The crowd shifted and Matt sensed their growing restlessness. Though his temple throbbed in time to his pulse, he didn’t move from his appointed spot. At exactly eight p.m., and not a moment sooner, the bar door swung open and Lawson entered the gymnasium. From his raised vantage point Matt could see the man’s dark head above the throng before they parted to allow him through.
Lawson paused, gaze skipping over the crowd, searching, and Matt stiffened when Lawson’s attention landed on him. The man’s lips parted, then compressed into a thin line. Fury chased something that looked like desire from his expression and he bore down on Curtis, who couldn’t have looked more satisfied if he’d eaten both the cream and the canary.
“You’re fucking pathetic.” Curtis in his sights, Lawson jabbed his finger in Matt’s direction. “You haven’t done enough to him?”
Matt fisted his hands and lifted his chin. They were talking about him like he wasn’t fucking here.
Curtis straightened from the ropes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
When they’d fought, Lawson had been the picture of placid control. Each jab and kick Matt attempted to land had been batted away in efficient strikes, as if the man saw each maneuver before Matt executed it. Lawson’s blows had been a methodical and dispassionate devastation, aimed at places Matt hadn’t realized he’d left open. Tonight, his unnerving composure had given way to barely contained rage as he fisted Curtis’s 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.”
Oh fuck, no.
Matt might have lost the match to Lawson, but that did not give the man the right to dictate his terms with Curtis. He made his own deals and didn’t run away from the consequences.
The men’s next exchange was lost in the crowd’s murmured confusion, but color mottled Curtis’s fair skin to his hairline, then drained away.
“This is not the way to handle shit, Law. You don’t—”
“Last warning, Curtis. I’m done with your fucking games.”
Lip curled, Curtis leaned toward Lawson, paused, then shook off whatever violence he’d been about to commit. He headed toward the ring. The crowd had gone absolutely silent. Curtis closed in, but Matt couldn’t tear his gaze from Lawson’s stubborn stare.
“No.” Where the word came from, Matt didn’t know. He spoke without knowing what he intended to say.
Curtis, who had halted in front of Matt, frowned in confusion.
Licking dry lips, Matt tried to think before he spoke. Somewhere along the line, he had grown to like Curtis. Sure, the guy had a strange way of approaching problems, but Matt instinctively knew there was little he wouldn’t do for his friends. Hell, Matt only needed to look at what lengths he’d gone to in order to protect Garet to know that.
“Sorry to give you whiplash, Curtis, but if I need your apology, I’ll ask for it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m in your debt. I don’t need him—” Matt jerked his head, indicating Lawson. “—to make you do anything.”
Curtis’s well this ought to be interesting smirk erased his momentary shock.
Matt swung his attention to Lawson. “Where do you get off anyway?”
Having the advantage of height over the man for the first time since they’d met, Matt approached the edge of the ring. Lawson blinked, the armor of his anger falling away.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Fisting the top rope, Matt wrung it until his palms burned. “As far as I see it, he’s done nothing but act the way anyone would if their home had been violated. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t do what he—and you I might add—thought I’d done. He’s given me and my brother a home, protection, and the opportunity to make a living.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“What?” Too worked up to stop now, Matt barreled headlong into the other matter that ate at him. “Didn’t mean to beat the shit out of me? Didn’t mean to insult me by refusing to let me pay my debt to you because I don’t meet your fucking standards?”
By the door near the bar, Reed groaned and Matt ignored his, “Oh shit, dude. Not what I meant.”
“You won’t take the usual from me? Fine. But don’t come in here acting like your shit doesn’t stink, because I can tell you it does.”
Lawson stared back at him coolly now, arms folded over his chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, boy. Let’s take this somewhere that mouth of yours won’t get you into more trouble than you know how to handle.”
All of the adrenaline and anger Matt had stomped down tonight to endure the ring raced to the surface. “You know what? Fuck you. I can take care of myself. And if anyone here needs to apologize, it’s you.”
