Chapter 3

Matt tipped his head back to stare Lawson down. The irony wasn’t lost on him. With at least four inches on him, the guy had a broad build backed up by a fuckton of solid muscle that Matt envied. When he wasn’t working on his phone or scribbling in some ledgers at the end of the bar closest to the stairs, he cast a critical eye over everything Matt did. The man never talked to him, issuing any directives through Curtis instead in a way Matt might have found hot if they’d been given to him rather than spoken over his head. Ever since the morning he’d walked away, leaving Matt and Garet to Curtis’s not-so-tender mercies, he’d wanted to break open that cold exterior and make Lawson notice him. Now, he’d get the chance to do just that.

With his fists.

Ten years of martial arts lessons, only a little rusty from lack of use, gave him a good chance of winning this fight. His sad performance on the police station steps notwithstanding. He’d been too emotional, his attention half on Garet. Today, he wouldn’t be so easy to knock down or out.

“Don’t think you’re gonna win just because you’re bigger.” Only fair to warn the guy.

The man laughing at him, or coming back with a dismissive insult, Matt was prepared for. Instead, Law inclined his head, his expression never changing. “So noted.”

There it was again, that almost blank coolness. Matt balled his fists. There was nothing to push against with this guy that didn’t leave him feeling like a flailing teenager in his first schoolyard brawl. Fuck that shit. He’d laid out bigger guys before with one well-placed kick. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t fought in a tournament in years. Today he wouldn’t have half of his attention focused on protecting his kid brother. Lawson would never see him coming.

“Hey.” Curtis poked his head through the double doors that led to the only space on this level Matt hadn’t yet set to cleaning or repairing. It had been padlocked since he’d arrived. “Come check out the ring.”

Check out...what ring?

Holding out his arm, Law motioned Matt forward. Maybe Matt was desperate to find some kind of emotion in the man’s face, but there seemed to be a tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there before. As though letting Matt in that room was the last thing he wanted to do. Damned straight. If the man couldn’t take the heat, he needed to stay out of the kitchen.

Shoulders tight, Matt made his way past Curtis, who had a chilling, satisfied smile on his lips. In the bar, members poured in, and Matt heard murmurs of “Law” and “Here for the fight.” Apparently, this was going to be a club event, though how the men had gotten the word out so quickly he didn’t know.

Matt shoved through the doors, his angry “What, you got fifty blood-thirsty gay boys on speed dial?” dying on his lips as he stumbled to a halt.

What he saw inside soured his confidence, and his stomach. A full professional boxing ring complete with four ropes and a bell held pride of place at the room’s center. Caged lighting hung by industrial-grade wires from the gymnasium ceiling, illuminating the ring but throwing the rest of the room into harsh shadow. Metal chairs that Matt had a feeling weren’t used much were folded and stacked against the wall. The air had a stale, closed-up scent that vaguely reminded Matt of a locker room.

Arms by his sides, forgotten gym shorts in his hand, he stared, dumbfounded. “What the actual fuck?”

He’d thought he was supposed to fight Lawson in the parking lot. Maybe upstairs in a larger game space he’d heard a few of the patrons chatting about. Anger at himself for not guessing, and at Curtis for playing him for a fool, made him round on the two men. A knowing smirk had settled across Curtis’s face, but next to him Law stared at the room as though greeting whatever ghosts had been imprisoned behind its doors for however long he’d stayed away.

“What is this place?” Matt tilted his head at Lawson, who hadn’t moved from the door. “You guys beat the crap out of everyone who comes through here for kicks or something?”

It was Curtis who answered. “If that’s what you’re into? Maybe I’ve been handling you all wrong. You enjoy getting roughed up, boy? Because you know I can do that. I’ll even take it slow since it’s clearly your first time.”

Matt opened his mouth to say fuck you, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. Anything he said seemed to give Curtis the opening to a one-liner that only made Matt’s blood boil. Right now, he had bigger problems. Like how to best Lawson, who—given the set to his jaw—had clearly been in this room many times before. And not as the referee. Nobody owned a setup like this without being dead serious, and Matt should know.

“Where do I change?” Matt held up the shorts.

