DS Fight Club Box Set (Volumes 0-3)

by Josie Kerr

  “Well, why don’t you tell me? Give me a fucking clue as to why I should give this guy a second chance.”

  “Because he saved Tig’s ass, okay? Tig won a fight that he wasn’t supposed to and some of Raptor’s goons beat the shit out of him. Pierce found him barfing in the gutter, barely able to walk, and he had the presence of mind to call Charlotte and take him to her place. She called me, and Pierce helped me wrap his cracked ribs and generally patch him up.”

  “Shit. And he knew Tig was one of C’s fighters?”

  “By that point he did, yeah. And he still chose to help him. Pierce could have just called an ambulance, or even ignored him, but he didn’t. And he stayed with me until I was sure that Tig didn’t need to go to the hospital.”

  “Damn.”

  Dig studied the big, shaved-headed fighter out of the corner of his eye. He knew that Pierce was bounced from the Raptor Pryde team after his unnecessarily rough expo fight with Colin, the fight that left C with a broken jaw and shattered forearm and shoulder. He had also heard rumors that Pierce was practically homeless and the only place that he had been fighting was on the dangerous underground circuit, which seemed to have mysteriously disappeared in the past few months. That was a hell of a long way from the bright lights of Vegas, where a few years before, he first fought Colin for a heavyweight title.

  Ryan broke into his thoughts when he elbowed him. “Man, are you listening to me?”

  “What?”

  “I’m just saying that you should give Pierce a second chance. I think the whole thing between Colin and him, and you and him, is way more complicated that it seems.”

  “Is he really homeless?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I think he’s living in one of those extended-stay hotels for the time being.”

  “Damn. I wonder what happened to all his money. He won some big fights a few years ago.”

  Ryan shrugged. “He’s pretty close-lipped about a lot of stuff. We’ve given him a lot of chances to tell us the whole story.”

  “ ‘We’? Meaning you and Tig?”

  Ryan squirmed. “And, uh, Jason. Pierce has been doing demolition for us for a few months now.”

  Dig threw his head back and laughed. “No shit! Does C know this?”

  “No, he doesn’t. And don’t run your big mouth, okay? We’ve been trying to figure out how to tell him. And Junior, too. I think Junior actually dislikes Pierce more than C does.”

  “Man, I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Yeah, apparently there’s a whole backstory that’s really ugly, and it has nothing to do with the octagon.” Ryan shrugged. “No one’s saying anything, though, and you know C and Junior—when they don’t want to talk about something, you’re not going to hear a peep.”

  “Yeah, I know that.” Dig looked back at the door. “No, I won’t say anything.”

  Dig cracked his neck again and yawned widely.

  “Shouldn’t you be heading home to rest up so you can get your ass kicked tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, nothing says ‘good morning’ like a bald Guatemalan screaming your name before daybreak, but you’d know firsthand about that, wouldn’t you?”

  Ryan flushed deep scarlet. “Heh. Unfortunately, no.”

  “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  Ryan shrugged a shoulder. “Maldonados, man. They’re complicated creatures.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  Ryan slapped Dig on the back. “I’m headed out. You should, too, Dig. See you tomorrow, man.”

  “Later, Ry.”

  Dig lingered at the bar after Ryan left, hoping that Pierce would take a break and leave the door, but as the minutes ticked by, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. After leaving Meghan a fifty-dollar tip for her time, he took a deep breath and headed toward the exit.

  Pierce was busy scrutinizing the IDs of three giggly girls when Dig slipped out the door. He was halfway to his car when the big bouncer called his name.

  Damn. Almost made it.

  Dig turned and faced the big, bald former fighter. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, man. I know I’m shitty. But I’m sorry, okay, for everything. I’m not going to make any excuses, because there is no excuse for the shit I pulled. I could have ended your career, and it would have been for absolutely nothing in the end. But I am truly, truly sorry.”

