

“You think I don’t know when you purposely throttle back?” I slapped him on the chest. “What the fuck? You could have gotten us killed!”

“Don’t be dramatic!” He threw his hands up.

He looked to the side, then ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it backwards. Then it all came bouncing back into a perfect, fluffy mess at his brow.

“Look,” he calmed down and lowered his voice back to a whisper as he grabbed me by the bicep. “I have no clue why you asked me for help getting here, but whatever the reason is, it’s something deep.” He tugged on me, pulling us closer to the corner, away from the door, as if that would somehow obscure our conversation from spies. “You needed the prize money.”

He was right. I needed money. And I got it just from participating in the Underground circuit. The prize forwinningcould set me up in an apartment, somewhere stable. Then I could get a job as a grocery store cashier or something, to show a social worker that I was stable enough to take care of a minor.

If anything, he was a real lifesaver. But this had been a dangerous move.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but have you forgotten that you have those scars because of me?” He pointed at my abdomen, where there was a cluster of jagged scars above my hip, to the left side of my belly button. The back was even more gnarly, or so I was told. I rarely got to see it. “I owe you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I told him. “And you don’t owe me shit.”

He snorted, telling me that he didn’t agree. “Well, I call us square now.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I literally stomped my foot in agitation. “You are so full of shit!”

“If you’d quit being such a bitch about it,” he said, with a teasing grin, “you’d know I was right.”

“Who’s right?” A masculine Irish voice asked as the door of the locker banged open. “Did we interrupt an adorable little lover’s spat?”

My blood ran cold. I didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. I already knew. I could recognize that voice in a blind lineup.

“You should go, Harrison,” I said in a low breath.

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