The Arrangement (Crimson Romance)

by Bethany-Kris

  “I think we might break a record,” Devon said, grinning.

  There was nothing more satisfying than taking cash off the hands of those who needed their pockets lightened a bit.

  “We should probably go back to the old way, though.”

  Devon knew what his brother was hinting at. The electronic system allowed members who weren’t even in Edmonton on fight nights to bet on the divisions or fighters of their choice and be paid out through offshore accounts. While nothing led back to them directly, there was still a chance their systems could be corrupted and then they’d have police stuffing illegal gambling charges down their throats.

  “I know. But the guests won’t like it and we’re going to lose a lot because of it.”

  “They don’t matter.” Something in the tone of Chaine’s voice stuck Devon as odd but he chose not to press on it. “It’s not their company, you know? Besides, we have those contracts to think about, too. We can’t have the major companies coming in to plaster their logos across our stuff and the fighters while we keep up the betting on the side. It’s not worth that risk, Dev.”

  “True, but I haven’t okay'd that yet, man, so quit bringing it up. I don’t like the thought of my boys wearing what someone else wants them to and you know that. They’re fighters, not prizes to be put on show while they wear someone else’s garbage,” Devon said, reiterating an argument the brothers had been having for quite a while. Devon’s phone, which was lying on a chair across the room and had been going largely ignored all night, began ringing once more. “I got to go. People are demanding my attention again.”

  Hanging up on his brother, Devon fumbled to get to his phone before the call went to voicemail again. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Lynk?” Stress echoed in his secretary’s voice. “I don’t mean to bother you but a fighter would like to speak with you before you leave for the event tonight.”

  “Was that you calling every five minutes?” Devon asked his secretary.

  “Um, yes, I think?”

  “I thought their managers understood you weren’t the messenger between us?” he asked.

  “This request came directly from the fighter, sir,” she replied.

  They seriously needed to get their fighters better ways to contact their bosses if the guys were still refusing to use the manager to boss system they had in place. “Which fighter?”

  “A Jordan Stacey?” Kelly answered.

  “Thank you. And Kelly, the next time a fighter calls, be sure to give them their manager’s number as a polite reminder for how they’re supposed to contact me when I’m away from the offices, venue, and gyms.”

  “Will do.”

  Hanging up the phone, Devon was quick to seek out Jordan’s contact number. The whole secretary deal was his brother’s idea. All the day-to-day tasks of handling the fighters landed on his shoulders and because of his experience, it wasn’t all too hard for him to keep up. There was something to be said for a hands-on boss, and that was what Devon preferred to be when it came to Chaine Lynk and the fighters they contracted. However, on fight nights in particular, he couldn’t be their go-to guy like he was every other day. Devon had a different mask to wear, and for the most part, the fighters understood and respected that.

  “Hello?” Jordan asked when the call picked up.

  “Jordan. It’s Devon, what’s up?” The light laughter of a female followed louder male laughter on the other end of the phone. “Please tell me you’re not drinking, Jordan. I just bet on your ass.”

  “No way, Dev, I’d never do that. The guys were just joking around with my little sister so it’s a little loud.” Devon said nothing as Jordan continued speaking. “I need a second fight for the night. Can you put it in?”

  “We don’t do two in a night; you know that. There’s a big risk of injury and I don’t want you in that position. You’ve got major scouts looking at you right now, Jordan.”

  The voices became muted as Devon heard a door shut. “Chaine did it for Sammy a month ago so I know you can.” There was a short pause and then a quiet sigh. “Listen, under any other circumstances I wouldn’t ask but I finally got Veronica out here from back east and I need the cash.”

  “That’s your sister, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jordan replied. “She wasn’t supposed to come out until the fall but, well it’s a mess, okay? So I need a second fight tonight.”

  A war began battling in Devon’s mind. He didn’t care much that giving the twenty-three-year-old a second match would possibly cause issues between the fighters because they’d handle that on their own. It was more the dangers of putting Jordan’s body through a double round of beatings when the first would certainly take a major toll on his level of endurance and strength.

  “If you lose, Jordan...”

  Jordan scoffed. “I won’t.”

  “You’re too damn arrogant for you own good, you know that?” While it sounded like an insult, Devon meant it as a sort of compliment. The kid had a reason to be a little arrogant, honestly. “Fine, but a medic has to clear you in the back. And don’t ask for it again.”

  “Gotcha, Boss.”

  With his phone finally silent, Devon sat back in his large chair and stretched. His wrists popped as his neck cracked. The familiar pain in his left knee stung when he extended his leg but it was a sensation Devon had come to ignore out of habit. Despite the medical warnings to not push his old injury, at twenty-seven, Devon still went to the gym three times a week and took a seven-kilometer run every morning. It hurt more than he was willing to admit but there were limits in his life that Devon wasn’t willing to put up simply because someone else said he couldn’t do it.

  At those thoughts, Devon’s eyes traveled to the sidewall in his office that was filled with the different awards he’d received for his accomplishments in the fighting world. His time as a professional mixed-martial arts fighter had taught him a simple but harsh lesson: as quickly as you rose, you fell.

  A small piece of mesh he’d cut out from the mat where he won his first professional match still hung in a shadow box on his office wall. It solidified everything he’d ever worked for. It was his pride, sweat, and tears on a roughly cut square, stained with a ruddy brown. Only, sometimes the fabric reminded him of what he’d lost, too.

  Double edged swords. They were everywhere.

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  In the mood for more Crimson Romance?

  Check out Collared for a Night by Susan Arden at CrimsonRomance.com.