The roar of an engine shattered the afternoon quiet.
A sleek, midnight black Bentley pulled up to the curb directly in front of the diner.
The heavy doors opened and two massive men in tailored dark suits stepped out, standing like monolithic statues on the sidewalk.
From the back seat emerged Richard Donovan.
Donovan was a notoriously ruthless fight promoter and the owner of Apex Combat Syndicate, the very gym that sponsored Bradley Jenkins.
He was a man who viewed human beings entirely as commodities, measured by the violence they could produce and the money they could generate.
He wore an immaculate silver suit, tapping a silver-tipped cane against the pavement as he approached the diner doors.
He didn’t bother knocking.
He simply turned the handle and walked in, the closed sign completely ignored.
“Lock the door behind us, gentlemen,” Donovan instructed his bodyguards, his voice smooth and heavily coated in arrogance.
He surveyed the dingy diner with undisguised disgust before his predatory gaze locked onto Chloe sitting in the booth.
Arthur immediately stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing a heavy wooden rolling pin.
“We’re closed, buddy. Get out before I call the cops.”
Donovan didn’t even look at Arthur.
He waved a dismissive hand and one of the massive bodyguards stepped forward, easily snatching the rolling pin from Arthur’s grasp and shoving the old man hard into the pie display case.
The glass cracked under Arthur’s weight.
Chloe was out of the booth in a flash.
She stood between Donovan and Arthur, her eyes locked onto the promoter.
The apron was on, but the air around her turned instantly frigid.
“Are you lost?” Chloe asked, her voice dangerously low.
Donovan smiled, a slick reptilian grin.
“Not at all, Miss Jennings. Or should I call you the ghost? My name is Richard Donovan. You embarrassed my star pupil last night. Cost me a very lucrative television deal, actually. Bradley’s sponsors pulled out this morning when they saw him crying on a diner floor.”
Donovan took a step closer, leaning on his cane.
“But I’m a businessman. Where one door closes, a vault opens. I saw the footage. You’re a prodigy, a freak of nature. I want you in the cage, Chloe. I can make you a millionaire in 6 months.”
“I don’t fight,” Chloe said flatly.
“Leave.”
Donovan chuckled, pulling a thick envelope from his breast pocket, and tossing it onto the table.
“There’s $50,000 in cash in there, just to sign the contract. Your father told me you were stubborn, but he didn’t mention you liked smelling like cheap grease.”
