by B. B. Hamel
“What kind of favor?”
“Any kind of favor they want.”
My mind buzzed at the possibilities. “Alright then, you’re on.”
Rex smiled, grabbed his beer, and then stood. I picked up my drink and followed him. We wound our way through the small crowd, back toward the pool tables, and we put our drinks down on a side ledge built into the wall. He picked out two cues, and racked the balls. I watched him, and was impressed by how precise and smooth his movements were. I knew I was about to lose, but I didn’t care. I noticed he was favoring his one side, as if his ribs were bothering him, and I wondered then what other injuries he had that I couldn’t see, and what had happened to him.
“You can break,” he offered. I shook my head.
“Only losers break,” I said. He laughed, and lined the cue up. He took a few short practice strokes, and then slammed the cue into the pile, balls flying everywhere. He obviously knew what he was doing, and one solid ball fell into a side pocket.
“You’re stripes,” he said, as he lined up his next move. I watched him for a few minutes, his careful movements and precise shots, and I was impressed. Part of me wondered what kind of favor he was going to ask for. Finally, he missed a shot, and I stepped up to the table.
“Prepare to be amazed,” I said. He grunted as he drank his beer. I lined up a shot with the intention of hitting a striped ball into the corner pocket, took a few practice strokes, and then banged the cue into the wrong ball, sending them scattering all across the table. He laughed out loud.
“That’s some serious skill,” he said.
I shrugged and moved away while he lined up his shot. “I’m just hustling you.”
We played like that for the next fifteen minutes. I made a few balls, but the game was all but won after that first break. Eventually, he sank the eight ball, despite my trash talk and attempts at distracting him. As the final ball rolled into the pocket, he looked up at me with a smile.
“Looks like I’m the winner.”
“Somehow I think you cheated.”
He pretended to be insulted. “I would never cheat at pool.”
“Fine, you win. Fair and square. So what’s your favor?”
He moved closer to me, and wrapped his arm around my waist, holding the pool stick in the other. I put my hands on his chest, heart hammering. I looked up into his deep green eyes, and he looked back with a straight face. I expected something dirty. I hoped for something dirty. I needed something dirty, his hard body pressed up against mine. A thrill ran through me.
“Haven’t decided,” he said. I smacked his chest and laughed.
“I thought you were going to say something else.” I felt myself blush.
He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
I shook my head, trying to cover my embarrassment.
“Never mind. Double or nothing?” I said.
He laughed, and before I could say anything more, he pressed his lips against mine. At first I was surprised and taken aback that he’d kiss me right in the middle of the bar, but I quickly found myself melting into his embrace. I felt his arm tighten around my waist and pull me closer as his lips parted. His tongue ran against mine, and a bolt of excitement ran down my stomach and into my core. I felt wild with an aching need, and forgot all about the people nearby. The kiss ended as quickly as it began, and when he pulled back, I could see that his eyes were as full of passion and need as mine were. We looked at each other like that for a few moments, before he let me go and turned to take a deep drink of his beer.
“Double or nothing,” he said after finishing.
I nodded, trying to pull myself together. “Rack them up,” I said.
“You’re going down. Again.” He grinned at me.
“I told you, I’m hustling you. Prepare to see my skills.”
“If you have any skills, they’re definitely not in playing pool.”
What an asshole. He was right, though.
As he moved to place the balls in the triangle, a hush fell over the bar. He looked up from what he was doing, and then stood bolt straight. I followed his gaze toward the front door, and spotted a group of three people. Everyone was quiet, and most eyes were on the leader of the trio. He was the tallest, and his hair was long and jet-black. He had a jagged scar that ran down his cheek, and his eyes were so brown they looked almost black. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket with a white T-shirt underneath. The other two looked almost identical; they were also tall, broad, all muscles, and their heads were shaved. They wore cargo shorts and hooded sweatshirts. The one on the left was a bit shorter than the one on the right, but otherwise they were indistinguishable from each other.
I looked back at Rex, and took in the grim look on his face with curiosity. I moved closer to him.
“Who are those guys?” I said quietly.
He looked down at me, face unreadable. “That’s my boss and his usual muscle.”
“He owns the bar?”
“Not exactly. He does, but that’s not how he’s my boss.”
I had no idea what he meant, and I wanted to ask more questions, but he had already gone back to racking the balls. The atmosphere in the room had begun to return to normal, and the trio took up spots at the bar. I thought better of pushing, especially considering the look on Rex’s face, and watched him rack and break the balls. He was a mask of serious concentration.
The game went a lot like the first one. Rex made shot after shot, and I kept finding it impossible to make the cue ball go straight. He was a lot quieter though, and didn’t joke back when I tried to heckle his shots. He still smiled and grunted, but I could tell there was something wrong. He was a bit more distant and aloof. When he sunk the final ball, he grinned up at me.
“Winner,” he said, and put his stick down on the tabletop. I walked around the table and stood close to him.
“You are the winner. So what’s your prize?”
He smiled at me, and then took a few steps toward the bar. “Drinks, that’s my prize.”
