by Juniper Hart
“To South Paw!” they chorused while the rest of Jordan’s small entourage echoed the sentiment in the background, but Jordan was not paying attention.
There was a gentle clink of glasses, and Jordan slugged back an obligatory gulp, barely tasting the potent liquid in his haste. He hurriedly proceeded to place his glass on the dressing table and reached for the envelope which James had handed him with snapping fingers. Like a toddler at Christmas, he attacked the plain white paper to release the check from its fold. He held up the paper, his smile freezing and then dying on his lips.
“What the hell is this?” he asked James accusingly. “This is all I got?”
James’ smile also faded as he glanced over Jordan’s broad shoulder and saw the amount he had presented his client. Harley cleared his throat and backed away slightly, exhaling in a rush of breath.
“Yeah, I was worried this was going to happen,” James muttered, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another and shifting his gaze away from Jordan.
“What? What happened? I thought I was getting double this!” Jordan yelled, flapping the check in the air furiously.
“You did get double that,” James said evasively. “But…”
“But what? What the hell happened to my money?” His head was swimming with the bills he had piling up, ones he had thought he’d take care of when he won this fight.
Gods, if I have to go back to my sister’s husband, Landon, for work… He closed his eyes and steeled himself from screaming. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and stared defiantly at his agent.
“Well? What the hell happened?” he insisted. James sighed before responding, trying to choose his words carefully.
“Promoters. Taxes. Security.” Jordan stared at him as if James had grown another head.
“Are you shitting me? Half of my money is gone? What do I need security for? How am I going to survive off this once a month? This is barely transit fare to and from the gym!”
“I know, Jordy, but trust me, this is just temporary. So you need to get a job for a while. No big deal. Everyone needs to work, right?”
Jordan gawked at him, his jaw locking. Goddamn it! I thought I was through asking Landon for help. I don’t want to do this. I can’t bear the idea of my sister, Wren, looking at me like a failure.
James seemed to sense his discontent and rushed on. “You’ll be driving a Mercedes soon, kid. You won’t need to set foot on a train ever again. Hell, you’re gonna be chauffeured around in a limo soon! Just focus on the outcome, okay, Southy? That’s where your mind has to stay.”
It’s easy for you to say that. You’ve had a silver spoon stuck up your ass your entire life. I have to work for this. Jordan choked down his resentment, knowing that his temper flaring wasn’t really James’ fault. He had known this would be a process. He just hadn’t anticipated how long of a process it would be.
Unconvinced, he sat heavily in his chair, disappointed. His mind raced for an alternative to asking Landon for more help. Not that Landon would care if he returned to work for him, but why should he have to?
“Maybe there is a way I can fight on the side to make more money—”
“No!” Both James and Harley shouted in unison.
“You need to do this the right way. Don’t get caught up in street-fights or illegal betting,” Harley warned. James nodded in agreement, and Jordan groaned, understanding the severity of their words. It was not often that the two reached a consensus on anything. Jordan was resigned to his fate.
There was nothing he could do about it but continue the process. He had already gone through almost all his meager savings, training hard and forgoing luxuries at every turn. He had even managed to steer clear of the casinos, despite the overwhelming urge to play for gold. He had heeded Harley’s earlier advice and followed his training schedule to a science. It had been five years of rigid routine, but it was proving to be worth it.
He just needed to hold out a little longer. He was almost there. He could do it.
He thought he had finally made it out of the deep hole he had dug for himself in the quest to become an MMA fighter. You wouldn’t have even believed you could be here five years ago, he reminded himself, looking up at sympathetic supporters in his midst, each one of them waiting for his response.
The rest of his small following tried to make themselves scarce, but they, too, shot him encouraging looks. He took a deep breath to steady himself and forced a weak smile on his face.
I’m just gonna have to hit Vegas and double down with the rest of my money. If that doesn’t work out, I will take on a job for a few months. The region finals aren’t far off.
“Okay,” Jordan finally sighed.
“Okay, what?” Harley demanded, ready to go to war with James, eyeing his former friend with naked distain. “What are you going to do, Jordy? Because we can find you another agent.”
Jordan looked up and laughed in surprise.
“Are you kidding?” he chuckled. “I’ve got the best.” James grinned at him, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes as he purposely avoided Harley’s glare. “I’ll find a job,” Jordan conceded. “But only until you make me a star, James.”
James clapped his client on the back jovially, his booming chuckles filling the room.
“Of course,” he agreed happily. “Like I said, this is only temporary. Soon, the world will be yours.”
That’s what I’m counting on, Jordan thought. It just better happen soon.
2
“Hey, asshole! Think fast!”
The ball ricocheted off Jordan’s head before he could look up from his sandwich, causing a bruise to form almost instantly on his head. The hard rubber bounced into the trees behind him.
A burst of raucous laughter exploded from his classmates as he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. A small group of children emerged from the ravine from behind the tree where Jordan had set up for lunch; among them, Derrek Jameson. His acne-pocked face loomed scarily above Jordan, and for a moment, Jordan felt as though he was in a dream. Derrek Jameson often haunted his nightmares.
