The organized Black Hound group had built a reputation that stretched across the entire city, whispered about in back-alleys and business lounges alike. They didn’t just run illegal fight nights, they crafted experiences, curated spectacles. Their events were infamous, scattered like hidden gems or landmines depending on who you asked. And because their influence touched both the high-end business world and the darker underworld beneath it, their name was one that powerful people pretended not to know yet always feared crossing.
Fighters, rich thrill-seekers, secretive gamblers, every type of person found their way into Black Hound venues. That blend of hunger, danger, and power created something people couldn’t resist, and it was exactly why the group kept expanding.
Each venue had its own atmosphere.
Some looked like gritty basements soaked in blood and sweat.
Others resembled luxurious nightclubs branched into arenas.
But one venue, this one, stood above the rest.
Hidden behind the façade of an ATM machine.
A concealed vault door opened into a sprawling underground chamber dripping in luxury. Golden fixtures glimmered under low amber lights. Velvet seating wrapped around the cage at the center like a twisted amphitheater. Masks covered most guests’ faces, granting anonymity and the confidence to behave freely. No one here wanted their real identity known, not even to each other.
Tonight’s event was moments from beginning. The crowd leaned forward, excitement buzzing in the air. The massive caged arena in the center groaned as lights poured down over it.
A familiar host stepped into the spotlight, a glowing question-mark icon on the front of the mask covering his face. He spread his arms and bowed with theatrical drama.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, voice carrying through hidden speakers, "tonight’s event will now begin! Please place your bets on the first participants!"
Sheri stared at the two faces appearing on the screens built into the table in front of her. Names, stats, odds, information she barely understood flashed by. Her stomach twisted. She swallowed hard.
She had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
"It’s okay," Aron murmured, leaning toward her in a steady, reassuring way. "We’ll start with small bets. It doesn’t really matter who you pick right now. When it’s important, we’ll make the big bets on the ones we’re sure about."
Sheri let out a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Aron being beside her was the only reason she wasn’t spiraling. This environment, the masks, the violence, the tension, felt like a world completely separate from anything she’d experienced before.
With trembling fingers, she placed her first bet.
Fifty thousand dollars.
The amount felt unreal. Painful. Like she’d just dropped a piece of her future on the table. Her family used large numbers often, but she still remembered what things had been like not long ago. Fifty thousand dollars could’ve paid for one of her school terms back at her old private academy.
But this wasn’t her own money, thankfully.
Max gave me access to his Stern family funds...
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Now that Abby’s situation is resolved, he can use that money freely again. So he was able to give me some funds for this mission.
But then a thought hit her like a spark.
Wait... Max works for the Billion Bloodline too, right? And the necklace... the necklace I received...
Her heart fluttered with panic.
What if it wasn’t the Chairman who bought it? What if... Max bought it? For me?
Her face instantly flushed a deep, embarrassing red.
No. No way. That’s ridiculous. Why would he buy me something like that? It’s not like he likes me.
If anything, he probably hated her after she broke off their engagement.
She shook her head furiously, trying to swat the idea out of her mind before it grew roots.
Her spiraling thoughts snapped when the first match began, brutally.
A fighter’s fist crashed into someone’s jaw with enough force to echo. Another man was slammed against the cage so hard the metal rattled. One fighter grabbed an opponent by the skull and rammed his head upward into the metal bars.
Sheri winced every time someone was hit. Her shoulders jumped. Her fingers curled into fists in her lap.
"I know it’s hard to watch," Aron said softly, eyes scanning her reaction, "but you need to hide your emotions."
He nodded toward the crowd.
"Everyone here, men, women, enjoys this. If you look disgusted, you’ll stand out. Standing out here is dangerous."
Sheri forced a tiny smile onto her face, though it trembled.
"It’s okay," Aron added quickly, "you don’t have to smile. Just... don’t look disgusted."
She dropped the fake smile immediately, cheeks warm with embarrassment.
The rounds continued. Aron kept talking to her, soft, steady conversations meant to distract, comfort, and guide her. He explained fighting styles, betting patterns, the subtle things the experienced gamblers watched for. And somehow, as match after match passed, Sheri began to breathe easier.
When the next fight began, Aron leaned close to predict who he thought had the advantage. Sheri listened, guessed, placed her bet,
And won.
Only a little. Just a small amount. But it made her chest loosen, made her feel like she wasn’t drowning. It gave her the confidence to keep participating without drawing attention.
As her winnings accumulated, Aron encouraged her to raise her betting amounts gradually. Enough that it looked natural, enough that it wouldn’t look suspicious when the time came to bet on someone specific.
Sheri glanced at him with genuine admiration.
"Wow, you really know a lot," she whispered. "I didn’t realize Max had someone like you by his side. He must feel so safe with you around."
Aron’s hands tightened into fists.
Safe?
If only she knew how wrong she was.
People had died around Max. Max had nearly died himself, more than once. At school, in the streets, in the underworld. Max wasn’t safe. Max was surviving. And the only reason he survived was because he forced himself to grow stronger, faster, smarter.
But Aron couldn’t tell Sheri that. Not here. Not now.
"And the next fight," the host shouted, "is now on your screens!"
Sheri’s gaze lifted. The screen changed.
Two new faces appeared.
And the picture that flashed onto the screen,
was NA.