"You're so full of it. I'll catch up with you later." Tommy waved me off.
"Swing by the shelter later. Keep me company in the kitchen." I stepped off the curb, headed toward the soup kitchen I'd been volunteering at for the last four months.
As part of my self-inflicted penance or whatever you want to call it, I volunteered at shelters, donated a third of my paycheck every week to different charities, helped little old ladies cross the street and kept my eye on Tommy. A voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I'd never buy my way into Heaven. No matter how many good deeds I did. I tried to shake off the dark thoughts creeping into my mind, to stop the anger and self-hatred from worming its way in. Save it for the bag. Leave it all in the gym.
I looked over my shoulder, shouting back to Tommy. "Hey, if you see John Waters picking up his mail again, could you please get me an autograph this time?"
"Jax! Look out!" Tommy's warning stopped me dead in my tracks.
A cab whizzed by, inches from hitting me head on. The side mirror clipped my hip as it passed, horn blaring. Some of the people inside the cafe came out to make sure I was okay. I brushed it off before anyone made a fuss.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. Go back inside. Finish your breakfast." I waved to Sarah, the owner of Blue Moon, trying to reassure her that I wasn't hurt. Unconvinced, she ushered her patrons back inside.
"Damn, Jax. You are one lucky...."
"Watch your mouth, Tommy."
"I didn't even say nothing." He looked at me sideways. "You sure you alright?"
"I'm fine. If your mom's working late tonight, swing by the shelter. I'll fix you a plate."
"One near death experience a day is my limit."
I couldn't help laughing at my own expense. "Get the hell out of here. I'll see you later."
I headed toward the gym rubbing my hip, contemplating what Tommy said. People like me didn't have good luck. So what was with all the near misses? It wasn't the first time I'd come close to cashing out and paying my debt to the Devil. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone upstairs was looking out for me.
THREE
Baltimore Boxing Club kept it simple. No fancy equipment, just the square ring with a green canvas, an area to work the jump rope, and a few speed and body bags around the large open room on the second floor of the building. You heard the physical punishment as you walked up the steps to the gym. People came to BBC to push themselves beyond their limit, to be a champion.
I started coming here to learn to protect myself. I kept coming because I found a place where I could leave my troubles behind or beat them into submission. The minute I wrapped my hands and slipped on my sparring gloves, everything disappeared. No demons, no deal with the Devil, and no guilt or heartache over my mother. I put leather to the bag until the exhaustion overpowered the emptiness and, for a few minutes, I didn't feel the hollow place inside where my soul used to be. I took the stairs two at a time, my workout bag slung over my shoulder, when the voices started up again. It only fueled my need to hit something.
I wished I could blame Lazarus or the rest of the demons for the hateful things inside my head, but that was all me. No matter how many good deeds I did, that little voice wouldn't let me forget I was on a highway to Hell. Every day a war waged within me. Part of me figured since I'd already condemned my soul to Hell, I might as well live the life of a sinner. The other part desperately clung to the hope that I could atone for the ultimate sin - dealing with the Devil. When the voices got too loud, I came to the gym and beat them out of my system.
I unzipped my hoodie, wiggling free of the sleeves before I made it past Mister Joe. He sat in a rickety old metal folding chair by the door every day making sure non-members didn't sneak into the gym. Four guys in as many years came pretty close to a title shot. Ever since, people have been trying to catch a glimpse of the trainers and their prize fighters.
"Jax, you got that look again. Somebody bothering you?" Mister Joe set his paper on his lap, patiently waiting for an answer. "You point me his direction, I guarantee he won't mess with you no more."
I gave Mister Joe my best smile because he deserved it. I even made the extra effort to let it reach my eyes. "I'm okay. Nothing I can't fix with some time in the gym."
"Listen here, young lady, I may look old and worn out, but I still got moves." He threw a few ghost punches, bobbing left and feigning right. "If somebody's messing with my girl, it'll be the last damn time. Juggarnaut Jones still has a left hook or two in him."
