Page 11 of Prince Charming

“Two point five.”

Tag whistled. He wasn’t mad at the number.At all.

He wasn’t hurting for cash either.

Tag put most of his fighting profits and his cut from the club earnings into investments. If he tallied it up, he had enough for three lifetimes of excessive spending. He was a pretty easy-going guy. Long as he had good jeans to wear and a rumbling ride underneath his ass, he was golden as far as money was concerned.

Thanks to Texas and his old lady, who flipped houses, Tag now owned several properties he rented out.

“Might be a good time to think about a manager,” Rider said. “They’d handle all this money shit for you.”

Last year, Tag thought it was a good idea. But now? He was uncertain if his fighting career had legs to go much further. The doctor already warned Tag if he took another hard knock to the head, he might not be so lucky again with his eyesight returning.

With the next fight coming up in January, he still had a lot to think about.

Was he willing to risk brain damage so he could live off the high he got from being inside the cage?

Was it worth it?

Not like he had a family to keep himself safe for.

Liking his life, he’d fed off the risks for years, putting his all into training, every kick and punch. He studied martial arts obsessively, training to the highest levels he could.

“I’ll give it some thought, Prez. We need to know if Bianchi is genuine and not trying to move on our territory. He could invest in many New York fighters.”

He wanted to reach his thirtieth birthday alive next year and not do it shaking hands with Elvis. The Italians were unpredictable. They didn’t know yet if Bianchi was trustworthy.

“Have you heard anything about what Bianchi could be up to, is there talk he wants Colorado?”

“Nothing. But we wouldn’t hear shit until it was too late. He’s coming back this way in January. Your decision, Tag. Don’t throw yourself back into a cage if you’re not up to it.”

He kept his face neutral. He hadn’t shared his doctor’s concerns with anyone yet.

“S’all good, Prez.” He half-smirked, rubbing the itch along his scar and climbed to his feet. Reaching across the desk, he slapped his friend’s hand. “Can’t keep a champ out of the cage, it’s where I’m most useful.”

It was no longer about the revenue his fights brought for the club.

They made more than enough with the weed and gambling dens. Now they had legal businesses all over Armado Springs. Nah, the club had their fingers in many pies these days. Even from his prison cell, Lawless was still keeping their investments ticking over.

For Tag, the fighting was more than money.

Though it didn’t hurt to make half a million for each fight.

Like most men with a healthy ego, he got off on the victory.

He liked knowing he’d made something of himself.

“I’m gonna take the prospects with me if you don’t have jobs for them today.” He added.

“They’re all yours.”

At the door he turned. “Hey, you think Z-girl would do me a favor?”

Rider’s eyebrow popped up, and Tag chuckled. Before he got a bullet in his larynx, he went on. “Marianna… the woman working at my gym… she could do with having some friends, Prez. And there’s no one friendlier than your Zara.”

Their MC queen collected friends like football cards. It was funny to watch her stalk a brother’s new woman until she belonged to Zara’s little girl gang too. Against all odds, she’d even roped in Luxe.

“She’ll talk to her if you give her some incentive.” Smirked Rider.

---