Page 49 of Hate to Love You
He’s never lost a fight. Honestly, I don’t think he can because he simply won’t let himself. Lev could be broken, bleeding, and completely delirious, and the kid still wouldn’t back down. He’s absolutely fearless, and I’ve seen him defeat fighters nearly twice his size by sheer grit and stubbornness.
So, when Lev steps into the ring, there’s really only two possible outcomes: His opponents either concede the fight, or they get knocked the fuck out.
If they concede, that’s the end. They walk. His interest evaporates, as he knows as well as I do that we have no use for quitters.
However, if they get knocked out, and are lucky enough to wake up, Lev offers them something money can’t buy: a position within our ranks.
Looking down at my watch, I check the time.
11:15pm.
Fuck this.
I dial Ana.
“What?” She answers, her tone a bit flustered.
“I need you to do one of those lookup things you do for an unknown number.”
“Why?” She asks. “Where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Oh my God…you didn’t,” she sighs. “Roman, tell me you didn’t arrange the parley. Please tell me you didn’t. I specifically told you not to.”
“Ana, I’m fine,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. “I’ve got Cal and the boys and—”
“You involved the boys too?!” She screeches. “You took them on this stupid suicide mission?!”
“Hiya, Sis!” Lev chuckles from the front seat.
I don’t even have to hold the phone to my ear, because Ana launches into a colossal scolding so loud that the entire car can hear her, even without being on speakerphone. I let her rant for a minute or two before deciding I can’t waste any more valuable time.
“Ana…Ana!” I shout, breaking through her ass-kicking.
“I do need the reverse lookup information. It’s important.”
“No! I’m not doing it!” She says defiantly.
“It’s not really a request.”
“Well, that’s good, because I’m not really going to do it for you. You’re calling me outside of business hours. Again!”
“We don’t have business hours, Ana.”
“I do,” she snaps at me. “And I don’t have the time because I’m about to have company.”
“No, you aren’t,” I smirk to myself. “You’re sitting at your computer, stalking some internet executive or something, learning all of their dirty secrets.”
“Fuck off!” She hisses. “For your information, I actually do have a friend coming over tonight. She’ll be here any minute!”
“Then if she’s clearly not there already, then you can just do as I ask.”
“Oh, you pompous—”
“Careful, sister,” I growl, a bemused smile spreading across my face.
“Why should I, Roman? You clearly never listen to a damn thing I say, because I explicitly remember telling you not to answer their parley invitation,” she shouts into the phone, stunning my eardrum. “So why the hell should I help you?”