I slipped my arm through the older man's and led him toward the bar. Behind us, I saw Fenton hesitate, his eyes on me. The crowd was still chanting for him to fight the next challenger. He was tucking a large stack of money into the waistband of his shorts and sizing up the next guy.
"Boxing is not really my sport," I told Darius. "But maybe you could teach me to like it."
"Sounds like a date. Here's my card. You call me. Now, excuse me, I need to see what kind of raw talent is cracking heads around here." The fight promoter handed me his card and turned back to the ring.
I held my breath, but Fenton was gone. He was no longer in the ring, I could not see him in the corner where the fighters got ready, and his black hair was nowhere in the crowd. I moved through the people as they placed bets on the next fight and slammed strong drinks from the bar. It was a rough room, and I was starting to think my cab driver was right – I needed to get out.
A hard hand grabbed my elbow and I could not wrench myself free. I was trapped at an underground, bare-knuckled fight, and absolutely no one would know where to look for me. This was exactly how people disappeared.
"Kya, calm down. It's just me," the man in black hat said. Fenton's blue eyes blazed from under the rim. "You shouldn't be here. Are you crazy?"
"Am I crazy? I'm not the one that almost compromised his whole career to make a few bucks. You could have broken your hand! If Darius Johnson had seen you the fight would have been off. You know the rules," I said.
"Rules? Give me a break. No one else plays by the rules, so I'm not going to waste my time."
"Is this about those men? The ones that are trying to fix your next fight?" I asked. We were deep in the shadows in the back of the basement. I should have been scared at the angry flash in Fenton's eyes, but I was not. My bright sparks of worry only igniting the fire between us. I lifted one hand to his bruised jaw. "It's not business, it's you. I want you to know you're not alone."
Fenton leaned his forehead against mine. "Stay away from my problems, Kya. I can't let you get hurt."
"I won't," I said. "In fact, I just met the man that will put an end to the fight-fixing. If you'll stop trying to kill yourself for a little cash, we might just make it."
"We?" he asked. He stumbled forward into my arms.
His head lolled. Fenton was hurt and I had to get him out of the Ling Pho Lounge before anyone else noticed.
Chapter Eighteen
Kya
I got up the stairs and onto the sidewalk before Fenton passed out. I held on as he slumped onto his knees on the sidewalk. There was no way I could hold him up.
"Bet the pit bosses are clocking you because you are one lucky gal," the cab driver said. He rushed over and helped me haul Fenton into the backseat. "I almost left, but decided to give you just a few minutes more."
"You've been waiting here this whole time?" I asked.
"Like I said, with your luck, you're going to win big one of these days and then you'll remember ol' Mike," he said.
"Thank you, Mike, I will. But I don't know why you think I'm lucky. Everything I get near is turning into a mess." I climbed into the seat next to Fenton and cradled his head in my lap.
"Honey, you climbed out of the basement of Ling Pho Lounge without a scratch on you. That's lucky." Mike jumped into the driver's seat. "I've heard they take women from the crowd and toss them into cat fights. You don't even have a hair out of place."
"I wish I could say the same for him," I said.
"Just banged up," the cab driver eyed Fenton through the rearview mirror. "Probably drank a lot, fought like an animal, and then crashed when the adrenaline ebbed."
Despite his optimistic prognosis, the cab driver flew through the Vegas traffic until he reached the driveway of the Tropicana. There, he slowed and pulled over on the street. "Looks like he's got other problems," the driver said.
Fenton Morris fans had converged at the entrance to the hotel. Women in tight, white t-shirts imprinted with his name bounced by. Large cardboard cutouts of his face covered in lipstick kisses bobbed above the crowd. Flashes went off like fireworks and multiple entertainment crews stood around with cameras and microphones ready. Word had spread that Fenton Morris was partying at the Tropicana and everyone wanted in on his no-holds barred fun.
"I'll never get him through that unnoticed," I said. "Is there a back way?"
"Stevie? This is Mike, yeah, I know it’s late, but I'm calling in a favor," the cab driver clutched his phone. "I got a high profile drop off and I need the loading dock at the Tropicana."
He pulled back out into traffic one-handed and kept talking as he steered around the giant casino and pulled up to a blocked entrance. Within minutes, he was thanking his friend and a uniformed guard unlocked the gate.
"I can let you in the back, no problem," the guard said.
"Thanks, man. I gotta leave the cab and help her up. Okay?"