To enjoy life’s roller coaster, and just be.
Chapter Eight
One last nail and Lawson could hang the remaining photo. His new home would be complete. He could continue with his day after hours of unpacking clothes and dishes and everything of value he’d collected over the ten years since he’d been left with nothing.
His throat tightened as he looked at the photo of the day he’d received his first black belt in Taekwondo at the Dojang he’d attended with Noah. Noah was already on his third Dan, having been a student there most of his life, but he still made Lawson feel like it was a huge accomplishment. As much of an accomplishment as getting his GED and his business degree, a goal he couldn’t abandon because it was all he’d ever planned for his future, even though he had no idea how he’d use it.
This photo had both Noah and him in their uniforms, standing with their Grand Master, goofy smiles on their lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled like that. He’d been so young then. So fucking carefree.
He sighed as he hung the large, black-framed photo on the wall in his office. He preferred not to have anything too personal in his general living area, not when Curtis might stop by and insist they actually had things to discuss—hopefully a rare occurrence, no matter how close they lived.
Peace at The Asylum came much easier when he and Curtis weren’t forced into the same space too often. At least now Curtis had his new project to occupy himself…
Not for much longer.
Lawson ground his teeth as he considered the days Curtis had compelled Matt to work to restore the club, seeing them much differently than he had before he’d known the man was innocent. Long hours, no pay, surrounded by hostility and Curtis… Fuck, what else had Curtis made Matt do?
He didn’t believe for a moment that Curtis would force himself on Matt, but he’d implied he’d offered Matt another way to pay off his ‘debt’. That angered Lawson more than anything. He knew Curtis was willing to play dirty to get what he wanted, but he’d gone too far.
The idea of Curtis’s hands on Matt, him stripping him down, touching that smooth, pale skin—damn it, Lawson couldn’t let his mind go there. If he went into the ring already distracted by rage, Curtis would win.
Which was unacceptable.
The last time he’d lost to Curtis he’d been twenty-two, still in university and applying for summer internships with businesses in New York. He’d been turned down for every one because of his father’s influence. That night at the Dojang where Noah was an assistant instructor and both Lawson and Curtis had been training for years, he’d been aggravated by Curtis’s teasing remarks, by how close he was to Noah, by how certain he was of his future. He was working as a trash collector, saving up to open his own mixed martial arts training center.
Which Lawson could respect, but standing on the edge of the room, watching Curtis give one of the older students—a nineteen-year-old who practically worshiped him—a considering look while Noah observed with far too much interest, something inside Lawson had snapped.
Stretching out his arms as he crossed the room, he shot Curtis an icy glare. “You planning on opening a Dojo or a sex club?”
Curtis went still. Fisted his hands at his sides. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“You heard me.” Lawson ignored Noah’s frown and kept his focus on Curtis. “Nothing wrong with that line of work, pal, but if you’re only taking on ‘older students’ and they’re paying for the pleasure of your company, that doesn’t make you an instructor.”
“Yeah? What exactly does it make me then, Law?” Curtis’s lips curved into a smile that promised pain. “Spit it out.”
“That’s enough, guys.” Noah stepped between them, motioning for the student to join those warming up at the other end of the large Dojang. “You’re supposed to be setting a good examp—”
“A whore.” Lawson bared his teeth, knowing he was asking for a fight. Practically begging. And there was one way to guarantee he’d get it. “That makes you a fucking whore.”
“Jesus Christ.” Noah shook his head as Curtis lunged, trying to get past him to grab Lawson. He shoved them both back, his tone hard, though he kept his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear him. “You want to fight that bad, Lawson, just ask. Don’t be a fucking asshole.”
Lawson turned to Noah finally, eyes narrowed. “Why shouldn’t I be? This way you won’t have to feel guilty about taking him home with you.”
Noah’s brow rose. “You want to start on me too? I never feel guilty. And it didn’t bother you before.”
