Trevor broke into a sprint. By the time he reached the circle, he broke in and pulled a guy off Tammy. She held her wrist close to her body. Was it broken? Tears fell and mascara streamed down her cheeks in dark lines.
“Call 9-1-1.” Trevor instructed Chantel.
A man, his face red, screamed at Tammy. Drunk bastard. His words had slurred into something incomprehensible. He said something about money and pussy then he called her a twat.
That was it. Trevor grabbed the guy by the back of the shirt and escorted him out the door.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Trevor let his temper get the best of him. He pushed through the door out into the warm Nevada air, hoping something, anything; the sounds of traffic, the city’s scent would sober the guy up fast. “Say, you drunk motherfucker, what the hell are you doing causing trouble like this?”
“That whore owes me money,” the man yelled.
“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t, but confronting her on the job’s not the way to get it.”
The guy shrugged out of Trevor’s grasp. Under the lights in the parking lot, he got a good look at him. The guy was old, short, fat and balding. He wore brown slacks, comfortable shoes, and a Member’s Only jacket. The man was a cliché, a loser, and right then and there Trevor knew exactly the kind of man he was up against.
A bookie.
If he was here to collect it also meant his muscle wasn’t too far behind. The situation needed to cool down. Quick.
“Look, I’m sure whatever she owes you, she’s got, okay. This is all some misunderstanding. I think we can get this cleared up tonight.”
The redness in the man’s face didn’t dissipate. “That bitch owes me twelve hundred dollars.”
He had no idea what Tammy was into. He heard her husband Sam had a gambling problem, and they were considering moving out of Vegas. Too much temptation living here, she’d said. But now he wondered if Sam’s problems were really hers, and all those extra shifts she’d pulled recently weren’t actually so she could pay off Mr. Redface to keep her own ass out of trouble.
“I warned her.” The man continued, “If she didn’t have my money by today, I was coming to collect.”
“Did you hurt her?” Trevor’s heart thumped.
“Not as bad as I’m going to, not as bad as she deserves if she doesn’t fucking pay me.”
Trevor’s temper spiked. “You don’t lay a damn hand on her.”
He drew back his fist, intending to throw a right hook to the guy’s jaw, when Tammy screamed his name.
He turned, saw her standing in the doorway of the club, dressed in sweats, still holding her wrist. As he turned back, three guys were on him. He landed the blow to one of the three men, but not on the bookie like he’d wanted. Then, Tammy shouted his name one more time. As she did, he turned to see something big, something heavy coming down on him. One of the three guys swung hard.
And then the lights went out.
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Going The Distance (Ringside #2) Page 22
