Daring Time (16 page)

Some of his typical confidence in the boxing ring began to return until Mario penetrated, landing a meaty, thwacking punch to Ryan's solar plexus. A guttural groan exploded out of Ryan's lungs and throat as pain slammed into him with the force of a charging locomotive.

For a few breathless seconds every nerve in Ryan's torso shrieked in protest. Even his heart throbbed in pain, utterly forgetting its purpose. Ryan barely had the presence of mind to clumsily duck beneath Mario's swinging arm and stagger to the center of the ring, his eyes streaming tears down his face.

Damn, that fucker had a hammering punch when he managed to land it right. Ryan took his first full breath shakily and vowed then and there to make sure he minimized at all costs Mario's chance of a dead-on swing again.

Now that he had the sure knowledge that Mario could fell him with one well-placed blow, Ryan's focus narrowed and sharpened even further. This was do or die. He couldn't let that asshole win. The mere thought of Mario even looking at Hope hardened Ryan's already stiff resolve.

The crowd booed when Ryan used his quickness and agility to avoid Mario's punches for the rest of the first round and for a majority of the second, but Ryan could have cared less. His goal was to exhaust the slow-moving giant while at the same time to make every one of his own infrequent punches penetrate and pay richly.

By the time the bell signaled the beginning of the fourth round, Ryan conceded that his strategy of dancing just outside of Mario's reach and taunting the behemoth like an annoying fly was having its effect. Mario had swung thirty punches for every one of Ryan's, but the majority of them had been either entirely ineffective or glancing blows.

Ryan's, on the other hand, had been far more accurate, including a nailing left that had not only put Mario's right eye out of commission for the remainder of the match, but also caused the giant to sway on his feet for a few seconds while the crowd roared in excitement.

Ryan also showed the signs of battle, not having been able to successfully evade every one of Mario's flurry of combinations. His ribs were bruised fairly badly and it burned like hell just to breathe. He tried not to dwell on the effect of using his bare fists to hammer flesh and bone. All in all, however, he had good reason to be hopeful, Ryan thought as he watched Big Mario tip a tankard to his mouth in his corner, slopping what looked like beer all over his already perspiration-soaked body. Ryan's breathing was hardly escalated while Mario still panted from his last bout of wild punches and ineffective pursuance of Ryan around the ring.

Now that he'd gotten Mario used to his tactics of buzz and sting, however, Ryan was going to have to change things up and take a risk.

The bell went off and Ryan tapped his knuckles twice, this time much more tenderly due to the cuts and bruises on his fists.

Mario's eyes went wide when Ryan stormed the center of the ring. His brief shock at Ryan's aggressive attack gave Ryan the advantage. He pounded the behemoth with a combination to the liver, ribs and head before he danced back to his typical out-fighter distance. His last jab at the giant's head had been particularly precise, causing Mario to stumble back and blood droplets to spray through the air in an arc.

Ryan was only vaguely aware of the boom of approving cheers and applause from the crowd of men, every one of whom was on their feet at this point. Ryan narrowed his gaze on his stunned foe, knowing the fury and pain Mario experienced at his offensive attack would be mixed with a good dose of adrenaline. That adrenaline would eventually exhaust Mario even further.

But right at this very second, it would make the giant exponentially more dangerous.

Ryan was going to have to take his punishment.

He'd tried to prepare himself but when Mario's counterattack came, blind panic flashed through him for a second. Mario may have been unsteady on his feet after that last right hook to his head, but he was mad enough to move three times as quickly as he normally did. It was like having a slavering, rabid bear charge him. Mario gave a savage yell as he ran toward him, spittle shooting in front of his gray teeth, the whites of his eyes showing ominously. Ryan managed to minimize his first two wild punches by moving away from their momentum, but Mario caught him with a tight jab to his right brow.

For a nauseating few seconds the lights from the gas chandeliers multiplied before his eyes. As if from a distance Ryan saw a sea of blurred, manic, frenzied faces and punching hands. The loud roar of the crowd slammed into his awareness after a prolonged peaceful moment of total silence.

A white-hot blade of pain pierced his head simultaneously.