“Maybe that’s changed.”
“Or maybe you had a bad day and you need to let off some steam. Which is fine by me.” Noah motioned to the center of the mat. “Have at it, boys.” He grabbed Lawson’s shoulder before he could turn. “And I expect an apology when you’re done.”
The fight had led to a humiliating loss against Curtis, Lawson coming to his senses even as he spat blood onto the mat, and him issuing an apology to both men. Both he and Curtis had gone back to Noah’s condo that night and what wasn’t already sore from the beating Curtis had given him was by the time they were done.
One of his more pleasant memories with Curtis, strangely enough. The night had ended with the three of them laying around Noah’s bed naked and him venting his frustrations over his father’s determination to destroy what was left of his life.
“Fuck him, Law.” Curtis kissed his chest, eager for another round, as always, but his tone was tender as he brushed his lips over the bruises his fists had left on Lawson’s flesh. “You’re smart and tough and he’ll fucking die mad picturing you…” His lips moved lower. “Doing.” He grazed his teeth along the curve of Lawson’s pelvis. “Exactly this.” He smirked at Lawson’s groan. “He’s not worth your time.”
What the hell had happened between then and now to turn them into the men they were? The answer would seem obvious, Noah had always grounded them both, but there had to be more to it. Lawson rarely lost his temper as he had then, and never let his emotions rule over him. The few emotions he allowed himself to feel, in any case.
And Curtis had gone from being a sex-crazed flirt to a manipulative bastard. Lawson had ignored his behavior for the most part, but he couldn’t ignore what Curtis had done to Matt. He could tell Curtis had some regrets, but would that be enough? He hadn’t released Matt from their agreement and the man was too tempting to believe Curtis wouldn’t make another attempt to get him in his bed.
That’s the real issue, isn’t it? It’s fucking killing you that Curtis gets to play hero and Matt might be so grateful he’ll stop seeing him as his captor.
No. Matt deserved the unconditional protection of the club.
Curtis will give him that and you damn well know it.
Hanging the photo, Lawson turned his gaze to another he’d hung a few inches away. The only one he hadn’t shoved in storage of Noah, and Curtis, and him. In front of The Asylum the day they’d signed the lease.
For some reason, he’d never considered Curtis a friend, but they were family once. They’d grown apart when Lawson decided to buy his own condo, rather than move in with him and Noah. There’d been no breakup, the relationship had simply…dissolved. He’d always love Noah, but he was no longer that young man who was content to share his lover with whoever caught his interest—though content might not be the right word. He’d accepted Noah as he was, but his needs had changed.
So had Curtis’s, not long after. The man still brought fighters upstairs, as did Lawson, but they both kept things casual. Almost as though Noah had ruined them for anyone else.
He laughed at that last thought and shook his head. When had he become such a sentimental fool? His life was exactly how he wanted it. His focus was on The Asylum. On his work, advising several expanding businesses as the city continued to grow. His father might have made it inadvisable for any corporate enterprise to have Lawson’s name on the payroll, but he couldn’t stop everyon
e from using Lawson’s skills and compensating him well for them.
The point was, Lawson didn’t have time for the type of relationship he wanted. Maybe Matt would be better off with Curtis.
His jaw ticked at the thought.
Seeing Matt in the dungeon, completely overwhelmed, brought out all of Lawson’s protective instincts. The Dom in him also awakened the urge to be the one to teach him the pleasure that could be found in that room. How fulfilling surrender to the right man could be.
If only Matt had gotten into the ring with him fully aware of what he’d gain with a loss. He’d have left the ring after submitting to defeat, and his introduction to the play space would’ve been under much different circumstances.
Though he seemed to have a thing for pool tables…
Shaking his head, Lawson left his office and took one last look around the open space of the loft. Sleek leather and dark wood furniture, stainless steel appliances, framed posters from various MMA fights he’d been to where a student he’d trained with—or trained—had been in the lineup. A few paintings Ezran had done in art class—abstract pieces showing different parts of the city that he didn’t know Lawson had because he’d never been in his home.