  Dig inhaled deeply. “You know, man, what’s done is done. Ryan told me what you did for Tig. That’s stand-up, man. I still don’t like you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you, but Ryan and Tig do, and I trust their judgment. So. That’s that.”

  He nodded at Pierce, and Pierce nodded back before taking a seat on his stool and returning to stamping the hands of Foley’s patrons. Dig got into his car and drove to the fight club.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Junior cut his steak into small cubes, while Nanda pushed her food around on her plate. “You need to eat, manita. You’re not fooling me. You’ve barely eaten at all since I’ve been back.”

  Nanda gave up and let her fork clatter on the plate. “You straightened up my apartment, right? After the break-in?”

  “Well, no. Marta and Ines did, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Nanda tapped her nails on the table’s slick surface, her thoughts only still half-formed. “I think that maybe the book is still up in Newark in my apartment. I’m thinking that Gene hid it, but somewhere almost in plain sight.”

  It was the only conclusion that made any sense. But where in her small apartment could it possibly be? The furniture was all ripped to shreds and all the tables overturned and drawers spilled, so the book couldn’t be hidden in any of those places. Nanda tried to remember if the vents had been tampered with during the break-in. She didn’t think they had been, but she didn’t recall noticing anything weird. Of course, she had been so shocked, and then so frightened, that she really couldn’t remember much of anything at all.

  Junior snapped his fingers. “The toilet tank.”

  “What?”

  “Mikey used to stash his porn in the toilet tank.” At Nanda’s look of confusion, Junior explained that in high school, his friend had kept his porn in a plastic ziplock baggie taped to the inside of the toilet tank so his nosy mother wouldn’t find it.

  “Gene was always in the bathroom. I figured he was either sniffing blow or was having issues because his diet was for shit.” Nanda chewed her lip. She didn’t remember the toilet being disturbed either, though the shower curtain was ripped down and the contents of the bathroom cabinets strewn around, with lipstick and foundation smeared into the carpet for extra malice.

  “I’ll call the detective tomorrow morning and tell him the toilet theory.” Feeling somewhat better, Nanda began to eat the lukewarm food on her plate.

  “You want to stay at the apartment tonight or at the hotel? Johnny said the apartment was cleared and we’re good to stay there.”

  “I’d rather stay at the apartment. That hotel is so big—I get paranoid about all the people.” Nanda swallowed hard, the tender steak turning to a ball of rubber in her throat. “Where will you be?”

  Junior patted her hand. “Wherever you are, Sis. Derek’s staying at the hotel regardless, because of the trade show.”

  “I hate for you to not get to spend time with him.”

  “I’m in training, he’s got meetings and panels and whatever craziness insurance guys get up to during conferences. We’ll have dinner or something before he heads back.”

  “You sure?”

  “Nanda, I’m sure. Now eat.” Junior jabbed his fork at her and gave her his best stern look, which wasn’t very stern at all. “Besides, I think we need a little breathing room.”

  “What, you and Derek? Are you guys having problems?”

  Junior shook his head. “Nah. We’ve just had a lot of time together. It’ll be good for both of us to get ba
ck to what we normally do.”

  Nanda chuckled. “I know you’ve missed screaming at sweaty, stubborn fighters who don’t listen to you.”

  “The DS Fight Club guys actually listen to me and Paddy. I know, shocking.” He chuckled. “I don’t know if it’s the southern manners or what.”

  “Dig’s not southern.”

  “No, he’s not, but he’s a nice midwestern boy. Close enough. So.” Junior pinned Nanda with a look. “You two seemed awfully chummy.”

  “ ‘Chummy’? I can tell you’ve been hanging around Tig.” Nanda snorted, hoping to distract Junior from the topic of her and Dig.

  “Don’t try to distract me, Nanda.” Dammit. “You sure there’s nothing I need to know about you and my fighter?”

  Nanda shook her head. “Nope. We’ve just gotten a chance to actually get to know each other, now that he’s not constantly hitting on me.”

