RESHUFFLE: STACKED DECK BOOK TWO
RESHUFFLE
STACKED DECK BOOK TWO
Emilia Finn
RESHUFFLE
By: Emilia Finn
Copyright © 2020. Emilia Finn
Publisher: Beelieve Publishing, Pty Ltd.
Cover Design: Amy Queue
Editing: Bird’s Eye Books
Cover model: Chase Ketron
Cover Photography: Golden Czermack/FuriousFotog
ISBN: 979 861 745 654 9
This Book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy.
To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at info@emiliafinn.com
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of Emilia Finn’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Also by Emilia Finn
Looking To Connect?
RESHUFFLE
Prologue
1. Ben
2. Evie
3. Ben
4. Evie
5. Ben
6. Evie
7. Reid
8. Ben
9. Evie
10. Ben
11. Evie
12. Evie
13. Ben
14. Evie
15. Ben
16. Evie
17. Ben
18. Evie
19. Ben
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Emilia Finn
Looking To Connect?
For my English teacher in high school that said I talk too much.
Suck it!
Also by Emilia Finn
(in reading order)
The Rollin On Series
Finding Home
Finding Victory
Finding Forever
Finding Peace
Finding Redemption
Finding Hope
The Survivor Series
Because of You
Surviving You
Without You
Rewriting You
Always You
Take A Chance On Me
The Checkmate Series
Pawns In The Bishop’s Game
Till The Sun Dies
Castling The Rook
Playing For Keeps
Rise Of The King
Sacrifice The Knight
Winner Takes All
Checkmate
Stacked Deck - Rollin On Next Gen
Wildcard
Reshuffle
Game of Hearts
Full House
Rollin On Novellas
(Do not read before finishing the Rollin On Series)
Begin Again – A Short Story
Written in the Stars – A Short Story
Full Circle – A Short Story
Worth Fighting For – A Bobby & Kit Novella
Looking To Connect?
Website: www.emiliafinn.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EmiliaBFinn/
Newsletter: https://bit.ly/2YB5Gmw
Email: emilia@emiliafinn.com
The Crew: https://www.facebook.com/groups/therollincrew/
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RESHUFFLE
STACKED DECK BOOK TWO
EMILIA FINN
Prologue
You want to create your own fight circuit? Are you serious right now?
Life isn’t always easy, even for a kid that grew up in the family I did. Being the oldest child of a world-famous fight family is cool. It means you get behind-the-scenes access to everything. To the training sessions, to the exhausted blowups, to the shared dinners each night where those fighters discuss future fight plans. It means you get to ask one of many world champion fighters for a hug at any time, and no matter what they’re doing, they’ll stop and give you that hug.
Being the first and oldest niece to three former world champions is every aspiring fighter’s dream. To be the daughter of those champions’ trainer is extra special.
And then to grow up, and become best friends with a new wave of fighters – champions, even – means my life is pretty fucking amazing.
But with every up, must come a down.
One of those fighters I considered a best friend died in the ring and sent our world into a tailspin that, even seven years later, we’ve been unable to straighten out.
Macallistar Blair died in my family’s gym when he was fourteen years old. His heart gave out, and his poor body dropped harder than any opponent I’ve ever seen in competition before or since. Fortunately for Mac, he was kept alive by unrelenting CPR, then machines, and soon after that, a brand-new heart was installed, and he’s been pretty good ever since.
Seven years later, he’s old enough to drink, and date, and drive, and all of the other cool things we get to do now that we’re not children.
Mac has never given up on his dream to fight. He’s trained day after day ever since his transplant team said he could. He’s in my family’s gym every single day, working on his strength and cardio, so when the day comes and they allow him to compete again, he’ll be ready.
That was the plan, anyway.
But the final decision isn’t up to Mac, Mac’s family, or his medical team.
It would appear as though the decision is up to the board of directors at the world’s largest and only legitimate fighting corporation. Fat men in suits who control the money and promotion that runs through that place get to decide if Mac’s medical history is too much liability for them.
They decided.
They said he will never fight on their circuit.
They broke the boy who has been busting his ass his whole damn life, and pissed off the man who thought this time, his dream would finally come true.
“Evie? Hey. Focus! Our own fucking circuit? Are you crazy?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m serious,” I clarify. “No, I’m not crazy.” I hold my playing cards close to my chest so my cousin on my left and my sort-of best friend on my right don’t cheat. “Yes, I think we should create our own.” I lean forward to peek into the hallway of my family’s home. I’m not a child anymore, but I graduated college only this month, which means I still live at home – for now.