Curtis joined Matt at the ropes to leer down at Lawson. “Should I move aside so you can come up here and do a little begging of your own, or are you ready for me to put you on your knees?”
The crowd jostled, voices raising as they swapped new bets. Law stripped his shirt over his head without bothering to undo the buttons. Matt followed the material as Lawson peeled it away, revealing an expanse of olive skin molded to a progression of ripped abdominals beneath. Dark nipples lifted with heavy pectorals and Matt’s fingers curled against the desire to test their firmness. He flicked his gaze downward, following the obvious line to Lawson’s trim waist and the body that had been concealed from him the last time the man had fought.
When Lawson re-emerged, that icy stoicism had returned as if the entire exchange between him and Curtis, or him and Matt, had never happened. Matt tried not to care or to stare as the man vaulted over the ropes and brushed past him. Heat emanated from Lawson’s skin, and Matt remembered the moment his back had been pressed against that wall of muscle, Law’s arm barred across his throat. Matt swallowed convulsively and ducked out of the ring. In his peripheral vision, he saw Curtis and Law bump fists and begin to circle.
There was no way he could watch this, he realized, stomach clenching, as he forced his way upstream through the crowd. A punch landed with a solid crack and Matt pushed harder until he broke free into the quiet bar. Putting as much distance as possible between himself and the ring, he had Doc let him through the door to the lofts and escaped upstairs into Curtis’s apartment, ripping off pieces of the tux as he went. By the time he burst through the door, startling Garet from the book he pored over at the kitchen table, he was wearing only his shoes and slacks.
Nose wrinkled, Garet twisted his mouth. “They play strip boxing in that ring? Or was all that man flesh too hot for you to handle?”
Garet’s provocative comment had Matt coming up short. “Excuse me?”
Since when did his kid brother talk about man flesh?
“Doc said things might get weird down there. I thought he meant because people are still pissed about the gang and me. I didn’t know he meant kinky shit.”
The memory of the way Doc had eyed his injuries made Matt’s stomach turn. How could he have his brother here?
Not giving himself time to think, Matt strode into the spare room and grabbed the duffels Reed had packed for them. They were empty now, but he began shoving first Garet’s clothes and then his own into them until they were full.
All of the helplessness he’d felt over the past week washed over him. Shame that he was beholden to other men for his livelihood. Fear that Garet’s behavior was his fault for not being the kind of guardian he should have been. His inability to hold down a job because he couldn’t fucking control his temper when a shithead manager berated his lack of planning on a job site in front of a crew of gawking construction workers. But his conscience, fucker that it was, didn’t stop there. It rolled all the way back to the day his deadbeat father had kicked him out of the house for spending the money from his after school job to enter “another fucking useless karate competition”. The same day he’d finally stopped letting
the man beat the shit out of him and had laid the fucker out cold.
“Bro, what are you doing?” Garet stood framed in the doorway, watching Matt open and close drawers in angry jerks.
“We’re leaving.” Matt glanced at Garet’s bare feet. “Put on your shoes.”
“What? Why?” The plaintive note in Garet’s voice set Matt’s teeth on edge and he whirled.
“Don’t question me. Just do it.” The sound of his father’s voice coming out of his mouth made them both blink. He raised a hand to Garet in apology, but it was too late.
“I hate you! You fucking always do this!” Red-faced and teary eyed, Garet crossed to Matt and yanked the brown duffel out of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere. You want to leave, there’s the door. You can kiss my ass goodbye on your way out, just like you did last time.”
Memories Matt had packed up and shoved in the back of his mental closet burst outward, forcing him to retreat a step. The backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat automatically. That night, four years ago, when his father had chased him down at a regional karate tournament and dragged Matt into the parking lot First there had been fists that Matt hadn’t bothered to defend against. The words had been worse. He was a loser, would never amount to anything. At some point, something had snapped and Matt had lost his shit. When it was over, his father was on the pavement, a gash in his head, blood pouring down over his left eye. Matt wasn’t allowed back inside the house to tell Garet goodbye. He’d stood on the lawn as a bag was tossed out and landed at his feet.
