Stash slaps Rav’s shoulder. “Don’t chase the girls away like you do at the clubhouse.”

“Are you kidding? I’m God’s gift to women,” Ravage announces.

“More like God’s curse,” I mutter, cracking the guys up.

“If anything scared them away, it’s all the babies at the clubhouse now,” Rav says. “No offense, Z.”

“None taken. There’s only one baby in the clubhouse—you.”

“That’s cold, bro.” He shrugs. “At least Grace is a cute little shit. Except when she’s screaming her head off.”

Tired of Rav already, I turn to Jake. “You recruiting people for the gym here?” Wrath gave up the underground circuit a couple years ago, and runs a completely legit gym. I can’t see him being okay with Jake potentially making Furious look bad if this ring ever gets shut down.

“Nah, some of ‘em work out at Sully’s place. It’s not about that though. Lot of young, heavy betters with more money than brains. You should make out well tonight.”

I’m still unimpressed. Upstate is doing fine and my bank account is flush. Although, we’ve neglected to share most of our glowing financials with anyone outside of upstate, so I still need to keep up the appearance that I’m always looking to score easy cash.

And let’s face it, downstate needs all the help it can get. Jigsaw’s fight will hopefully bring in some hefty returns for the club.

Really, I don’t give a shit if the younger brothers want to make money getting the shit kicked out of them. Their bodies, their decisions. Murphy, who has a family to take care of, annoys me more. Especially, since I know he’s keeping this from Heidi.

Yeah, yeah, brothers are supposed to be secretive with their old ladies. Even if I don’t like it, I’d never rat him out to Heidi. That’s just not how the brotherhood works.

I glance around the building. The kids running this ring call it The Castle. It looks like a fortress from the outside. Used to be a juvenile detention facility. Pretty sure it’s the same one Teller spent some time in way back when he was a hang-around for the club.

While Jake mentioned the privileged youth, who hang out here hoping to impress their buddies or make some cash, I also see plenty of shifty-eyed youngsters. The kind who might make decent prospects if mentored correctly.

“You ever consider looking for some prospects while you’re here living out your degenerate boxer fantasies?” I ask Murphy.

“Of course, I do.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and points me in the direction of two early-twentyish guys working their way through the crowd.

“Remy and Griff run this ring. They’re honest and no bullshit. Both excellent fighters. Remy could turn pro if he wanted.”