"Of that I have no doubt. Unfortunately, there isn't a man to point you in the direction of. My life's pretty boring."
Liar. The Devil and his demons are far from boring.
I needed to get started if I had any hopes of breaking a sweat and shutting the voices up before I had to be at the shelter, so I excused myself from Mister Joe's company and went over to the body bag. After tossing my stuff down by the wall, I did a few stretches to limber up and then wrapped my hands.
The first punch hit the bag with a satisfying thud. I'd taken to imagining Lazarus every time my fist made contact. Thwack. Another hard shot to the bag. I didn't wait for the bag to stop swinging. I just stepped in and hit it again. Left, right, left right. I fired one after another, imagining I was breaking one of the demon's ribs with each shot.
"You need someone to hold the bag for you?" The deep tenor of the voice was unfamiliar.
I ignored the question, assuming it wasn't for me. Everyone knew I worked out alone. I'd withstood the cat calls and ribbing every girl got when they joined a gym like BBC. Ear buds and my razor sharp wit went a long way to ending that.
When he asked the question again, I stopped swinging. A few of the regulars stopped to watch me put the guy in his place, something they'd come to expect every time some new boxer tried to pick me up. I'd planned on telling him to fuck off, but my tongue stopped working the minute I looked into his blue-grey eyes.
He was gorgeous in that tattooed, gritty, biker sort of way. Everything about him set my nerve endings on fire. And the voices I'd only begun to silence started arguing again. While I watched a bead of sweat roll its way down a torso chiseled by hard work, probably in and out of the gym, the voices argued over taking him up on his offer.
Not just the one to hold the body bag. The unspoken one in his smoldering eyes which had muscles untouched by my workout tightening.
The new guy was trouble with a capital T.
I shook off the voices and the spark of attraction I'd instantly felt for him and grabbed my iPod out of my bag. I slipped my earbuds in, never taking my eyes off him. He gave me a delicious smile, dimples barely visible beneath the scruff on his face, and backed up a step, taking the hint.
I was far from living the life of a nun—still, there was something different about him from the others I'd dated. If I let him, he'd derail me from the road to redemption.
And that couldn't happen.
I heard Mister Joe's deep belly laugh over the Five Finger Death Punch blaring in my ears. I stifled a laugh of my own when a few of the gym rats sang "shot down in a blaze of glory" in an off-key chorus. The regulars had learned the hard way that I came here to work, not to find dates. They respected me all the more for it. I hoped tall, dark, and dangerous figured that out as fast as the rest of them.
I doubted my ability to resist him if he didn't.
I left him standing there, no doubt staring at my ass, and moved on to the speed bag. A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, prepared to drop the new guy with a short hook to the jaw. Mister Joe caught my right in his massive palm. He'd left his post by the door and strapped on a set of trainer pads. He nodded to the ring with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
I knew what he was up to. I humored him anyway. Mister Joe felt the electricity between me and the new guy from across the gym. He wanted to make sure the handsome stranger knew I could handle myself.
Mister Joe stood in the center of the ring raising and lowering his hands while I
hammered away on the pads he held. He picked up the pace, stepping to the side and then back, forcing me to cut him off and control the ring. New guy sidled up ringside and studied my every move, cataloging it for later use. I caught him smiling out of my peripheral and missed the pad when Mister Joe raised it for a left jab to the head. My arm sailed past the target, taking me with it. I collided into Mister Joe, taking us both back a step.
"That's enough for one day, baby girl. Go on and get outta here. I think we proved our point anyway," Mister Joe whispered in my ear with a pat on my back.
I untangled myself from the burly man with a chuckle and made my way out of the ring. The way he worried over my safety was cute. If he only knew the sexy new addition to Baltimore Boxing Club was the least of my worries.