I love my family dearly, so it’s not like I’m in a rush to leave, but that time will arrive soon. Especially considering my inclination to lean toward the hall to make sure none of those champion fighters I grew up with hear me.
They might know about my plans for our own circuit, but my family are very much…indoctrinated into the mainstream fight world. There’s only one organization in their minds, only one championship, only one title. Only one fight night is televised,
and the best fighters are contracted to fight for that particular organization.
Their belief in that system means they don’t need to hear the nitty gritty details of my plans, not until I’ve got them ironed out in my head, at least.
“I understand what I’m suggesting.” I sit back. “And I know it’ll be an uphill battle.” I peek at Ben’s cards and find he has a shit hand, so I hold mine closer and toss more chips into the pile between us.
Only four of us sit on the floor of my bedroom. Me, my cousin Bean – also known as Lucy – Mac, the guy that was put down cruelly by the fight board just this week, and finally, Ben… my ex-boyfriend. My ex-best friend. My ex-everything. The guy I had a chance with, but we were both too young and immature to handle a long-distance relationship while I was away at college.
Now I’m back, and every now and then, I catch him staring at me. He’s trying not to be obvious about it, but I see him in my peripherals, I see him peeking, and when I catch him, instead of shying away or pretending he wasn’t looking, he smiles. His bright blue eyes sparkle, and this one tooth of his, barely crooked, draws my eyes and reminds me of the million smiles we’ve shared in the past.
Every time I catch him looking, every time he smiles when he’s busted, my heart tumbles with both pleasure and pain. Pleasure, because we get a second chance, and pain, because we messed it up the first time.
We’ve waited years for me to be back, years of pain and hurt, of jealousy and heartbreak. It’s been years of what-ifs, and maybes that never eventuated. But here we are, and out of the flames, we still find ourselves sitting side by side, not swiping at each other or being mean, and maybe, if we’re lucky, he’ll ask me out to dinner sometime, and we’ll be able to fix what we broke.
“Listen.” I sigh when Ben doubles down on his bet and tries to bluff. I toss more chips down and roll my eyes. “I understand what I’m saying. And no doubt, Biggie and the guys are gonna disown me when we tell them I’m serious.”
“They think you’re being impulsive.” Bean tosses more chips down. “They don’t believe that you’ve thought this through.”
“I’ll make them believe. Better yet, I’ll convince them to switch their loyalties and follow us.”
“This house you sleep in,” Ben begins. “Those fancy-ass heels you like, the pretty dresses you sometimes wear, the food you eat… you have it all because of the committee you’re looking to steal from now.”
“It’s not stealing,” I scowl. “Mac’s already not allowed in. I haven’t had my debut yet, and Biggie and the guys are already retired. The only person that will step from one octagon to the other is you.” I meet Ben’s eyes. “I mean, you don’t have to do it. I won’t even get mad if you stay with them, but I’m not fighting for them if they refuse Mac.”
“Too fucking stubborn for your own good,” Mac growls and sends two snake-eyed dimples flashing on his chin. “This is what we’ve been working toward for years. Lots and lots of years,” he presses. “Your contract has already arrived, it’s sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs right now, and has lots of zeroes on the check. Lots and lots of zeroes,” he almost whimpers. “All of those zeroes are yours, Smalls. But you’re willing to let them go and forfeit your debut fight, all because of me?”
“Yes.” I lean back against my bed frame and act as though I’m making myself comfortable. “My loyalty is worth more than money.”
“Easy for you to say, considering you’ve never been broke.” Mac tosses his cards to the floor and sits back. “Us poor kids can’t afford luxuries like self-respect or loyalty.”
“Oh please,” I huff. “I had a broken arm for days because my mom couldn’t take me to a hospital. We’ve slept on floors, and licked the last of the peanut butter tub in desperation for a tiny bit more. We’re all broke at some point.”
“I’ve never been broke,” Bean inserts.
She’s our quiet one; a formidable fighter, for sure, but she’s not a peacock like so many others in the family. Where our uncles and cousins make dicks of themselves during press conferences and promo gigs with their opponents, Bean merely sits in silence and makes her opponent think she’s a tiny butterfly that’s about to be squashed.
