Kicker (DS Fight Club Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the passenger seat and then concentrated back on the road. “How much? Ten? Five?”
    “Just a grand.”
    “ Just a grand.”
    “And, of course, now that’s gone. I mean, I got my purse, but . . .”
    Ryan pulled out another envelope from his jacket. “Take it. Tig, you were the draw tonight, not Pierce, not anyone else. You . You brought those people in the gate. That’s your portion of the gate take. And your winnings are in there, too.”
    Ryan stopped at a red light and looked at Tig. “Tig, no more fighting. You’ve got way too much to lose now. Play the long game. No matter how desperate things seem right this minute, you’ve got people that have your back and will help you out—anything you need.”
    “I’m gonna need a ride to pick up my truck tomorrow, provided that it doesn’t get impounded.”
    “What time?”
    “Oh . . . uh . . .”
    “What time?”
    “Eight.”
    “Done.” Ryan pulled up to the Fight Club, where the parking lot was full and several of the lights in the apartment segment of the building were still on. When Tig opened the door to get out of the car, he could hear music playing.
    Ryan huffed a laugh. “I guess they’re still blowing off steam.”
    “Yeah.” Tig heaved another big sigh. “Thanks for looking out for me, Goody. I mean it.”
    “Sure thing, Tig. Remember what I said.”
    Tig nodded and managed a weak smile. He thumped the dashboard of Ryan’s truck and got out and made his way up the external staircase to his apartment.
    He slipped into his studio apartment and turned on one small light, praying that no one would wander downstairs and realize he was home.
    It wasn’t until he pulled off his boots and took the envelopes out of his pockets and put them on the table that he allowed himself to relax the smallest amount. He looked at the bulging envelopes.
    “Ah, fuck it.” Tig sat down at the small table and separated the bills out by denomination, and then he began counting.
    The next morning, Tig was feeling a lot more hopeful and might have still been on a little bit of a high after the two fights. True to his word, Ryan was waiting for Tig at eight o’clock, with the bonus of a breakfast sandwich and a huge black coffee. They did not say anything as Ryan drove them to the back to the construction site where Tig’s old truck sat a block away, untouched.
    “No one wants to steal a pumpkin-colored, forty-year-old Datsun,” Tig said with a grin.
    “Is that what you call that color? Good God A’mighty. I’m gonna wait and make sure that thing starts up.”
    “Oh, it’ll start. Thanks for the ride.”
    Ryan nodded, but indeed waited for Tig to start the truck, which he did with no issues. Ryan shook his head, waved out the window, and drove off. Tig sat in the truck for a long moment and then pulled out of the parking lot and headed down to middle Georgia to see the man at the bank.
     
     
     

Brad whistled long and low. “LottieLou, you have outdone yourself. You’ll have men crawling all over you tonight.”
    Charlotte grunted. Brad said that every time they went out, but the swarming mass of admirers never appeared.
    “Oh, you need to have a better attitude than that, my dear birthday girl. You look fabulous; I look handsome. We’re going to eat, drink, and be merry on this most joyous day.”
    “God, you’re doing community theater again, aren’t you?”
    “How can you tell?” Brad cackled, and Charlotte could not help but grin at her best friend in the world. She and Brad met on the first day of kindergarten and were instant friends, each sensing that the other wasn’t quite like the rest of the students in their exclusive private school.
    “Okay, fess up, chicklet. What’s got you chewing your cherry-red lip? Hm?”
    “You ever feel like you’ve just missed something exciting?”
    “All the time, Lottie, all the freaking time . . .”
    “I’m being serious, Brad.”
    Brad laughed. “You’re always serious, Charlotte; you’ve