The line of demons waiting to get a piece of me when I died was pretty long. I'd managed to banish half a dozen or so back to Hell with the few tips I'd picked up watching the Southern Baptist Church on TV. Demons really don't appreciate it when you send them on a one-way trip home.
Except for Lazarus, the sneaky bastard. He never stayed in Hell for long. I'd exorcise him from my life and a week later, he'd be darkening my doorstep again. Literally.
There'd definitely be a special place in Hell for me if I didn't earn my way back into Heaven before I died.
I threw on my hoodie, grabbed my bag, and headed out. I felt new guy's gaze on me until I hit the stairs.
FOUR
Lazarus waited outside for me, as usual. Tired from my workout and the unwanted attention I'd already received, I lashed out. My arm felt like Jello so the swing went wild, connecting with a looping overhead right. He reeled back, clearly shocked I'd managed to hit him.
So was I.
Thankfully, he vanished before I could challenge him again because exhaustion would have prevented a repeat performance. Even one afternoon without him harassing me was a gift, so I was grateful for the temporary reprieve.
I walked back to my apartment with a little spring in my step. The blessed silence in my head from the lack of my inner demons drowned out the music of living in the city.
A quick shower and change of clothes later, I made my way over to My Sister's Keeper, a shelter for battered women and children on the outskirts of Fells Point. Close enough to my apartment to walk, I volunteered there three days a week before my shifts tending bar at Bad Decisions. Like everything else in my life, my desire to help people who often found themselves in a shelter due to substance abuse during the day while serving up someone's liquid addiction at night to pay the rent was a ridiculous paradox. Still, the easy money earned behind the bar made it possible to donate cash as well as my time.
Tommy waited for me on the front steps. "Mom's working late, so I figured I'd take you up on your dinner offer."
"I thought you didn't want to risk your life by eating my cooking." I hopped up the steps, my feet seemingly lighter without the demon on my back.
"Pfft, danger is my middle name. Besides, I'd hate to stand you up and break your heart when you've been begging to take me to dinner."
"Well, come on then, Casanova, you've just been promoted to prep cook." I looped my arm through his and steered us toward the kitchen.
Right into the path of the smoking hot stranger from the gym.
Tommy rocked back as if he'd been hit with a Taser. He obviously picked up on the same danger factor I'd felt at the boxing club. I moved to put myself between Tommy and the other man, pausing when his hand gripped my forearm with a strength I wouldn't have expected to come from the lean teenager.
The stranger extended his palm, lowering it when neither of us reciprocated. "I'm Dane. Dane McDonough. We met earlier at the gym. Well, sort of."
"Are you sure it's not Stalker? I thought I made myself pretty clear back at the gym."
"I'm actually here to see the director." He flashed his thousand watt smile again.
I pointed him in the direction of Michelle's office. The perfect combination of bad boy and boy next door, Dane looked exactly like my type. That alone would normally send me running in the opposite direction because my type had a track record of being bad, period. Warning bells sounded in my head, signaling me to keep my distance. Not like when a demon came around, but close.
Too close.
He thanked me and headed in the direction of Michelle's office, giving me a wink and another glorious smile before walking away. Oh yeah, Dane McDonough was definitely bad news.
Tommy and I made our way to the kitchen, and began quietly slicing and dicing vegetables for the stew. After throwing them into the pot of simmering beef and broth, we uncovered the rolls rising on the baking sheets and slid them in the oven. Neither of us said anything, my thoughts turning to the way he'd grabbed my arm.
I got a soda from the fridge and tossed it to Tommy. "Have you seen that guy before today?"
"No, but something about him freaks me out. What about you?"
"Not before he walked into the gym. I know what you mean, though. There's something about him. I mean, earlier it was like... Well, forget about the gym. Out in the hall it was like..."
It was like what Jax? When you saw demons? Yeah, like Tommy would believe that.
Tell him, Jax. You need to trust someone. You never know, he just might believe. Aren't kids exposed to all sorts of supernatural nonsense?