  Junior snorted but gave her a skeptical nod and went back to his dinner. Nanda didn’t press her luck and finished her dinner as well.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Junior stepped into the apartment first, flipping on the overhead hallway light by using the wall switch. “Wow. This actually looks . . . decent.”

  Nanda looked around. The furniture was still in shambles, but it was at least upright.

  “Oh, Junior. Your couch! It’s ruined!”

  The leather couch that Junior loved sat cushionless in the middle of the room, the arms also shredded, with the frame of the couch showing.

  “I’d been thinking about getting something else, something more apartment-sized. It’ll be fine.”

  “You know what’s weird?” Nanda stood in the hallway and surveyed the rest of the apartment.

  “What?”

  “Whoever trashed your apartment, they weren’t malicious.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, they didn’t smash the television, they didn’t grind shit into the carpet, or leave the freezer open like they did at my place.”

  “Hmm. You’re right. Maybe they didn’t have enough time. My neighbors are pretty nosy—they know who’s in town and out.”

  Nanda snorted. “Yeah, my neighbors are used to me and Gene fighting, and heaven knows that they do their share of screaming. They probably just thought we were having noisy make-up sex.”

  “Ugh.” Junior made a face. “Don’t. That’s not something I want to imagine you doing with anyone, much less that weasel-faced Gene.”

  She barked a laugh. Gene was kind of weasel-y. But then she sobered up. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. If not, he’d probably be better off if he were.”

  Junior pulled his sister into a hug. “I’m sorry, Sis. I know you loved him.”

  She sighed into his chest, gave him a squeeze, and then stepped back. “You know, I really didn’t. I mean, I loved him because we’ve known each other forever, but I wasn’t in love with him at all. I don’t know if I ever was, not the way that he wanted me to be. I’ve always felt shitty about that, about taking his affection for granted.” She sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped the wetness from her face. “I’m gonna go grab my bags out of the car, and then I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  “I’ll go get them –”

  “Just stop. I’m fine. The car is right by the stairwell. Sheesh.”

  Nanda stomped down the stairs to Junior’s car. She clicked the alarm off and opened the back door of the car. She reached in to grab her duffle and small suitcase and then froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickling with the sense that eyes were trained on her. Nanda stayed still, crouching in the backseat of the car for a long moment, until the feeling passed. Then she grabbed her bags and ran up the stairs to the apartment.

  She slammed the door to the apartment and dropped her bags, her chest heaving with anxiety and her breath coming in gasps.

  “Nanda, what happened?” Junior rushed to his sister’s side. “What?”

  Nanda caught her breath and shook her head. “Nothing. I just got spooked. It was nothing. I just felt like someone was watching me when I was grabbing my stuff from the car.”

  “Maybe we need to go back to the hotel.”

  “No!” Nanda knew she would really lose her mind if she had to stay cooped up in the hotel room for another night. “You know, I’m just going to take a bath, and journal some, and do some reading.”

  Junior’s grim face softened. “You still write in that journal?”

  “Well, I’ve gone through a bunch of journals, but yeah, I still do. It helps me process stuff.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’ve got something to help you cope, though I think you should probably see someone.”

  “Like a shrink?”

  “Yeah, or a therapist. Maybe a PTSD specialist.”

  Nanda scoffed. She might be a lot of things, but she didn’t have PTSD. She leveled a look at Junior, and he held his hands up.

  “I’m just saying, Nanda, I think it would be good for you to talk to someone.”

  “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Nanda pecked her brother on the cheek. “I’m gonna take a bath and do my thing. Night, Junior.”

  “Night, Sis.”

  Nanda went into the bedroom and sighed. While the bed wasn’t destroyed like it had been in her apartment in Jersey, every drawer had been turned out and the closet completely emptied, all the clothes flung around the room.

  “Motherfucker,” she muttered and began returning drawers to their rightful places and scooping up the scattered contents. After she cleared the floor a bit, she stripped the bed and dumped the sheets in a corner and then replaced the coverlet over the bed. As she was evening out the quilt, she spied an empty box beside the bed.

