Free Fighting Dirty: A Stepbrother Romance (When The Gloves Come Off Book 2) by Lila Moore Page A

or Riley. They’re already long gone.
    “Tony set you up,” Lou says.
    It’s not until Lou says it that I realize he’s right. Tony threatened me, kidnapped Riley and blackmailed me into fighting. But he lied to me. He planned on keeping Riley all along. Was this about me or her?
    “Was that your girl?” The Russian asks. “She has a nice ass on her. Pity. When Tony’s done with her, she won’t be so pretty anymore.”
    The familiar stirring of heat and anger boils inside me.
    “What do you know about it?” I ask.
    I run up to him and get in his face. If he wants a real fight, I’ll give him one now.
    “Easy,” he says, holding up his hands. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “I don’t want to fight over your girl.”
    Lou jumps between us. “Save it for the ring,” he tells me.
    I keep my eyes on the Russian.
    “What did Tony tell you?” I demand.
    “About your girl? Nothing. About the fight? He wanted me to throw it in the third round. He promised me a big payday. I did not want to ruin my perfect record, but as you well know, you don’t say no to Tony.”
    The Russian did not have a perfect record, but I let it go. What mattered was that Tony was trying to trap me. He was setting me up for failure. I look over my shoulder at the back exit. Normally, Tony has a guy at all the exits keeping lookout. This is not the kind of club anyone can walk into. What goes on here is illegal. They can’t risk letting undercover cops come in. If you want inside you have to know the right people. Security was usually tight, but tonight everyone was gone. It was especially odd considering, I’d just defied Tony’s express wishes. I would expect to see a guy waiting to escort me to my death.
    “Everyone’s gone,” I say speaking more to myself than anyone in the room.
    “You’re starting to understand,” the Russian says.
    “We need to get out of here now,” Lou says.
    As if on cue, shouts and sirens erupt from inside the club. A loud megaphone voice says: “You are under arrest. Do not run. Do not resist arrest.”
    “Shit. We need to get out of here.”
    “This way,” the Russian says.

Riley
     
     
     
    I sit alone in a dim room. The walls are dark and made from a strange material. It takes me a second to realize what it is: sound proof insulation. No matter how loud I scream no one will hear me.
    I stand in the middle of the room fidgeting. There’s a bed that takes up most of the space. No way am I touching it. It has silk sheets and four bedposts with restraints hanging from them.
    This is really bad. I need to get out. I tried to open the door twice already, but it’s locked. There will be no escape.
    Someone has laid out a black negligee with thigh-high stockings and high heels across the end of the bed. I’m supposed to dress, then wait. I refuse to put it on. I’ve never worn anything like that before and I’m not going to start now.
    The wall behind the bed is a mirror. The image that greets me is borderline unrecognizable. I normally wear my hair pulled up in a messy bun. Today it’s hanging long and wild, a messy rat’s nest of curls. My mascara is smeared, giving me a smoky raccoon-eye look. I walk up to the glass and try to fix my makeup. I’m not sure why, except that it gives me something to do. Having a task to focus on makes me feel a little more in control.
    I take a deep breath and look at myself. It’s then I notice something odd. The room’s dim light reflects off the mirror in a strange way. It’s a two-way mirror. Of course. It’s the same as the one in Tony’s office overlooking the brothel’s main room.
    I lean in close to the glass and squint. I can’t make out anything. If someone’s inside watching me, I can’t see them. But they can see me. I jump back from the mirror. The thought that someone has been watching me this whole time sends a chill up my spine. I definitely wasn’t going to undress in this room with some creep watching me. If they