Instinctively, Jordan pinched himself, praying he would wake up, but of course, Jordan was not that lucky. He looked up at Derrek, whose fists were firmly planted on his pudgy hips, glowering at the skinny, pale boy.
“Hey, asshole! Didn’t you hear me? I said, think fast! Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’re an Elliot Bay moron. You don’t know how to think.”
The other children giggled encouragingly at his cruel remarks. Derrek kicked at the ground by Jordan’s feet. Jordan jumped up with surprising agility, shifting his eyes to the ground to avoid the inevitable confrontation. Inside, however, his anger was reaching a boiling point.
“Where ya goin’?” Derrek taunted as the smaller boy turned to walk away. “I ain’t done talkin’ to ya, asshole!”
Jordan tried to ignore the bully and picked up his pace. It certainly wasn’t the first time Derrek had gotten in his face, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Even though he attended a school for Enchanted children, he was the lowest in pecking order, thanks to the twisted way the pack handled themselves.
Turning his back to his bully made Jordan increasingly nervous, but he hoped to fall into the purview of a teacher before any serious damage was done to him. Derrek, however, was not one to be slighted, and he began to follow the awkward ten-year-old toward the school, chanting his mean moniker with the other students.
“Jordan, the warden of the shittiest pack in town. Jordan the warden should be pounded into the ground.”
For a hopeful moment, Jordan thought that Derrek would end his torment with simple ridicule, but he was not so lucky. A sudden push from behind knocked Jordan forward, yet he did not fall, having partially expected the act of aggression. He had a highly developed sense of cynicism which was far too mature for him. Between his meager home life and poor physical strength, Jordan was already learning that life was not fair, his primal and supernatural senses teaching him almost from bir
th that he would have to take care of himself.
“Jordan the warden, Jordan the warden, Jordan the warden,” Derrek chanted. Soon, the other children followed suit, and Jordan was enveloped in a cruel circle of jeering. He felt tears well up in his dark eyes, but he swallowed them back, horrified that Derrek and the others might catch him crying.
Blinking fast, Jordan broke into a run, Derrek in hot pursuit. The other children cheered on their leader, and suddenly, Jordan was being pulled to the ground and pummeled with the fists of his nemesis.
One day, he thought, putting his frail arms up to protect his face, you are going to regret the day you ever met me. One day, I’ll be your warden, too.
But as he waited for Derrek to finish his beating, for someone to finally lose their nerve by the sight of Jordan’s blood and alarm a teacher, Jordan knew that it was never going to happen. He knew he was destined to be a loser his entire life.
Now he stared blankly at the television screens before him, and he idly wondered why that event from his childhood had popped into his mind. He had not thought about Derrek Jameson in years, certainly not since he had left high school and outgrown his geeky stage. His family and pack had seen other plans for him after those years, years he would have rather not thought about if given the chance.
That’s the past now, he thought grimly, rubbing his coffee-colored eyes. No wonder he was thinking about his childhood—he was bored to death and looking for a distraction. While his eyes had been trained on the security cameras for what had probably been two hours, he freely admitted to himself that he had not paid the slightest attention to anything happening around him. An armed robbery could have occurred while Jordan stared blankly at the screen, and he would have been none the wiser in his current state.
With a grimace, Jordan sat back in the swivel chair and rolled his thick neck in a circle to release the tension it had acquired. There was nothing overly stimulating about the comings and goings of the company’s employees, and while Jordan had reclaimed his position as head of security at Landon’s marketing firm, he failed to understand why it was necessary. Not that he was complaining—having Landon Burke as an in-law certainly had its perks, but Jordan suspected that his role was developed to act as a private investigator rather than a protector of the company. It seemed to him that over the past couple years, Landon had been looking more for a spy than a security officer.
It was of little consequence to Jordan. The work was consistent, and even though the job itself was mundane, it allowed Jordan the freedom to continue with his grueling training schedule. Harley had made himself readily available day or night, letting Jordan get in his daily exercises so the young wolf would not become lax in his routine. It did not matter what time Jordan appeared, Harley was ready for him without complaint or any sign of the tiredness he must have felt, keeping the same weird hours as his protégé.
The first week Jordan had started back at Landon’s company, he’d stormed into the gym, teeming with anger. Harley had immediately ushered him into his office and closed the door. Jordan’s temper was infamous to anyone who knew him well, but his trainer knew exactly how to put out the fire, having dealt with every variation of the fighter’s ire. There were three simple questions Harley invariably asked Jordan.
“Is someone dead?” Jordan glared furiously at him and shook his head, fully aware of what Harley was doing. “Do you have a place to live?” Jordan shifted his eyes and felt his anger subside somewhat as he nodded.
“For now,” Jordan muttered, but he already felt himself relaxing, knowing that he was exaggerating his position. After all, he was still the alpha of a powerful pack, one he had brought back from the dredges of Enchanted society.