  Nanda stormed out of the bedroom, the empty box in her hand.

  “Those assholes!” she raged. “Motherfucking punk-ass fucking fuckers!”

  Junior looked at the empty box in her hand. “What the hell, Nanda? Did you get something shipped here? Could it be what they were looking for?”

  “No, Junior, those fucking fucks stole my brand-new Toyfriend!”

  Junior blinked. “Say what?”

  Nanda held up a blister package in the other hand. “The vibrator that I ordered! I got it yesterday and didn’t open it. When I was grabbing clothes, I saw the box it came in, opened, and then I saw the packaging. Fucking cocksuckers!”

  Junior recovered enough to chuckle at his sister’s rage, which only made her angrier.

  “It’s not funny, you jerk! It’s rechargeable and waterproof! This thing cost me almost two hundred dollars!”

  “We’ll get you another one, Nanda. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “What?”

  Junior rolled his eyes. “Come. On. Now.”

  When she balked further, Junior pulled his sister by the hand and led her to the parking lot.

  Once in the car, Junior journeyed into midtown Atlanta.

  “I’m just gonna make one comment about that scene back there, Nanda. That scene back at the apartment? That is why you need to talk to someone. I want you to remember, manita, that I’ve had PTSD, and that shit almost killed me after those fucks in Iraq didn’t. Shit, it’s been over ten years since that shit show, and I still don’t go into a dark room, ever.”

  “The night-lights. That’s why you have the night-lights.” Nanda was leaning against the car door, the sudden realization simultaneously horrifying and humbling her.

  He sighed. “Yeah, that’s why I have the night-lights.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know how it sneaks up on you and how you can go from functional to completely nonfunctional with one trigger. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

  “I’ll talk to someone, okay? I will.”

  “Good. I think Johnny’s partner has some experience with it.”

  “Dolly? Man, I like her a lot, but I’ve got the feeling she might be
more the cause of PTSD than not.”

  Junior guffawed. “You might be right, Nanda.” He inhaled again and then let out a slow breath.

  “I will talk to someone, Junior, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Nanda settled back down in the seat. Before long, Junior turned into a parking lot behind a blocky two-story building. He turned the car off and said, “Come on.”

  “Where are we?” Nanda looked around, confused.

  “We’re going to get you something. Come on.” Nanda followed Junior to the front of the store and halted when she saw the name. “Oh, no. I am not going in here with my brother. No way, no how.”

  Junior rolled his eyes. “We’re here. Come on. They have a good selection.”

  “How the fuck would you kn . . . oh.” Junior quirked an eyebrow at her, and Nanda let out a big sigh. “Okay, fine.”

  Once inside, Nanda stood in the foyer, eyes wide. “Whoa, now this is a toy store!”

  Nanda’s eyes grew wider and wider the longer she looked around. “Junior, I don’t think I have the right equipment for this place.” She eyed the poster of the hard-bodied man next to the signs stating Couples’ Playrooms and Videoplexx with an arrow pointing downstairs. “Wow, they’ve got everything.”

  Junior chuckled. “I believe the area that you want is over there.” He made an indistinct gesture. “I’ll be in the magazines.”

  Nanda made a face but headed to the area labeled Women’s Toys.

  Nanda was comparing two “massagers” when she heard a gasp. She looked up and saw Charlotte’s best guy friend, Brad, whom she met at one of Charlotte’s book club gatherings.

  “Nanda? What are you doing here?” he asked, apparently shocked.

  “What does it look like? Picking out a new Toyfriend.”

  “ ‘Toyfriend.’ That’s a good one. Hi, cutie.” Brad’s fiancé looped his arm around Brad and grinned at her.

  Nanda shook her head. “I swear to God, I know exactly two people outside of the fight club, and I run into both of them when my brother brings me to a sex shop.”

  Brad blanched. “Hector’s here?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hi, Brad.” Junior stepped up behind Nanda.