I felt a little confused. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
“Drinks it is then,” I said, and followed him to a nearby booth.
I slid into one side. “Whiskey and Coke, please.”
He looked down at me with a wicked grin. “Actually, Miss Spoiled, I do believe I was the winner.”
I stared back at him, not understanding.
“Drinks are on you,” he said, still grinning.
“Oh, you asshole,” I said, and laughed. I got back up. “What do you want?”
“Just a beer. And make it snappy.”
I gave him a “fuck you” look, and turned to walk away. As I took my first step, he slapped my ass, a firm hand on my cheek. It stung a bit, and I looked back at him. He was grinning his biggest grins, and I just shook my head. I wanted to be offended, but I had to admit that I liked it.
“Asshole,” I said as I walked away.
At the bar, I ordered a beer and a whiskey and Coke. I stood there waiting for the drinks, idly looking around at the other drinkers, when the man with the scar on his face caught my eye. He smiled, but I looked away quickly, feeling awkward. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. The change in Rex was palpable after he had walked in, and Rex had called the guy his boss. When I went to look back, the man was suddenly looming close in my vision, standing nearby. I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Hey there, pretty thing,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and gravelly, as if he had smoked for years. His body reeked of sweat, and his breath was strong. I fought against my desire to run away, and forced a smile.
“Hi,” I said back, meekly.
“Well now, don’t be shy. Never seen you here before.”
“I don’t come in much,” I said, looking for my drinks. The bartender was pouring the beer.
“What’s your name?”
“Darcy,” I said.
“Well, Darcy, I’m Michael. This is my bar.”
I
looked back at him. His smile was huge, but it didn’t touch his dark eyes. I suddenly realized how afraid of him I was. My pulse quickened.
“It’s a cool place,” I said.
He laughed, and then coughed. “No, Darcy, it isn’t cool. But thank you for saying so.”
I tapped my foot, nervous and afraid. The bartender returned with the beer, and started making my whiskey and Cokey. I wished he would hurry up so I could get away from the terrifying man. I felt other eyes on us, watching. I didn’t respond to Michael’s comment, and just smiled.
“Not very talkative, are you? I guess you don’t need to be, with that young body and pretty face.” He was still smiling, but there was something sinister there.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“No offense meant, darling, just a statement of fact.”
I felt myself recoiling from him. The bartender finished my drink and placed it down in front of me. I reached into my small clutch to put some bills on the bar.
“No need for that,” Michael said. He nodded at the bartender.
I looked back at him, desperate and afraid. “No, it’s fine, I can pay.”
He shook his head. “Pretty girls like you don’t pay in my bar.”
Before I could answer, I felt another person appear at my side. I looked up and it was Rex, his face grim and serious. He nodded to Michael.
“Hey, Michael, how’s it going?” Rex said.
“Rex, my lad, things are great. Just talking to this fine young lady,” Michael responded, and clapped Rex on the back. Rex flinched at his touch, and I sensed his body’s tension. Rex put his arm around my shoulders, his face still grim.
“This is Darcy,” he said to Michael.
Michael’s face dropped into a scowl for a brief second. My terror spiked, and the only thing keeping me from running away was Rex’s strong arm and comforting presence. I knew that I was safe, even if Michael was terrifying. As the moment stretched into dangerous, awkward territory, Michael suddenly broke the silence by laughing loudly. Rex’s face relaxed, and some of the tension left his body. Michael clapped Rex on the back again and pretended like there was never an insidious moment.
“So it is, then,” he said, and then turned and started to walk away.
I looked up at Rex. His face was a mask of grim anger. I slipped my arm around his waist and felt the muscles in his body flex under my touch.
Before Michael took more than a few steps, he turned back around and looked at Rex. “Well done last night, by the way. Keep that up.” He nodded, and then continued away.
I slipped my arm away from Rex and grabbed the drinks as he steered us back to the booth. Once there, we sat down again, and he slammed his beer back, finishing it all in one go. He banged the glass back down, and I felt the tension slowly drain from the room.
My body was shaking and my heart was racing. I realized I was full of adrenaline. I sipped my drink, trying to calm my nerves. It seemed like such an innocent moment on the face of it, but there was clearly a subtext of violence and danger. I didn’t fully understand it, but the feeling was clear.
“Sorry about him,” Rex said quietly.
I shook my head, unable to respond.
His eyes met mine. “Stay away from him if you can.”
I nodded. I could definitely follow that advice.
“What did he mean, good job last night?” I asked.
Rex leaned back in his seat, sighed, and looked away.
“I had a job last night,” he said. I finished off my drink and felt the warm, comforting embrace of the whiskey fill my chest and stomach.
“Is that where you got your black eye?”
He looked at me then nodded.
I held his gaze, desperate for him. “What do you do, Rex?”
He was quiet a minute, and then reached his hand out and took mine. It caught me off guard, how tender and gentle his touch was, completely the opposite of the last few minutes. The expression on his face was pained.
