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“Walk it off,” I said, shoving him back. “You bet, you lost. That’s the deal.”

Behind me, my fighter tried to sit up and failed. Blood streamed from his nose, staining his ripped tank top.

I signaled to one of the guys at the bar. “Mateo. Get him to county. Now.”

Mateo nodded, hauling him up carefully while I scanned the perimeter, recalibrating. Looking for more potential trouble.

Jack drifted closer, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his jeans.

“Guess I recruited well,” he said lightly.

I looked at him long enough to make the grin falter just a bit.

“You recruit him from a lab?” I asked, hearing the too-casual tone in my voice, the one that indicated to anyone who knew me that I was the opposite of fucking casual.

His smile sharpened instead of fading. “Talent’s talent.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration saving this jackass from my own right hook.

I stepped aside and pulled the phone out to catch a text from my uncle, who was watching the video feed of the fight from the garage while he finished up there.

Dalton

Told you. This Jack kid is gonna make us bank.

My back teeth ached, shoulders tightening as I typed out a response.

Look again. The crowd’s pissed.

Dalton

They’ll calm down. Give Jack a chance to work his magic.

I clenched my fingers around my phone. I really wanted to know what fucking magic Jack Youngblood had worked on my uncle to make him think this was a good idea.

Stop giving a single shit. Just stop.

Before I could respond, I watched Jack lean in to whisper something to a small group of frat boys. The words “game tomorrow” barely hit my ears. The kid was already collecting more cash, laughing easily as he nodded and folded bills into his pocket.

The game against Belvedere was tomorrow, and it was the kind of game that shifted betting lines. That could pull in alumni money and frat money and stupid money.

Just before I turned back to my phone, I heard Jack again. “If it’s tight late, live line’s gonna swing. Wonder where McNeely’s head’s at.”

He was seriously taking bets on the fucking football game? Right here on Dalton’s turf?

More cash exchanged hands, and I fought the urge to grab the asshole by the throat and tell him to keep his side deals out of my uncle’s business and my roommate’s name out of his damn mouth.

Fuck it.

Your genius is taking action on tomorrow’s football game. Are we letting this kid run his own bookie operation at the Pit now?

It took a minute before his response came through. In the meantime, I saw Mateo load my fighter into his Bronco and peel out of the lot.

Dalton

You probably misunderstood.

I exhaled slowly through my nose.