“You owe me for this,”Tomas sighed.
Luis let cold water run down his cheeks and into his beard before he scrubbed his face clean of Yuri’s — Theresa Barton’s proxy — blood. Flicking his wet fingers toward the bowl of the sink, he threw back, “I don’t owe you fuck-all. I’m not the one who called you.”
“Your brother called me on your family’s behalf, so it counts.”
Yanking a towel off the rack, Luis swiped it over his face and damp hair in quick, ruthless strokes. There was some time between bouts, mostly to give the spectators a chance to drink and place more money on their bets for the next round, but every second mattered when he wasn’t with Francesca.
He gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror as he pushed his hair back from his forehead. Dressed in his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt and trousers, recently cleaned of blood splatter, he wasn’t looking exactly as Francesca was used to.
It’d have to do.
Tossing the slightly bloodied towel at his reluctant ally, Luis told him, “Listen, Bowan. I don’t need you to do anything except look pretty. It’s not exactly a labor-intensive job. Isn’t that all you do for your uncle, anyway?”
Tomas snatched the towel from the air before it could smack him in the face. Scowling, he replied, “You do know I’m the heir, right?”
Luis waved a hand. “I guess I heard that. You do anything else of interest besides swing your title around like a big cock?”
“Not that I have to explainanythingto you,” Tomas drawled, “but I’m an investigator. I find people, things, money. Whatever needs hunting down, I can do it.”
Nodding, Luis replied, “Oh, so you’re a nerd. You like to research shit on the computer and call itinvestigating.”
Finally sick of him, Tomas snapped, “How did you even get involved in this shit to begin with? Dahlia would never approve of you participating in the Games.”
Sometimes, it was hard for him to reconcile the fact that Tomas and Dahlia weren’t genetically related. They carried themselves the same way, they possessed the same raw audacity, and they both enjoyed dressing to the nines at every available opportunity.
It seemed that the Bowans were all the same, even when they’d been adopted rather than born into the old family.
Turned by accident during an Amauri assassination gone sideways, Dahlia had become Alastair Bowan’s daughter by blood. Technically speaking, she should’ve taken Tomas’s spot as the heir to the aristocratic syndicate family, but she’d refused to hold any official position in favor of taking over as co-head of the Amauri family with Felix. A choice much celebrated by everyone on their side, since Dahlia was, as several members of the Amauri clan fondly described her, the meanest boss in the syndicate.
Luis wasn’t sure what Tomas would’ve done if she’d swooped in to take his place. As it stood, they’d become annoyingly fond of each other. The bad blood had been settled between themwith a broken nose and the gift of a new car — a replacement for the one Tomas totaled.
The Amauris and the Bowans had never been on even remotely friendly terms before, but fate had a funny way of changing things in the blink of an eye. Or Dahlia did, anyway.
They were all one big, happy family now, according to her, and apparently that meant they could call in favors.
Might be useful,he allowed.Everyone else has allies. Why can’t I?
Luis rolled his tight shoulders. “Your cousin doesn’t know. There hasn’t exactly been a lot of time to send out a newsletter.”
“I know you’re old, but texting has been around for a while.” Tomas dropped the towel into the appropriate bin by the bathroom door. “She’s going to kill you. You know that, right?”
Luis liked playing fast and loose with danger, but even he could admit that he had no desire to tempt the sleeping dragon that was Dahlia Amauri. “If everything goes to plan, she’ll have nothing to be angry about,” he muttered.
“And whatisthe plan, exactly?” Tomas peered at him with an offensively skeptical look.
He ticked off the major points on his fingers. “Stay alive, win the fights, kill if I have to, and protect Frankie.”
Tomas grimaced. “That’s not a plan. That’s barely even a developed thought. The Games aren’t just about who’s the best fighter. They’re about good strategy between the rounds.”
“I’m not interested in fixing my fights,” he flatly replied.
Tomas rolled his eyes. “What a privilege it is to witness the first instance of an Amauri acting onmorals.Every other fight is being negotiated as we speak. And no one else made themselves a target that way you did. Did you even think about how puttingyourselfin the ring puts you at a disadvantage? No one else is putting their bodies on the line like you are, and two thirds of thecontestants have good reason to pivot their focus from winning to killing you.”
“Your family’s clout is supposed to help keep me alive,” he pointed out.
Tomas dryly replied, “Not even my esteemed family’s name is enough to cover the black hole that is the Amauri reputation, Luis.”
Growing increasingly impatient to get back to Francesca, he sighed, “Then what do you have in mind?”