The internal argument started again. I'd thought about telling the kid before except he had his own problems. He didn't need my kind of crazy in his life so I continued to shelter him from it as best I could. It looked like my best wasn't going to be good enough for much longer.
"Jax? It was like what, Jax?" Tommy asked, concern in his voice. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the man he'd become. Age and experience beyond his fifteen years flashed in his eyes.
"Forget it. It's nothing."
"You know, I just figured out what it is about that guy I don't like."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, hoping like hell he didn't pick up on what I was thinking.
"He's trying to poach my girl."
"You've got nothing to fear there, Tommy." I gave him a reassuring smile.
"You like him, I can tell, but he ain't got nothing on me."
"Trust me, kid, you've got nothing to worry about." I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince. Tommy or me.
We worked the serving line and then ate our meal in silence. My thoughts kept drifting to Dane, his sudden appearance, my instant attraction, and the way he tripped my demon alarm. Apparently selling your soul to the Devil came with some sort of spidey sense for demons. I struggled every day with blocking it out or I'd never get a moment's peace. Baltimore hosted a large number of demons. I often wondered if it had something to do with me.
I felt it again. Chills up and down my spine, goosebumps. It happened every time a demon came around, only this time I couldn't see any in the dining area. I scanned the room again, unsure what I'd do if I actually found the hellspawn.
I couldn't very well banish a demon in the middle of dinner. The women were traumatized enough. Once again, I came up empty. Not a single demon. And then I saw him.
Dane.
He sat with Michelle at a table in the far left corner of the room. Based on their body language, their intense discussion was completely professional. No friendly banter or displays of affection. Just two people sharing a meal, discussing business—but what business? What did the director of a woman's shelter need from a guy like Dane McDonough?
I didn't realize how long I'd been staring until he glanced up. I tried to look away before he noticed. Too late. I'd been caught. If the ghost of a smile and sparkle in his eye was any indication, Dane thought I was checking him out. I suppose I was.
Just not for the reasons he thought.
Still, when he winked at me, my heart stopped for a second. Right on cue, he hit me with the full smile. It was dazzling, I'd give him that. Refusing to let him know the affect he had on me, I gave him the fin
ger.
And then Michelle turned around.
Busted. Heat crept up my neck and across my cheeks. Embarrassed, I grabbed my plate and motioned for Tommy to follow me into the kitchen. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to catch Dane sending another wink my way as I left the dining hall.
Who the hell was this guy?
Tommy and I dropped our plates in one of the large gray tubs on the counter. Thankfully, it wasn't my night to do dishes. I still had a six hour shift at the bar ahead of me.
"I gotta head out to work. You alright on your own?" I knew he'd say yes even if he was scared to walk home alone. Still, I had to ask. I'd call in late if Tommy ever said no.
"Yeah, I'm cool. Stop sweating me. Thanks for dinner. I'll catch you tomorrow." Tommy grabbed his jacket and headed home.
I grabbed my jacket, slung my mail bag over my shoulder, and was right behind him. Time for Bad Decisions.
FIVE
I swapped out the plain black shirt I'd worn at the shelter for a cut-off white tee with a spray painted red anarchy symbol on it. One of my favorites, the shirt was short enough to show a little stomach and cut low enough to flash just the right amount of cleavage. My tips improved significantly whenever I wore it.
The place was packed to capacity, wall to wall people, everyone drinking and having a good time. Completely clueless to the demons roaming the streets, just waiting to torment them and snack on their souls. I envied their ignorance. I wished like hell I didn't know the things I did.
One of the regulars shouted his order for two shots of Fireball over the pounding music and roar of the crowd. I mindlessly filled the glasses and set them on the bar top. The guy raised one, waiting for me to do the same. I clinked my glass against his and downed the liquor, savoring the cinnamon taste and slow burn. We slammed the glasses upside down together and he disappeared back into the crowd.
Payable On Death: A Jax Rhodes Novel, Book One (The Jax Rhodes Series 1) Page 2