That was the last time he’d fought anyone. Until Lawson...
Instinctively, Matt knew it would do no good to tell Garet tonight that he hadn’t left without saying goodbye because he’d wanted to. He’d gone because he had no choice and had returned after their father’s death for the same reason.
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Matt lifted his head. “We can...stay.
The doorway where Garet had stood was empty, and Matt was alone. Shoving off the bed, he dug around in the duffel for his clothes, coming up with a pair of ripped jeans and a black T. It took precious moments to change, but he had no desire to go back down into the bar half-naked or dressed in any piece of the tux he’d been wearing. He finally located his black boots under the bed and his belt under one of the couch cushions. By the time he left Curtis’s apartment in search of Garet, Matt was in a blind panic, convinced Garet was halfway back to The Ravagers. Passing Reed’s door at the end of the hall, he slowed to listen over the thundering of his heart.
The sound of video game violence emanated from the partially open door, then Ezran’s “Behind the rock—watch out!”
Garet’s “Fuck. He totally annihilated me, dude,” followed.
Matt swore softly, relieved.
“You hafta watch out. The gray clothes always blend in. Here, let me.”
He stuck his head in the door, intending to ask Garet if they could talk. Both teens looked up at him and glared. Ez had done something to his hair so one side was shaved and the other long. It would have looked better if he’d gotten the line right. Matt skipped his gaze past the kid and took in Garet’s sullen expression. Probably best to let him cool off. They could talk tomorrow, Matt decided. At least Garet was safe. That was all that mattered.
“Don’t keep Reed up.” Matt took Garet’s duffel with him and shut the door.
Back in Curtis’s apartment, he unpacked and folded Garet’s clothes with all the care he remembered their mother showing on laundry day. He paused, a waffle weave Henley in his hands, and sniffed the fabric, remembering how good his clothes always smelled when she’d washed them. A fist formed behind his breastbone and he closed his eyes. When she’d died his childhood has stopped being simple. He didn’t want that for Garet. Sure, his brother was sixteen and two years away from legal adulthood, but maybe if they could stay at The Asylum until Matt got back on his feet there’d be a shot at some happy memories. The kid deserved that.
Hell, maybe they both did.
Chapter Ten
Blood spilled over Lawson’s bottom lip and his vision spotted with white, but he held his position. Too many mistakes had been made already. His sure win brought no satisfaction.
Twisting Curtis’s arm further, he dug his knee into his spine as the man tried to break loose once again. Stubborn bastard. Against anyone else his arm would be fucking broken by now. Not that many others could trap him in this position, but they wouldn’t be holding back.
Lawson wouldn’t for much longer. He’d ruin Curtis’s reputation.
And his own.
The crowd around them roared with bloodthirsty zeal, some still holding on to the misguided illusion that Curtis could somehow triumph, others yelling “Finish him!” like this was a game of Mortal Kombat. Lawson shut them all out and put a bit more pressure on Curtis’s arm. His final warning.
Cursing under his breath, Curtis slapped his hand against the canvas twice, holding Reed’s gaze as the young man crouched before him. Reed moved fast, ringing the bell and ending the fight, pronouncing Lawson the winner.
Releasing Curtis, Lawson took a step back. Let Reed lift his fist in the air.
Then pulled away from him and held out his hand to help Curtis to his feet. He was relieved when the man accepted, but his relief didn’t last long.
Jerking him close, Curtis practically hissed in his ear. “You hurt him and I will fucking kill you. Understood?”
