Free Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet by Darynda Jones Page A

that guy a fifty to get in.”
    I could just make out the lower half of the guy’s face. He smiled. “That was just
     to park. To get in, it’s another fifty.”
    Well, crap. Being broke sucked ass. I pulled out my wallet while a group of men moaned
     behind me.
    “It’s raining, lady. Hurry it up.”
    “This is going to be so badass,” another said, ignoring his friend.
    “No shit. I hear he’s undefeated.”
    “Damn straight he’s undefeated. Have you seen that guy? He moves like a fucking panther.”
    Knowing exactly who they were talking about, I tore through my wallet, looking for
     my other emergency mocha latte stash. This was the last of anything and everything I had,
     and it’d damned well better be worth it.
    “I don’t know. I think I could take him,” another guy said.
    I looked over my shoulder as his friends gaped at him.
    The guy grinned. “If he were unarmed and I had an AK-47 in my hands.”
    They laughed along with their buddy until they noticed I’d stopped looking for money.
     One of them shouldered me, pushing me a solid three feet forward. “C’mon, honey. We
     have an ass-kicking to watch.”
    “Fuck, it’s already started.”
    I heard a loud roar as an audience cheered beyond the door.
    “Here,” one of them said, handing the guy a fifty, then sidling past me. The others
     followed suit, and I soon knew what it felt like to be a washing machine in spin cycle.
     They pushed me into Black Poncho Guy number two, and oddly enough, a fifty-dollar
     bill just sort of materialized in my hand. Probably because I jacked it as the last
     guy slid past me, in that moment where both the giver and the receiver thought the
     other had it.
    “Here it is.” I held up the fifty with a little too much enthusiasm. The bouncer didn’t
     seem to notice. He snatched it out of my hand, then offered me help inside by way
     of a none-too-gentle shove. Geez. I stumbled forward as more people entered behind
     me, so I hurried toward a bright spotlight in the middle of an otherwise very dark
     and very empty warehouse. The smell of dirt mingled with the aromas of beer and smoke
     and manly cologne. I liked manly things. Especially cologne.
    Still, I strode forward on high alert.
    As I drew closer to the action, I realized the crowd was way bigger than I thought
     it would be. People, mostly men, stood cheering around a chain-link cage like the
     ones on TV, only rougher. The crude structure had no padding around the bars, and
     the gate to get in was chained and locked from the outside. That couldn’t be good.
    By the sounds of the crowd’s cheers, they thirsted for blood more than the beer that
     flowed freely. Drinks were bought. Bets were made. Fists were thrown. I was actually
     rather surprised at how many women were present, then realized they weren’t cheering
     like the men. They were watching, all eyes focused on one thing. That’s when I saw
     it. Him. Reyes Alexander Farrow. Through the grid of chain link, I focused on the
     action, the show the crowd had come to see.

 
    5
    Hi. I’m Trouble.
    I heard you were looking for me.
    —T-SHIRT
    Angel wasn’t kidding. Reyes had taken up cage fighting. It was such a foreign concept,
     I thought he’d said cat fighting at first. I pushed my astonishment aside and hurried
     closer for a better view, shouldering through the crowd. The fighters didn’t wear
     traditional boxer’s shorts. Reyes’s opponent wore sweats while he wore jeans and nothing
     else. His hands had been taped, and he had bandages around his torso and over one
     shoulder. An injured fighter would never have been allowed to compete in a sanctioned
     fight. This was about as legal as shoplifting.
    The moment he felt me close, his eyes raised from the task at hand—a task that involved
     blood and sweat and a three-hundred-pound opponent—and locked on to mine. The surprise
     that flashed across his face was so minute, so fleeting, I doubted anyone saw it but
     me. He caught