Little Dove - Layla Frost Page 0,1

up and said what he needed to say. I had to eat, and after being on the go all day, my feet were killing me.

“Right, right, Maximo,” Dad said. “I’ll get you my girl’s number, and she can help you out.”

As if my dad hadn’t spoken, Maximo continued. “After I talked to Jose’s trainer, I went to see someone else.”

“Who?”

“Carmichael. He had a lot to say about you, Shamus.”

“Yeah?” A pitch of nerves hit Dad’s voice. “We’re old friends. Haven’t seen him in a while. Probably about a year or so.”

That was a lie. Mugsy Carmichael was one of the wannabe gangsters Dad liked to run with. He came by the gym all the time and totally creeped me out. He’d just been there earlier that week.

“You know what I hate, Ash?” the man—Maximo—asked.

“What, boss?” a new voice answered.

“Liars. Fucking hate them.”

Something slammed against the wall, making me jump.

“You took the fall,” Maximo bit out, his volume low, though he might as well have been shouting. There was a bass rumble to it that I could almost feel.

“I’d never—” Dad started, but based on the sound of flesh hitting flesh—the soundtrack to my life—someone punched him before he could finish.

“Don’t lie to me again,” Maximo said. “You took the fall after you bet on Jose.”

My dad was a lot of things. A drunk. A gambler. A racist. A crap father.

And greedy.

I hadn’t thought he was a cheat, though. His name, title, and reputation in the boxing world were the most important things he had. He valued them above all else—including his only daughter.

“Your loss cost people a shit-ton of money, Shamus. People who are not happy. People who are accusing me of running crooked fights. I don’t like liars or cheats, and I sure as fuck don’t like being accused of either.”

“I didn’t fall,” Dad claimed.

But it was a lie.

And the sound of punches meant they knew it.

I reached out and gripped the doorknob before hesitating.

It wasn’t the first time someone had come to rough Dad up. He had his share of enemies. In the fight world. In the casinos. All across the US.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the sisters at Mother Mary’s in New York spit when they heard his name.

At least whoever was out there had gone straight to Dad instead of roughing me up in his place. It wouldn’t have been the first time that’d happened, either.

Dad was a professional boxer. He could take care of himself. There was nothing I could do except put myself in danger for nothing.

I let my hand drop from the knob.

“I can make it right!” Dad shouted, and the commotion died down.

“I think you’re underestimating how pissed people are. They want their money back.”

“I just need a little time, but I’ll pay.” Dad’s panic was growing, and he didn’t try to hide it. “I’ll find a way. Sell the gym. Do something.”

Oh, Dad. What’d you get yourself into this time?

“Pit me against one of your new guys,” Dad pleaded, “and I’ll do whatever. Win or throw the match, whatever you want. I’ll make it believable so no one knows.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Maximo roared, the sound rattling in my ears. “What part of ‘I hate liars’ does he not get?”

“No clue, boss,” whoever said.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Whoa, fellas. Max…imo. Maximo, man, sir. Come on.” Dad lowered his voice until I had to press my ear against the shared wall to hear him. “The gym, the car, everything. You can have it. Take it.”

“I don’t want your shit, Shamus. It’s as worthless as you are.”

“C’mon, man, seriously, I get it. I fucked up. I’ll find a way to pay and then I’ll retire. I’ll steer clear of the tables. But if you kill me, you’ll be out the money. Dead men can’t pay.”

Kill?

Did he just say kill?

I threw open the door and launched myself into our small kitchen. I turned toward the entryway to the living room just as a boom filled the tiny house. Filled my head. It bounced around, leaving a ringing in my ears.

But I barely noticed the echo it left behind.

Because my focus—the entirety of it—was on my father.

My dead father with the hole in his head and his brains splattered on our crappy couch.

I’m never going to get that stain out.

I’d thought my words were in my head, but I must’ve spoken them out loud because every set of eyes shot to me.

Well, every set except Dad’s.

Vomit lodged in my throat.

“Shit,” a black-haired man bit

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024