Curtis flicked his gaze to the white wad of cloth and shrugged. “Here. That is, unless you’re worried we’ll see that you’ve shit yourself.”

Teeth gritted, Matt unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, daring either man to look away. They wanted to start something? Fine. He’d finish it. He kicked off his shoes and let his jeans fall to the floor in a messy wad, not giving a damn that he had been going commando for two days. It wasn’t like he’d brought extra underwear with him, and Curtis hadn’t let him out of his fucking sight except to use the john.

Yanking on the borrowed shorts, he straightened. “Satisfied?”

“Not yet, but you’re adorable when you’re pissed off.” Curtis turned to Lawson. “The usual, of course, but he taps out and you let me get his sorry ass out of here. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

Lawson’s brow rose. “Are we done with the theatrics? Get your boy in the fucking ring.”

Matt growled to hide his anxiety. “What? No audience?”

It was one thing to go toe-to-toe with this man and pretend not to have just thrown the emotional equivalent of a two-year-old tantrum, and another to do it in front of the men who had begun to fill the bar. Through the cracked door, Matt could hear the bets being exchanged. Rowdy laughter thickened the air with anticipation.

“Since you asked so nicely, sure. We’ll let them watch.”

“That’s not—” Matt began.

Curtis pushed open one of the doors. “Fresh meat, fellas. Come and get it!”

Chairs and stools scraped back in the bar, and conversation and laughter reached a fevered pitch.

“Fuck.”

Matt trod to the ring, scooping up his jeans and shoes on the way. Whatever the usual was, Matt wanted to be well ahead of it and on his way home before Lawson got in a punch. Since nobody had mentioned rules, Matt planned to start with his feet and not his fists. If nothing else, he’d get the satisfaction of seeing the surprised expression on Lawson’s face when Matt deviated from the boxing rules his mom had taught him. Matt would have to apologize to him later, but it wouldn’t stop him now. Not when he was out of sick time and his boss had told him if he didn’t show at work tomorrow he shouldn’t bother showing up ever again.

He had to get home. He had to win. And he had to do it in a way that wouldn’t send Curtis gunning for Garet. He’d find a way to either pay for or repair the damage to the place after he made sure he still had a paycheck. Any guilt he felt not keeping to the original deal had been annihilated when he’d walked into the room and seen that Curtis had clearly set him up.

No matter. The man wouldn’t be adding ten grand to Matt’s debts today.

Climbing the stairs, Matt ducked between the ropes and crossed the ring to the opposite side. He heard the crowd pour into the room and his feet began to sweat so they stuck to the mat, leaving darker patches on the blue canvas. He could do this, he told himself, ignoring the warning bells that suggested maybe he was in over his head.

“Here.” Reed came around to hand him a bottle of water.

Matt passed him his clothes and took the plastic container, grateful to have something to do besides turn to the crowd. He cracked the cap and followed his swig with a swipe from the back of his arm.

The bartender had tied his hair in a red bandana, its printed yin-yang sign in the middle of his forehead giving him an absurd Karate Kid look Matt chose to ignore in favor of attempting to get more information about the situation.

“Look, why would Curtis have had to tell Law to stop if I tap out?” As far has Matt knew, stopping when a guy figuratively or literally cried uncle was a pretty standard thing. No matter the venue. “And what the hell are the usual rules?”

Reed glanced over Matt’s shoulder and shook his head. “Sorry bro, I can’t be helping the enemy.”

Matt handed the half-empty bottle back to Reed, who scurried off to Lawson’s corner. Matt closed his eyes and straightened. When he turned, he knew he’d see two things. Lawson’s detached expression and the crowd who had come to cheer their guy on. They hadn’t come here just to see the fight. They’d come to see the brother of the kid who’d defaced their building get his ass kicked into next week.

Shame poured over him, adding to the prickling under his arms. He’d feel the same way in their shoes. Regardless, he’d have to disappoint them, because working off ten-thousand dollars and spending another minute in Curtis’s abrasive company were both out of the question. There was no way in hell he’d let Lawson win. Not because he didn’t think paying his brother’s debts was the right thing to do but because if he stayed, he would have to part with what little of his and Garet’s lives he’d managed to scrape back together.