Page 46 of Baiting Kong

“Don’t say never,” his scene partner said. “You’re a natural, seriously. Most guys can’t handle the whip.”

“You wield it well,” Scout admitted. “I could tell you weren’t trying to hurt me. Thanks for that. Some guys don’t care what they do or how it feels once the camera starts rolling.”

“He handles getting his ass beaten better than his brother does,” another voice chimed in.

Scout whipped his head around to see Donny’s brother studying them. He was the one who’d laid out the contract and provided Scout with the checklist he’d filled out at the time he’d signed it. Shouldn’t he have been the one to enforce it, too? Only Scout had discovered, right from that first shoot, that neither man had any interest in the rules once the ink was dry.

At that point, Scout had begun to understand the mistake he’d made, not that he’d been able to undo it.

Now he was finished, though shooting three movies back-to-back today had left him aching all over, inside and out. In a few minutes he’d have the money he was owed and could walk away for good. He’d just been so damned desperate to get the sign-on bonus that he’d been hasty and a bit brash, signing that piece of paper without letting Sawyer read it first. If he had, Sawyer would have made sure he saw the clause about having to repay the bonus if he failed to fulfil the contract. He was just grateful that his brother wasn’t the sort to point out his mistake or kick Scout when he came crawling to him for help after shit went wrong. While the signing bonus had paid off a nice chunk of the outstanding loan, it had left him in a no-win situation he was grateful to finally be finished with.

Bristling, Scout did his best to keep his mouth shut and not take the bait, which was exactly what that crack about hisbrother had been. How many times had he been warned not to piss off the boss? Doing it on the last day would be stupider than smarting off to a bunch of robbers. He was not redoing that scene or the one from earlier in the morning, which had sucked just as bad. Biting his lower lip, he sucked in a breath and started removing the leather cuffs around his ankles.

“I can’t say, since I haven’t met the brother,” his scene partner said. “But I wouldn’t mind a chance to get my hands on them both if you’re interested in another shoot.”

Growling, Scout ground his back teeth together, wanting to punch the man for making the suggestion, despite how careful he’d been with that whip.

“Well, you can see for yourself what happens when someone lays into him,” Duchamp said, stepping forward with his phone in his hands. “I shot this a half hour ago, over at the fights. Personally, I think you got the better deal with this one.”

When Duchamp shoved the camera in front of their faces, Scout was treated to a view of his brother in the makeshift, cage-wrapped ring he fought in while people laid odds on who was going to win. Scout was certain that was the real reason Sawyer hadn’t given him too much shit about getting himself involved in porn production, since the videos were at least legal, unlike the underground fight ring Sawyer had gotten involved in.

As Scout watched, he saw Sawyer severely outmatched by a guy who was clearly trained in martial arts and holds meant to damage and even dislocate limbs, if the way his brother screamed was any indication. Sawyer’s shoulder shifted, accompanied by an audible pop that made Scout cringe and glance away as he hurried to remove the rest of his gear.

“Just pay me what you owe me and I’m out of here,” Scout said, pulling his phone out to make sure there were bars in the room.

“Just remember what I said,” Duchamp replied as his fingers skimmed over the keypad as he arranged the electronic transfer. “You come back here and there’s not gonna be any bringing a bodyguard with you to keep things from getting rough. You’ll be signing on for whatever I dream up, no questions or negotiations.”

“I won’t be back,” Scout growled.

“We’ll see.”

He didn’t care if it left him naked in the room with them; he just wanted his clothes and to get to Sawyer’s side before he tried to ride off one-armed and hurt—who knew how bad? He stalked off the moment his phone pinged and he read the message showing he’d received the balance that had been left on his contract.

Duchamp’s mocking laughter followed him as he scurried from the room, the inside of his cheek bleeding from how hard he bit it to keep from calling him an asshole and threatening to show him what it felt like to have a body part ripped out of the socket.

One foot in front of the other.

Sound dimmed as his footsteps carried him away from them, silence finally closing around him as he reached the makeshift dressing room, yanked everything on, and hastily tied his boots before rushing to hop on the bike he’d parked outside.

Fuck his direction sense was awful.

While he knew the fight ring was located deeper in the industrial park, he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to take a left or a right where the road forked, as there were large, looming structures in both directions.

What was that Sawyer had said when he’d been describing the building to Scout? Something about chimneys.

Three chimneys.

Shit, okay, he’d gone in the wrong direction. The moon was full tonight, giving off enough light that he could see four cold, dormant ones protruding from one building and two smoking ones from the building furthest away, while the one in the middle didn’t seem to have any, nor did the long row of warehouses across from them. Wheeling around, he headed back the way he came, spotting the three chimneys in the distance.

Around the backside, hidden from view of the road, were dozens of cars. Light spilled out of a doorway manned by two large, hulking men who were collecting cash from people who wished to get in.

He just hoped he had enough.

It was hard waiting in line, though, even if it was a short one. For all he knew, his brother could be inside dying, but to find out, he’d have to keep his cool and let them think he was just another guy out to enjoy a night of watching men and women beat the hell out of one another.

“Fifty bucks,” a man with a shaved head declared.

Scout had sixty and forked over five tens, grateful for the tips he’d received the night before and the stocked fridge he’d come home to after Teddy had filled it with everything on their grocery list. Now he owed him yet another thank you.

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