Is she really thinking about betting on these fights? Putting money on this horror show? Watching the fight had her invested. Got her blood churning, rooting for Omar. And now she’s thinking of buying in all the way? No. A black hole of shame blooms in her middle and draws all the rest of her toward it.

“This here is my farm, so I’m glad you found our humble operation,” the man says, clapping her on the shoulder with a hand so big he could probably crush a cantaloupe with it. His touch is gentle, however.

Then the mountain moves past her, into the crowd.

She suddenly finds Guy at her side.

“Yo, you met the big man,” he says as they both start to walk away from the ring. He sounds in awe.

“He was . . . big, all right.”

“Yeah, and he’s also the guy who runs this whole place. Ellis Wayman. The Mountain Man.”

“The man who is a mountain.”

“Word. All right. Listen. I gotta go sell some shit. Might as well make some bucks. You good?”

“I’m good.” But she’s not, not at all, not even a little.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

She wanders, feeling lost and angry, the rage burning hot—an iron skillet of hot coals searing heart-meat. She knows she has to find Bodie and Bird. Has to finish what she started here. But where to begin? What to do? Who to ask?

The sun has reached its noontime apex and started its slide back down the other side of the sky.

Current fight’s over, so the crowd’s starting to mill about. Over by the parking lot, a couple kids are buying a baggie of something from a dealer who’s younger than they are. She passes a pair of rich white guys in polos—one of them has his phone out, showing off some video on the screen. She hears porny noises. They laugh. She keeps walking.

Atlanta finds herself nearing the Morton building. As she gets closer to it she passes a little shed—a pump house, by the looks of it—and through the cracked door she sees a girl and an older fellow putting on clothes. She catches a glimpse of the girl’s face: Maisey Bott. Dang. She wonders if Maisey’s been coerced into something, but then she hears Maisey’s goofy-ass laugh and the click-snap of a bra closing shut, and so Atlanta just hurries past.

She sees Karl carrying Orion toward the big metal building, his face a twisted rictus of grief and anger. Forearms wet with the dog’s blood.

Two familiar faces come out of the Morton, heading toward Karl.

John Elvis Baumgartner and his Skanky Bitch psycho-girlfriend, Melanie.

Horror seizes every muscle in Atlanta’s body. And rage. Always more rage.

John Elvis flicks his gaze in her direction.

No no no shit shit shit.