“A bit late for that.” Lawson wrenched his hand from Curtis’s grip and shoved him back a foot, not in the mood for whatever drama he was trying to stage. “And he doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
“Fuck, for such a smart guy, you’re an idiot sometimes.” Curtis’s lips curled with disgust. “He never ‘belonged’ to me. Sure, I talk shit, but I respected him enough to honor our agreement. First when I thought he had an actual debt to pay on his brother’s behalf, now because he won’t accept the club’s help without it.”
“Not the place for this, guys.” Reed held up his hands when both Lawson and Curtis glared at him. “No disrespect, but you both embarrassed Matt enough. You wanna keep doing it in front of the whole fucking Asylum? Have at it.”
The mouthy bartender had a point. Lawson swept the crowd with a cold stare as he grabbed his towel from where he’d left it in the red corner. He used it to dry the sweat and blood from his face as the regulars closest to the ring broke the silence that had fallen over them, uncomfortable rumbling taking its place as they pretended not to have been listening in on the entire conversation.
The wealthier members didn’t even bother. He saw a few smirks tossed his way as cash exchanged hands. He heard Matt’s name mentioned more than once. New bets were being placed and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know on what. Matt had made it clear to the entire club that Lawson hadn’t collected what he’d won from him. Lawson’s wager against Curtis hadn’t been disclosed.
If Lawson didn’t act soon his control over the club would come into question. Ownership meant more than the names on the lease. Those under his protection were safe because no one dared challenge him beyond the ring—and even there the outcome was assumed.
He had to keep it that way.
One look at Curtis and he could tell the other man had come to the same conclusion. All the talk about Matt being his own man was irrelevant. He either needed to prove himself or be accountable to someone. Losing a fight, hell, even being put on display dressed like someone’s wet dream of a butler, weren’t what would put every horny fuck in this place on Matt’s scent.
As far as the club was concerned, Lawson had rejected him. He hadn’t disciplined him, which would be read as him not caring enough to bother. The last could be amended fairly easily.
Along with another important matter that had been overlooked.
“He’s not your concern anymore, Curtis. You’ve given up the right to shield him from me.” He stepped closer to the other man, a cold smile on his lips. “Unless you plan to take his place. You do s
eem to enjoy that kind of ‘arrangement’.”
Curtis’s jaw tensed at the last. His throat worked and Lawson could tell it was taking every ounce of strength for him to hold back whatever cutting remark he’d usually make. In the end he simply shook his head.
“Good.” Lawson stepped up to the ropes, glancing over his shoulder as if in afterthought. “Send him to me. He is no longer your…guest.”
Back in the bar, Lawson helped himself to several shots of whiskey, ignoring the contemplative look Doc shot him from where he’d taken over as bartender. When Curtis went upstairs, leaving the door open in his haste, Lawson leaned against the wall, close enough to hear the moment Matt was told what would be expected from him now. From the raised voices, he doubted Curtis had been successful in getting across how important Matt playing his part would be.
But a sharp word from Curtis ended the argument. Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Dressed in a black T-shirt that nicely displayed the lean muscles of his chest and arms, and a pair of worn black jeans, Matt turned into the bar, stopping mid-step when he spotted Lawson. There was a storm brewing in his eyes and no doubt that he’d say something they’d both regret.
Hooking his fingers to the collar of Matt’s shirt, Lawson drew him closer, speaking for his ears alone. “Hate me all you want, but your outburst in that ring made this unavoidable.”
Matt wet his bottom lip with his tongue. “What is ‘this’ exactly?”
“I’m fairly certain Curtis told you.”
“That I have to live with you? Yeah.” Matt hiked his chin up. “So now I’m your—”
Lawson pressed a finger to Matt’s lips. “Do not finish that sentence.”
“Why the fuck not? First I’m not worth ‘the usual’ and now—”
There was only one way Lawson could think of to shut him up. In a swift motion, Lawson pinned Matt against the wall, latched on to his wrist before he could take a swing, and claimed his lips. He smoothed the fingers of his free hand through Matt’s hair when he stiffened to soothe him, not ready to end the kiss, but refusing to risk pushing too far.
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