Devil's Plaything (Playthings, #1) Read Online Free Page B

matches in a bigger way, but I don’t know if they have cash or a stake or a sponsor.”
    D’yavol scoffed. He’d heard that a couple of guys claiming to be Steel Hearts had shown up at a couple of fights, were even allowed to participate at some of the grimier venues. It wasn’t a surprise really; these smaller, “unsanctioned” fights weren’t uncommon, especially for guys looking to make a quick buck, but staking in on bigger matches was an entirely different ball game. The circuit was an open secret around town, but it was still highly illegal, and the big-money participants, fighters, promoters, and patrons alike, valued discretion above all. Messes of the type groups like the Steel Hearts no doubt created wherever they went were avoided at all costs.
    “Who’d vouch for those guys? They’re scum.”
    “Hey, I thought we were the worst guys in history?”
    “Don’t fuck with me, Demon.” The words were icy.
    “I’m just saying,” he said, hands raised, “you seem to think you’re a monster, and I think you think I’m a sleazeball, so what’s got you so wired about these guys? They seem run of the mill, if a little rough around the edges.”
    “You are a sleazeball, asshole, and I told you I saw them harassing some innocent lady.”
    Demon shrugged. “It happens. We don’t do that kind of stuff, but we’d be out of business if we cut off everyone who did, so we don’t exactly have a moral high ground. What’s gotten into you, man?”
    D’yavol was so angry he couldn’t speak. Demon’s words were right. They had no— he had no—moral high ground, the opposite, in fact. Helping Julie one time didn’t even begin to erase his sins.
    “Nothing. Let’s drop it. Tell me about tomorrow’s fight before I go warm up.”
    ••••
    A s he entered the makeshift ring, a tight circle marked off by stacks of wooden pallets around which spectators crowded, the sounds of the screaming crowd, his opponent’s taunts, everything faded to a dim hum. He stared at the man across from him and felt that sharp tingle, the one he’d grown to love, the one that said he was close, oh so close, to being able to let go. That anticipation drowned out every other thought and feeling, and his heart began to race with it. Demon, who knew well enough not to try and talk to him, not now, simply patted him on the back and pushed in his mouth guard. Initially, he’d eschewed the mouth guard, all of the fancy accessories, actually, but during one bout several years ago, he’d been so deep in the bloodlust, his jaw clenched so tight as he did his work, that he’d cracked two teeth without even noticing. He hadn’t cared, but Demon, in mother-hen mode, had clucked until he’d agreed to wear one.
    Mouth guard, tape, and shorts. That was all he wore. Everyone assumed he wore the tape for some competitive advantage, but in truth, he hated to see blood on his knuckles, hated washing it off. It was too strong a reminder, and he never, ever, wanted to go to that place again.
    Standing stock-still, he looked as his opponent, bulky, overly muscled, and slow-moving from what D’yavol could see—this match would practically be a walk in the park—jumped around and screamed, directed lewd hip thrusts in D’yavol’s direction. These antics didn’t move him. Opponents were not to be taken personally; they were solely slabs of meat there to aid him as he exorcised his need to mete out punishment. But then the man turned, and D’yavol spied the emblem on his jacket. A Steel Heart, or at least a wannabe, based on the insignia. That changed things. D’yavol felt his lips curl, and his opponent, who had turned back to face him, faltered momentarily at the sight. D’yavol saw the fear rise in the other man’s eyes. Smart of him.
    He should be afraid.
    Cappy, one of the usual “refs” who’d been around as long as anyone remembered, gestured that they approach the middle of the circle, and when they had, grabbed each man by