Laced Steel - M.J. Fields Page 0,15

and dashing good looks.”

I can’t help but laugh, and he smiles even bigger.

I force myself to look away, because I can see myself being drawn into that magnetic smile and completely forgiving his bullshit from earlier. When I look back, I arch a brow. “I did not forget our treatment earlier, so forgive me if I don’t buy what you’re selling.”

He slings his arm around me again, moving us toward the crowd. “Forgiveness is a gift. Like I forgave you for having a preconceived notion that you could in any way make me your bitch and extended an invitation to come here tonight.”

I allow myself to let my guard down when I ask, “Should I point out your so-called and unrequited forgiveness cost me a hundred bucks?”

“I didn’t ask you on a date; I extended an olive branch.” He winks and removes his arm from my shoulders.

I feel my face start to flush at the fact that he read into that as me thinking this was a date.

He steps in front of us and waves his hand in front of him. “Follow me.”

I look at Patrick as he puts his arm around my shoulders, occupying the vacancy that Harrison just left. “Let’s go.”

Around the perimeter of an empty, raised ring, a crowd of at least two hundred people, some standing and some sitting on bleachers, wait for the event to begin. Scattered around the crowd are men in red tees with bulging biceps. Security of sorts, I assume.

We follow Harrison behind them to an area roped off by velvet ropes, surrounding crushed velvet seating. I see Miles, Kai, and a few women scantily dressed in evening apparel and wearing heels almost as tall as me. One of them, I recognize, even clothed, as the woman in Tobias Easton’s bedroom just over an hour ago. His girlfriend … Dee.

“I think we’re underdressed,” Brisa says loud enough for Patrick and me to hear.

“Unless you’re planning on getting laid, which you’re not, you’re dressed perfectly.” Patrick laughs.

When Harrison turns around, lips pursed in a smirk, I realize we aren’t the only ones who heard him.

The bouncer by the rope unlatches it, holds it open, and nods to Harrison.

Patrick gives my neck a squeeze and waves his hand in front of him. “After you two.”

I walk ahead of Brisa, ensuring she stays between us once we cross the barrier between us and the rest of the crowd, the one that gives the illusion that we’re safe and of a higher echelon than everyone else around.

Arms crossed over my chest, I stand next to Brisa, looking over the crowd, and fail to see a single familiar face.

When Harrison walks back to us and invites us to sit, I shake my head. “I’m good here.”

He stands next to me. “A thousand for your thoughts?”

“You know this rope doesn’t make you any better than anyone else in here, right?”

He leans in and whispers, “Let’s keep that quiet, shall we?”

I turn and glare at him. He throws his head back and laughs. If he wasn’t laughing at me, I’d think he had a good laugh. But he is, so I don’t.

Smiling, and I think it’s a sincere smile, he nods toward the ring. “We sponsor our favorite fighters, and their opponents’ sponsors are beyond the ring, same set up as we have here. It’s a perk. Like front row seats.”

I lift a shoulder. “I suppose.”

He leans in again. “And don’t look now, but there’s a door behind us. If shit gets bad, or the police bust up the show, we can get out safely. And safety is important.”

“Isn’t it for all of us?” I ask with a scowl.

“I assume in a perfect utopian society, it would be. But look around; there isn’t such a thing.”

“Because greed and power-hungry people make it so.”

“Says the girl who lives in a modest five-bedroom beach house that costs four million dollars, attends one of the top private schools that costs sixty grand a year, which gives you a forty percent chance to get into an Ivy, drives a sixty-five thousand dollar vehicle, summers in Italy, and appears to be perfectly groomed and polished.” He lifts a finger in the air and, from out of nowhere, is handed a drink.

When he attempts to hand it to me, I hold up my hand and shake my head. “I’m good.”

He pulls some cash from his pocket and hands it to the woman who gave him the drink. “Thank you, Claire.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Reeves.”

When she