“Amazing,” Alain said from his spot atop the stairs.
Will glanced at him furtively while his attention was on the ring below.
A middle-aged man, Alain was striking and charismatic. He had dark hair and cold blue eyes the color of faded denim that could pierce any soul, and often did during “business” deals.
He stood, tall and lean, and leaned against the rail.
They stood on the fourth of five stories of the mansion, staring down at the ring below, where Max was plowing her way through her sixth opponent.
He peered into a small set of binoculars and fought off a grin. Max was killing the redhead she was up against.
“Who is she?” Alain asked.
They’d gotten back from lunch an hour and a half before, and two matches had already gone through for each fighter.
“Her name is Maverick. She’s one of Variable’s fighters,” Olivia supplied as she sidled up to her father’s side.
He ignored her, the way he had for most of her life. She was, after all, only a girl.
It was pathetic, Will thought. Unbelievably pathetic as she desperately called for his attention, his praise. Like the mewling child she was at heart.
“What do you think, William?” he boomed heartily.
He shot Olivia a consoling glance as he stepped up to Alain’s side.
“She’s good. I hired her for a private event, the Chamberlain Ball, and she beat everyone within minutes,” he said.
Alain nodded for him to continue.
“She’s the best of the best, and Variable vouches for that himself. She’s ruthless. Every event I’ve been to, she’s never been beaten,” he said.
Alain nodded as he thought quickly.
“We designed this tournament to be nearly impossible for these fighters. How many matches has she done in a single night?” he asked gruffly.
“Her highest number has been fourteen matches a night. Nobody else in Variable’s ring has ever come close to that number in a single event,” he said.
Alain gave him a calculating look.
“You know this for sure?” he asked.
Will smiled confidently.
“I checked into myself. She is the best of the best,” he said.
“And why do you think that is, William?” Alain asked.
The old man was testing him.
“She has nothing to lose. Her mother and sister died in a house fire a little over a week ago. She’s been on fire herself since then.”
“And her father? Where is he?”
“Her father isn’t in the picture. He’s thought to be dead, but the police don’t even know,” Will said honestly.
Alain gestured for Olivia to bring him something to drink, and scoffed at Will as he took a sip of his champagne.
“As if the police could do a half-decent job of anything,” he said depreciatively.
Will chuckled heartily.
Just you wait, you sick bastard. Just you wait, he thought.
“That much is true, sir,” he said, “But even Variable says he’s probably dead. Nobody has heard from him in two years.”
