Masks hung at a stand for guests who wished to conceal their identities.
Prostitutes danced in the dim light, dressed in little more than thin lingerie that left their full figures and soft curves bare.
The sight could make any man want to devote his life to this place.
Logan drank it in with a calm, unbothered expression.
The women here could rival top models from his previous world. Not a flicker of it moved through him.
A scantily dressed man spotted Logan across the floor and quickly made his way over, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had clocked fresh blood.
"Scram." Before he could utter a single word, Logan said it coldly.
The fat man shut his mouth, put on a wide smile, and changed directions almost smoothly, his expression never once shifting.
Logan turned toward the stack of masks.
He didn't like the idea of hiding his identity, but the underground fight arena existed outside every law above ground. Caution was the sensible choice.
