My breath comes out shaky. I force myself to glance at the phone in my hand. The site looks like it was built in the shadows—dark background, bold red names, icons flashing like they’re breathing. The two fighters are listed with codenames: Red Reaper and Goliath. Beneath their names, odds glow in bright numbers—Red Reaper: -180, Goliath: +220. The slimmer man, Reaper, has better odds. A favorite. Fast. Deadly. And it’s the bulkier one, Goliath—who looks like he could crush a skull with one swing—that is surprisingly the underdog. Next to their names, there’s a pulsing red button that says PLACE BET—$100,000.
Knox is betting a hundred grand?
What the hell?
It should be simple. Just one or two taps and I’ll be done with placing my bet. But Knox is still touching me.
His thumbs tease the