“Then is it really that bad?” Jordan took a deep breath and counted to ten, just the way Harley had instructed him years earlier. He admitted that Harley’s mild mannerisms sometimes drove him up the wall, but he had to hand it to Harley; the man never lost his cool.
Maybe he’s got some Enchanted blood in there somewhere, he thought affectionately. There’s something certainly superhuman about his disposition.
As he finished counting and exhaled the breath he was holding, Jordan turned back to the short yet muscular older man.
“James lied to me,” Jordan said flatly.
“About what now?” Harley demanded, his face growing angry. Jordan noticed Harley’s fists clench at his side, and he wondered if James and Harley had ever physically fought. Jordan’s money would have been on his trainer, even though James had almost a foot and fifty pounds on Harley. There was something to be said about a quiet one’s anger.
“About how much money I’m making!” Jordan snapped. “What else?”
Harley exhaled slowly, his fists uncurling. “He didn’t lie to you,” he answered reluctantly, as if it pained him to admit it. “He just didn’t tell you the entire truth. James has always been good at that.”
“I can’t do this shitty job, Harley! I wasn’t cut out to be a mall cop. There’s gotta be a better way!” He didn’t add the part that asking his relations for another opportunity was a killer blow to his ego.
Harley placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and sighed again. “This is just temporary, Jordy. Think about it. Every great fighter has a great story. Make this experience part of that.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Stop acting like the boy I met five years ago. You’re a man now, and sometimes, men have to bite the bullet and do things they don’t want to do to get ahead in life. Do you want the title, or do you want to whine and complain?”
“Harley, I’m not—”
“You are. You’re sniveling like a brat. Suck it up, Southy. All of us have made choices at one time or another that leave a bad taste in our mouths, but we do what we have to do and live with those decisions.”
Reluctantly, Jordan had been forced to accept his reality and returned to the boring job at the company in Seattle’s bustling financial district.
This is just temporary, he reminded himself over and over, but that didn’t seem to speed up time, no matter how many times he recited the words in his head.
He glanced up at the wall clock over the front entranceway and grimaced. It hadn’t moved since his last look. If anything, he was sure time was going backward.
He sighed and decided it was time to do a walkthrough of the offices. For the first time since his teens, he was itching for a cigarette, but he did not dare. He could only imagine how big a chunk Harley would tear out of him should he guess Jordan had ever smoked a day in his life.
Jordan was becoming antsy sitting, and he still had a few hours before the end of the workday. He was not about to spend it reliving childhood trauma in his head. Rising to his feet, he started toward the back of the floor, pausing to look through the office windows discretely.
It was his duty to check on the employees, ensure their safety, and more importantly, see if they were engaging in inappropriate activities such as drinking or using drugs. He was also to report any instances of sexual harassment, gambling, or viewing of pornographic material. In the month since he’d taken on the job, Jordan had seen more than his fair share of debauchery, but he had yet to report one incident. He didn’t take the job seriously enough to call out his coworkers on their infractions, and he also knew when to keep information in his back pocket. It might serve him well later, possibly if his own job was at risk.
A little blackmail can go a long way, he thought without an iota of guilt. This was the way the world worked, after all. Quid pro quo.
Strolling down the corridors, he saw the same dull faces, the overworked corporate types glued to their computer screens, paying him no mind as he sauntered through the vast floor. At no point did anyone bother to glance up at the white-shirted guard, like he was a ghost unseen.
It did not faze Jordan. He had no interest in getting to know these people. He was not a social creature by nature, and this place was merely a means to an end for him. He wouldn’
t recognize any of these men and women if he ran into them at the coffee truck on the street below, and he preferred it that way.
Jordan continued toward the bathrooms and did a quick check of the men’s room. He found himself alone. Pausing, he stopped to study himself in the mirror.
You don’t look much like Jordan the Warden now, do you? he thought wryly, marveling at how much he’d changed over the years.
The standard starched shirt was a large size but did nothing to take away from his barrel chest and rippling biceps beneath. The top button could not be fastened, as the muscles in his neck would not allow for it. His physique was quintessential of any alpha he knew, but there was something else, something deeper than just his pulsating muscles and toned frame.
His skin was smooth, bronze from the summer sun and blemish free, showing off a sculpted jawline and high cheekbones. His deep brown irises seemed to have a mind of their own, often mimicking his emotions, changing from light to dark, depending on the intensity of his mood. His dark brown hair was shaved to an army brush cut, revealing the easy curves of his well-sculpted skull.
He wondered if Derrek Jameson would recognize him if he saw him again. Last Jordan had heard, Derrek had moved to Northern Canada with his pack after high school.
He probably wouldn’t recognize me if I punched him in the face. I still have to track that little shit down one day, Jordan thought with renewed anger. He was surprised the kid popped into his mind again. Why was he thinking about Derrek Jameson? That had been a lifetime ago! Shaking his head at himself, Jordan exited the bathroom, trying to shove the bitter thoughts out of his head.
“Oh! Excuse me!”
Jordan glanced up in surprise as someone walked into his firm chest. Stepping back, he reached out to steady the woman in front of him before she almost lost her footing.