She traps them into a sense of comfort, she holds her tongue even through all of the trash-talking, and then, once the buzzer sounds and her fight begins, she lays her opponents out in silence, shocks the world, though we should know not to be shocked anymore, and when it’s all over, she helps that loudmouth back to their feet and claps them on the back in commiseration.
Unless, of course, that person is knocked out cold. In which case, Bean hangs with them until they’re awake again.
My cousin and I are polar opposites in every way.
I’m the loudmouth that runs around trash-talking my opponent. Luckily for me, I’ve yet to come across my own humble fighter that silences me. But together, somehow, we mesh, and she’s been my best friend since I was three and she was born into this crazy family.
Mac looks to her now, purses his lips, and lifts a brow. “Thanks for your input,” he says dryly. “It’s not like I wasn’t already insecure about my family’s lack of money, compared to yours.”
Her shoulders bounce with a tiny laugh. “Your family’s money has nothing to do with you, just as my family’s money has nothing to do with me. We aren’t children anymore, which means we make our own way.”
“You’re kinda still a child,” I joke. “You can’t even drink yet.”
She flattens her lips. “And yet, I could reset your broken bones – after I break them, of course – or stitch your lips shut if you don’t pipe down.”
I smile and toss more chips down when Ben won’t fold. He thinks he’s going to make me back down, but I already know his hand. “I’m just saying, if the fight committee won’t let Mac fight, even with all the medical tests that say he can, then we buck the trend, disrupt the market, and end a monopoly. There’s no law that says they get to be the only fight circuit in the world.”
“But they are the only circuit,” Ben insists. “That’s like asking Ronald McDonald to step aside, because you wanna do the Big Mac now, all because Mac’s team said he can’t slam down twenty burgers in a single day.”
“No,” I purse my lips and meet his eyes. “It’s like starting a healthy burger place, where the burgers still taste sinfully like a Big Mac, but the ingredients won’t clog our arteries. I don’t want to create another McDonald’s, guys. I want to create bigger and better. Something without the gatekeepers where if you know the right people, you’re in, but if you don’t, you’re shit out of luck.”
I meet Bean’s eyes. “We are literally proof of the gatekeepers. We’re Kincaids, which means we already have contracts waiting to be signed. Mac has no prestige to his name, and though he can fight, and he’s trained by a damn Kincaid, they say no.”
I look to Mac. “There will be no gatekeepers for our tournament. You fight, you prove your worth with your skill. If you lose, you go home to your momma, and try again next year. If you win, you keep fighting until you get to the top. Winner takes all. Male and female divisions. Multiple pots of gold, multiple belts. It’s as simple as that.”
“And where do these pots of gold come from?” Ben asks with a lifted brow. “You think you have everything planned out. Where are you getting this cash?”
I shrug and think of the piles of cash sitting in my bank account right now. I didn’t earn that money, but it’s mine anyway. And I can spend it however I like. “Everyone that enters must pay a fee to get in. It’s not so much that only rich folks can get in. But it’s enough that demands commitment. Entrant fees add up. Then maybe we ask Biggie and the guys to sponsor the first year.”
“Lord.” Ben sits back and laughingly huffs. “They aren’t gonna give you money for this, Evie. You’re insane if you think they will. You know they’re already downstairs having a discussion just like we are. But theirs will be about how to tie you to the heater and shut you up.”
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“You said you would fight.” I glower. “You said at fight headquarters that you’d jump. Second thoughts, Sasquatch?”
“No second thoughts. But I wanna hear your business plan first. Prove to me you’ve thought this out, otherwise you’re gonna look like a dummy when no one turns up to your fight night.”
“They’ll turn up,” I declare. “I guarantee they’ll turn up. Dudes will do just about anything to get in on a tournament my half-baked brain thought up. Even if the fighting stinks, they’re still gonna come for the entertainment value. We get the fighters in, they pay their fees, they’ll stay to get their money’s worth. We charge spectators on the way through the door, and we get someone on AV to stream it all.”
“Soph could probably help set that up,” Bean muses of her dance teacher. “She’s good with computers and shit. I bet she knows how to set up a streaming service.”
“I bet she does too,” Mac finally laughs. “Soph is… scary smart. She legit terrifies me, guys.”
“She’s a dance teacher,” I add dryly. “Who specialized in IT at some point in her life. There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“If you say so.” He waves toward the growing pile of chips in the middle of our circle. “Can we finish this sometime this year, or what?”