Noah had given them to him without comment before he’d been sent to prison. He didn’t expect Lawson to raise the boy, Curtis was better suited to that task when Noah’s mother needed a break, but it was understood that Lawson would look out for Noah’s ward. The paintings were likely a nudge for him to take a more active role.
His one attempt had blown up in his face. Noah would be thrilled.
He glanced at the time, rolling his shoulders and letting calm settle over him. The fight would begin in fifteen minutes. Enough notice had been given to bring in a full crowd. Despite the underlying reasons for the fight, Lawson was looking forward to facing Curtis. Unlike most, the man would give him a decent challenge.
Which he hadn’t had in far too long.
Would Matt be there? His lips curved slightly as he pictured the man who moved with confidence until he lost his temper, each kick executed as though he’d be tested on form, his maneuvers all governed by what would be accepted in a well-regulated match.
He’d be a force to be reckoned with if he learned to fight without such restraints.
His loss against Lawson would have many underestimating him, but Lawson saw his potential. Once he’d freed Matt from his agreement with Curtis, he’d offer to show him how to fight in The Asylum. How to face opponents who didn’t play by the rules he’d been taught.
But first he had to make sure the fighters didn’t see him as the enemy. Matt accepting a challenge from anyone else right now would be dangerous. The fighters would kill to protect their sanctuary and most still believed Matt had taken part in violating it. Might even believe he was among those who’d killed their friends, their brothers, twenty months ago.
Making his way downstairs, he nodded greetings to the patrons who lingered in the bar, frowning when he spotted Ezran sitting on a stool behind the bar while Reed served drinks. The boy’s expression hardened and he hunched his shoulders, not taking his eyes off the textbook he was studying.
Lawson looked at Reed, who had his hair pulled back in a snug ponytail and was wearing a red mesh shirt with some obscure band logo on it.
Folding his arms over his chest, Lawson waited for Reed to pour the last beer and finally face him. He jutted his chin at Ezran. “Send him upstairs. Now.”
“Believe me, I tried.” Reed scowled at Ezran, who was completely hidden behind the book now. “He’s being a little shit.”
“He can hear.” Ezran lowered the book. “What’s the big fucking deal? I’m in here all the time.”
This had to be the boy’s way of showing his displeasure at not being permitted to visit Noah. Normal teenage behavior or not, Lawson wouldn’t tolerate this kind of defiance. The child could sulk where there wasn’t alcohol being served.
He slid behind the bar, standing over Ezran and speaking low. “You know damn well you’re not allowed in here when the bar is open.”
“Do I? Guess I forgot.”
“Will you continue to forget if you’re banned from the shop for the next three months?”
Ezran stared up at him, eyes glistening with tears of frustration. He shoved off his stool, knocking it over in the process, and slipped by Lawson without another word.
A minute later, a door slammed.
Reed let out a low whistle. “Was I that much of a pain in the ass at that age?”
Lawson’s brow rose. He’d rarely seen Reed at that age and preferred not to think on it. The young man must be at least twenty by now? Seeing him in the dungeon so often made it necessary to ignore the fact that Reed had been Noah’s ward as well. While Noah was strictly his mentor and guardian, no one else in the club saw Reed that way.
Dismissing the question, Lawson glanced over at the door leading to the ring. “Why haven’t you found a replacement to cover the bar? Aren’t you overseeing the match?”
Reed grinned, mischief in his eyes. “Nope.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Also nope.”
“You are aware I can find much more…unique punishments for you?” Lawson leaned closer to Reed, dropping his tone. “Don’t test me.”
Hesitating for a moment, Reed nodded slowly. “True, but I have a feeling you’ll be too distracted. If not, you know where to find me.”