“I fight,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
He sighed and squeezed my hand. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Wait, you can’t just say something like that and then leave.”
“I’m cashing in my favor. Come back to my place. I’ll tell you what I mean there.”
I felt the thrill of his touch come back to me. I forgot all about Michael at the bar, and all about his weird job. I fell deep into the green pool of his eyes and his soft lips.
“Okay, let’s go.”
He stood, and I followed. Right then, I knew I’d follow him wherever he led.
Chapter Seven
I went out into the night with Rex, not sure what was coming, not sure where we were going, but I found myself trusting him. I was still running on adrenaline, and although I was a little wary of what was happening, nothing about Rex suggested he would hurt me in any way. I wasn’t usually the type to follow men back to their apartment, especially not men like Rex Latour, but his magnetism was drawing me in deeper with every passing glance. I felt a little tipsy, but not drunk enough to do something stupid.
We walked for a few blocks, heading south. I followed close behind him, but we didn’t speak. There was a funk hanging in the air between us, and I could feel him still brooding about our encounter with Michael.
The streets were dim, lit only at large intervals by weak yellow streetlights. Much of the houses were in shadow, and it almost felt like this part of the city was abandoned. I breathed the cool air in deeply and pretended like this was our neighborhood, and I ruled it alongside Rex. He was my king and I was his queen, and those empty, dark streets were our streets. People like Michael couldn’t bother us there, not in our kingdom of darkness. I took a few quick steps and caught Rex’s hand. He didn’t look back, but he squeezed my palm in response, and we walked the last two blocks hand in hand. I kinged him in my mind and made him my ruler for the night.
Finally, we reached his building. It was like every other place on the block, brick front façade and an old, painted wooden door. He unlocked the handle, pushed it open, and I followed him inside. We went up a flight of stairs where he unlocked another door. This was obviously a house that had been renovated into two apartments, one downstairs and one upstairs. I guessed the third floor was another apartment, but he didn’t say, and I never checked.
Inside, the space was dark. Rex stepped in a few paces then flicked a switch. His apartment was sparse. There was a kitchen to the right, a large space for a living room, and a bedroom and a bathroom off down a short hallway. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration. He had workout equipment near the couch, a single old television, a beat up coffee table, and not much else. I didn’t expect a professionally decorated space, but it was a little strange how empty it felt.
He walked across the room and dropped onto the couch. I followed him in, a little tentative.
“Cool place,” I said.
“No, it isn’t.” He patted the seat next to him again. I walked over and sat down.
“I like this neighborhood.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. I looked at him.
“Pretty empty though,” I said.
He opened one eye and grinned at me. “I like to keep it simple, just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
He shrugged again. “Want a drink?”
“Sure, what do you have?” He was getting pretty good at avoiding my questions.
He stood up and went into the kitchen. After a minute, he came back with two drinks, a can of beer for himself and a tall glass that looked like soda.
“Whiskey and Coke, just like you like,” he said.
I eyed the drink. “That’s all that’s in there?”
He laughed. “I don’t need to drug you. Drink up, Miss Spoiled Girl.”
I took a sip and swallowed as he took a long pull on his can. He placed his drink on the coffee table.
“Alright, I’m h
ere. Want to explain the fighting thing?”
He sighed then shifted his body toward me. He took the drink from my hand and placed it on the coffee table next to his. Looking back at me, he took my face gently in his hands and kissed me long and deeply. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, and I shifted my weight to press myself close against him. I lost myself in his kiss for what felt like an hour, until he pulled away.
“Is that what I’m here for?” I whispered.
“No, I just wanted to do that before I told you.” He moved away, but his hands lingered on my thigh.
“Let’s get this secret over with then, the suspense is killing me.”
He nodded, face suddenly somber. “I fight for a living,” he said.
“I know, you said that already. But what does that mean?”
“Do you know what MMA is?” he asked.
“Not really. I think I’ve seen it on the TV guide or something, but I’ve never watched it.”
“Well, it’s like boxing. Except MMA stands for mixed martial arts, which means you can fight in whatever style you want. There are fewer rules. It’s faster, harder, and more violent. I do something like MMA.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “So how is Michael your boss then?”
“That’s a little more complicated. You have to understand, I don’t fight in any professional club. I guess it’s called street fighting. Michael runs it.”
“Wait, so like, an illegal fighting ring?” I felt a little confused.
He nodded. “Exactly like that. Michael gets a lot of local fighters, dudes who can’t exactly get involved in the legal MMA competitions, and has them fight. People place bets through Michael’s people, and the money gets moved around that way. I fight in those matches.”
That made sense, and explained his injuries. “But why are you doing it? Why don’t you fight in a regular fight?”
He sighed and pulled his hands away. He looked out over his apartment, eyes far away. I wasn’t sure what I should do, whether I should reach for him or hold back. His eyes came back to mine, and they burned into me.
“I owe Michael a lot of money. I was a pretty terrible person for a long time, deep into drugs and shit like that. I got clean a year ago, and I’ve been fighting to work off my debt ever since.”