He realized that Mario's blow had spun him face-first into the ropes. He barely had time to turn around and put up his fists and forearms to protect his head and chest before Mario flew into him.

Ryan relied on the ropes to absorb the impact of Mario's swings while he tried to regain his equilibrium. He could tell by the Algerian's flurry of wide, blunt punches that he was not only frustrated, but increasingly exhausted. Ryan protected his head, chest and liver as best as he could and allowed Mario the opportunity to tire himself out even further.

He wasn't above taunting him to add mental exhaustion to the physical.

"That all you got, big boy?
Hub?
What. .. do ya save all the good stuff for the women?"

Ryan shouted behind the relative protection of his fists and forearms. "No wonder all these assholes think you're so tough. Anybody can look like the strongest man on earth when they hit a woman that's a third their weight."

Mario growled between pants, his snarl showing off teeth stained even blacker with tobacco juice than Jack's had been. He let loose with another volley of blunt blows. Ryan grunted as one out of the dozens of glancing punches made direct contact on his ribs. His eyes popped wide. He ground his jaw together and shouted hoarsely through clenched teeth at the vicious explosion of pain that resonated through his flesh.

Ryan didn't think he could survive another direct hit like that. Still, he forced himself to wait, knowing there were cruder and more inevitable foes in a boxing match than a pounding fist. Mario fought against an out-of-shape heart and lungs, fading adrenaline and sheer frustration at that moment, more than anything.

When he saw the Algerian stagger on his feet, temporarily losing his balance, Ryan put all the fuel he had into a rocketing uppercut to the jaw. -

Mario's huge bald head lurched back, his body following suit as he staggered to the center of the ring. He followed him with a barrage of punches, terminating with a chopping shot to the head powered by nearly everything Ryan had left in him.

When Mario went down he went down harder than anything Ryan'd ever felled in the ring. Even so, the eruption of the crowd nearly drowned out the resounding crash of 340

pounds of deadweight against protesting wood board.

Ryan felt someone put his hand on his wrist and raise it. The audience roared its approval. It took him a second to realize Diamond Jack himself stood at center ring declaring him the winner.

"You did it, son. I'm still flat on my ass. And it was such a spectacular match I'm even going to forgive you for losing what I would have had if you hadn't changed the odds to ten to one. Besides, I'll make out like a sultan on the rematch," Jack informed him gleefully over the din of the crowd. "So what d'ya say to that?"

"I say I'm ready for my prize," Jack muttered through tight lips as he lowered his arm forcefully.

"I've got your money right over here."

"That's not the prize I was referring to," Ryan said, meeting Jack's dark, beady eyes.

"Take me to her."

For a moment Jack looked slightly taken aback by his intensity but then he laughed uproariously. "You're eager for it, aren't you, son? Well, you won't be disappointed.

Come on. A deal's a deal."

Jack signaled with his head toward the exit.

"Just a minute. I need to get my clothes."

"What's the matter?" Jack asked warmly when he heard Ryan mutter a vicious curse a second later.

"My clothes are gone," Ryan hissed.

And so is my gun.

"Damn," Jack said angrily as he glanced around the packed room. "Someone must have nicked them during the frenzy of the knockout. Slimy little sneak thief. Ah well, what can I do? I try to run a nice place but. .. Hey! Where you going, son?"

Ryan jumped down to the main floor and approached the closest table where four men sat, one of them with a half-nude woman sprawled in his lap. They all looked up at Ryan in surprise.

"Did you see someone steal my stuff during the match?" Ryan demanded. He studied each of their faces in turn. Three of them gave him blank stares but the woman and one of the men glanced nervously behind Ryan's shoulder before they shook their heads. Ryan turned to where they'd been looking.

"It's rough luck, son, but your prize money will get you plenty of new clothes," Jack shouted down to him with a winning grin. "Come on; I thought you were all fired up to go upstairs."

Several of the men at the table wolf whistled behind him. "Hope you're nicer to your gal than you were to Mario, mister."

The full impact of Ryan's frustration must have carried in his glare at the men because they shut their mouths quickly enough. He followed Jack toward the exit of the room.