Cheeky brat. He’d be much less daring if Lawson took him up on that offer, but he didn’t have time for it now. He held Reed’s gaze for a moment, letting the young man know that they would continue this conversation.
Opening the doors that led to the ring, Lawson let himself absorb the energy from the crowd, locking away all other concerns as he prepared himself mentally for the match. He made his way to the ring to shouts of encouragement, random voices from the throng telling him how pleased they were that he was fighting again.
As he got closer to the center of the ring, his focus was broken by what awaited him.
Not Curtis or the smug smile on his lips.
Matt.
Standing tall, dressed in a sleek tux that was a bit too snug on him, Matt stood in the ring, looking over the crowd as though trying to avoid seeing them at all. The curve of his cheeks was red, his hands in fists at his sides.
He looked out of place, but still incredibly handsome. His shoulders were enhanced by the cut of the jacket and the loose tie and undone buttons drew Lawson’s gaze to the length of his throat, which he’d never found so fucking sexy on a man before. He wanted to climb in that ring and shove that damn jacket off Matt’s shoulders. Undo a few more buttons. Make Matt forget that he’d been compelled in here, looking like that, to humiliate him.
None of which would be welcome.
So he turned his attention to Curtis who was standing in front of the ring, leaning carelessly against the ropes.
“You’re fucking pathetic. You haven’t done enough to him?”
Curtis’s brow furrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Lawson strode up to Curtis and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “If you want to be worthy of challenging me, apologize to him. For embarrassing him. For making him pay for a crime he didn’t commit. You get in that goddamn ring and you beg his forgiveness or I’m not wasting another minute with you.”
“You’ll forfeit the match?” Curtis’s brow rose, but he lowered his voice, leaning closer to Lawson. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I forfeit nothing. You lack basic respect and honor. Prove me wrong or your challenge is meaningless.” Lawson pushed Curtis into the ropes. “You think you humiliated him? Imagine how they’ll all look at you if I get in there and tell them exactly what you’ve done.”
“This is not the way to handle shit, Law. You don’t—”
“Last warning, Curtis. I’m done with your fucking games.”
The look Curtis gave him made him sure the man would
refuse. Instead, Curtis climbed the ropes and walked up to Matt.
Lawson met Matt’s eyes, expecting to see some satisfaction in them. He’d been close enough to hear every word.
Instead, Matt looked absolutely horrified.
Chapter Nine
If someone had asked Matt how he’d gotten from the door to the center of his own blue-canvas hell, he wouldn’t have been able to say. A pervasive ringing that had overtaken his hearing long before he entered the gymnasium grew worse as he awaited the beginning of the fight. He usually loved the atmosphere before a competition—the sweat and testosterone, competitors warming up for a sparring match. The Asylum held nothing of that friendly fighting spirit tonight, though. At least not for him.
Curtis leaned over the ropes in Matt’s line of vision, looked him up and down, and winked. “All set?”
Matt nodded and went back to staring out over the crowd toward his escape route—the door to the bar. Over the din he caught the general mood of The Asylum as one of eager anticipation. Aside from a few catcalls, the crowd thankfully hadn’t paid him much attention, and he would have been happy to keep it that way. Someone wolf-whistled and his chest constricted. He couldn’t fucking breathe in this getup. Ripping open his tie and the top buttons on his shirt, he drew in several steadying breaths.
When Curtis suggested that he could earn a cut of the take by refereeing the fight, Matt hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance, but he hadn’t said no either. Between Garet’s bail money and losing his job, he couldn’t afford to decline. The fact that Curtis had wanted him to spiff up the joint by wearing his tux? Well, that was just the icing on this slice of cake. It didn’t matter that the man thought the getup would somehow insulate him from any lingering spite the members might lob his way, Matt felt ridiculous. If he’d known Curtis was going to dress him up like Prom King Ken, he would have burned the fucking thing at the Senior Hell Week bonfire.
Flawed Justice Page 7