Cannon laughed.
Mouth quirked, Armie said, “Yeah, that’s not me.”
“Which part?” Simon asked.
“All of it.” Didn’t matter to him if the audience was friendly or hostile. He didn’t have a damn thing to prove to anyone. As for honor... Yeah, as important as it was to him, it had zip to do with winning. For him, honor was more about how he fought than whether he won or lost.
Havoc pressed. “So what is it?”
An easy enough answer. “I like fighting, and I like winning.”
“You could win bigger with the SBC.”
Yeah, and that was the crux of his reservations. Bigger fights, bigger audience. Armie drew a breath to again, as politely as possible, refuse.
“Before you say no again—and you can quit shaking your head—I have an offer to make.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Tough. Sign on with the SBC, and we’ll invest heavily in the rec center.”
Oh, hell no! Alarm jolted him out of his slouched position—until Cannon leaned forward. “Not taking over, Armie. Never that. We’ll always run it, you and me.”
He relaxed...a little.
“But they want to take part.”
Eyeing Cannon, he asked, “How?”
“Just...enhancing some things.”
“We’re talking scholarships for some of the at-risk kids. Transportation to and from the rec center, like maybe a small bus. Scheduled visits from some of the SBC stars that you can promote—”
“That’s blackmail!” And really awesome shit. Damn.
“We don’t mind a little blackmail every now and then.”
Armie scowled. “We?”
“Simon and me for now, although Jude Jamison wants in on it, as well.”
“Fuck me sideways,” Armie whispered, his spine again hitting the back of the chair as he slumped. It was enough that he had both Simon and Havoc singling him out, but Jude Jamison, too?
Jude had started as an SBC champion, doing a lot to take the sport mainstream, then went on to become a world-famous movie star, only to return to his roots by buying out part of the SBC. If Simon and Havoc were big-time, Jude was...well, superstar status.
Armie knew Simon was smiling again, sensed Cannon watching him with satisfaction, and felt the pressure from Havoc’s unwavering stare. Dammit.
“It’s time,” Cannon said softly.
Getting air into his lungs proved impossible. Pushing back his chair, Armie walked out.
Behind him, he heard Cannon say, “He’ll be back. Just give him a minute.”
That was Cannon for you, always assuming the best of him. As he stalked toward the exit he ignored the cute waitress trying to flirt, just as he ignored the sense of being hunted.
Going to the SBC would mean giving up the comfort of his anonymity. It would mean dredging up the past.
Eventually he’d have to fight the old accusations all over again.
And seriously, once had been enough.
Breathing deep, Armie pushed open the doors and stepped out into the early evening air. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh, but heavy and thick. The tires of passing cars hissed on the wet roadway. Overhead, gutters dripped. Birds, their feathers wet, sat all along the telephone lines, singing happily.
Armie walked to a bus bench glistening with little puddles. He braced his hands on the backrest, dropping his head forward in thought as he struggled against what he wanted and what he...feared.
That unbearable thought made him want to run. He didn’t fear anything.
Such a gigantic lie. He didn’t fear much.
He didn’t want to suffer fear.
But he did. Fear, humiliation.
Helplessness.
The sudden buzzing of his cell phone made him jump. Cursing his own vulnerability, he dug it out of his pocket and answered without looking to see who called. “Yeah?”
“Did you know if you call the gym, whoever answers hands out your number, no questions asked?”
He got taken aback—completely sidelined from his own misery—by that recognizable voice.
Refreshing antagonism rushed through his bloodstream. “It works that way because that’s how I want it to work.” He cocked his head, popping the tension out of his neck and letting sarcasm sink in.
“You’re responsible for that place?”
He wouldn’t explain jack shit to the idiot. “What do you want?”
“To talk to Cherry.”
He laughed. “No.”
“Tell her to call me,” the man said in low, lethal tones. “Tell her I will rain misery down on everyone she cares about if she doesn’t.”