When they reached the hallway, which was garishly decorated with gilt mirrors and crimson wallpaper, Ryan suddenly realized that all four of the men who had sat at the table with Jack followed them.

Ryan paused. Jack and the four men stopped with him.

"That was one hell of a match," a well-groomed man with thick gray whiskers told him.

"Spectacular," another said.

"I'll never forget it as long as I live, seeing you bring down the mighty Mario," a third added jovially.

Ryan studied each of them in turn. With the exception of Mason, all three men were middle-aged and affluent-looking. He imagined he might find them in any number of

"respectable" places during the day, church, family gatherings and even Prairie Avenue.

Diamond Jack must afford them any number of opportunities for extra "business," not to mention an outlet for their more seedy desires.

"Thanks. But I don't need company to appreciate my prize," Ryan said quietly.

Mason rolled his eyes in disgust. "You can't let this lout have her," he whined to Jack.

"Look at him. A big, sweaty paddy and you're turning him loose on Ho—"

"Keep your drunken mouth shut," Jack ordered. He gave Mason a wilting once-over. "I suppose you'd like her father to figure out it was
you
in the photos? Or maybe you'd prefer your
own
daddy saw them."

Ryan tensed, his eyes traveling up the stairs anxiously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jack pulled his withering glare off Mason. "I was about to explain about that, son."

"I'm listening, unless your explanation has anything to do with me not getting my prize."

Jack looked insulted. "I'm a man of my word. The girl is yours." He paused when Mason made a sound of disgust. Jack waved Ryan over to the periphery of the large hallway for a private word. He put his hand on Ryan's shoulder as he spoke. "Here's the thing. This girl's no ordinary whore. You're a lucky man to win her. As you might be able to guess from Mason's reaction, half the men in Chicago would give their left nut to be in your shoes at this moment."

"So?" Ryan prompted tersely. He grew more and more impatient with Jack's machinations. After Mason's near slip, Ryan was now 99 percent sure the woman upstairs was Hope. His desperation to see her pushed at him like a shove from the inside, making him want to forego the role he'd played unwillingly here tonight and rush up the stairs. A quick survey of the large foyer and the front door, however, had already told him that Jack's henchmen abounded.

A man wearing a black hat guarded the front door, taking the admittance fees of latecomers. A blond man stood like a sentinel at the foot of the stairs, a pistol shoved into his pants in clear sight for all potential troublemakers to see. Ryan would wager there'd be
at least
one more guard upstairs in order to control any situations that occurred while the prostitutes entertained the Sweet Lash's guests.

Escaping Jack's brutal, efficiently run brothel wasn't going to be easy. It'd be one thing if he was alone, but getting Hope out safely might require some finesse. Charging up the stairs and raising a ruckus as he searched room after room was likely only going to result in getting them both killed.

If only his gun hadn't been stolen.

"So I just want you to realize how fortunate you are," Jack answered with a hard look.

"You'll have that girl, just like I promised. But there are some extenuating circumstances."

"Such as?"

"Well, first of all, these men here"—he nodded at Mason and the three sleek gentlemen—"will want to witness the event. Along with myself, of course. It's not every day one gets the opportunity to see something of this caliber."

"No."

Jack's eyebrows went up in genuine amazement at Ryan's simple, firm statement.

"There was nothing like that in the agreement. I want her to myself," Ryan added.

Jack removed his hand from Ryan's shoulder, forgoing the facade of a friendly chat. "You really don't have any choice in the matter, son. I need a man for the part. If you don't want the girl, I'll just turn her over to Mario. He'll recover from his beating soon enough."

Ryan's nostrils flared in anger but he said nothing.

"You get the point now, I see. Best to just go along with the program, son. The young lady must be kept restrained during her initiation. If you release her before the deed is done, I'll be severely displeased. You will also be required to use some .. . implements: a whip, a crop, a flogger. In addition to sodomy, these are the things that make the Sweet Lash so popular, you see. The more scandalous the goings-on in that bed, the better. I have my friends to consider. For the price they've paid to watch, I won't be the only one who's highly displeased if you don't perform up to standards."