Grey
I can feel my heart tip-tapping away on the tip of my tongue as I run. My calves tighten and strain as I twist around corners and push myself faster and faster until everything besides me blurs. I dive through people on the sidewalk without missing a beat. Some give me nasty looks and curse at me, but the rock music booming in my ears blocks them all out. Before I train in the gym, I like to get a few miles in. The weather is perfect for it, and I want to get in my cardio to get my heart under control. There’s nothing worse than getting tired after a few minutes in the ring. And if your opponent sees your heavy panting or slow foot movements, you’re done for.
As I pass by a local diner, I am tempted to enter, but I can’t. I want to be light and quick on my feet. And that’s not possible if I’m like a boulder gunning for the next shot. So, instead, I run to a market and slow down. I take out my headphones, barely out of breath, and get a fruit salad and a water. I swear, after this tournament, I am pigging the fuck out. I eat and drink on a park bench and rest for a few minutes, ignoring Dean’s calls. I know what he wants me to do—we all have for a very long time—but I’m just not ready to come face to face with it just yet.
I finish my salad with a sigh, then get back on my feet. I run for another half an hour, then end up back at the gym. I head straight to the back, throw my shit in my locker, and walk over to the workout machines. I curl my growing biceps, using hundred-pound dumbbells for about twenty minutes. After that, I rotate through each heavy-lifting machine that pushes me to my limit, and I exceed beyond them greatly. David says I shouldn’t push myself like this, but I won’t get that top title or champion belt without pushing myself.
“Grey!”
“What’s up?” I turn around after setting down a weight and standing from the bench.
David walks up to me, sweating himself. “I got a fight for you at Fort Lauderdale around eight,” he informs me.
I sigh as I walk over to a punching dummy, him on my tail. “Can’t. I’m a little busy tonight,” I say vaguely, starting to throw my hands strategically.
“Then get un-busy,” he says sternly.
“I can’t, David,” I huff out, throwing my fists left and right.
“Why not?” he questions.
I throw my fist a little harder, and the dummy swivels around. “Because I can’t, David.”
“Because of The Knights?” he questions, lifting a dark blond eyebrow.
I don’t answer.
He steps in front of the dummy, lips twisted and eyes narrowed into sharp daggers. “You know nothing good will come from being in that fucking gang, Grey. Get out now, or you’ll leave another way we both know won’t promise you breathing.”
I appreciate him looking out for me, I really do. He’s been like my brother for so many years, always looking out for me when no one else would or wanted to. He actually pulled me out of Indiana, not just because of my mother kicking me out, but also because I was involved with the gang. Even then, he was concerned for my safety and preached that I had to get a better life.
But there is no better life for me. I was just a shit kid that grew into an even shittier man who still thirsts for violence and breaking young girls’ hearts. I’m a fucking serial heart-breaker. What better life does he see for me? I fight for a living, and I am madly in love with one girl but am with another. I deserve shit. And if being in the gang is shit, then I am where I belong. And David can’t help me. He should have given up on me all those years ago, because it didn’t help anything.
“It’s honestly none of your fucking business what I do beyond the ring, David,” I spit, feeling like shit as soon as the words leave my mouth.
His jaw tightens, and he jabs a finger at my bare chest. “Everything that deals with you and your safety is my business. I have been looking out for you since you were sixteen years old. After your mother kicked you out, who took you in and drove you to and from school when you threatened to drop out? Huh? Who turned you to MMA to take your anger out? Who got you into therapy sessions to deal with whatever was kicking in your brain? Hmm?”
I’m silent, because he’s right. He’s been there for me since day one. Maybe even before I told him my mother put me out. Maybe when he saw me doing all kinds of drugs and alcohol at those parties. Maybe when he first saw past my bloody fists and foul mouth.
“That’s what I thought,” he grits out.
“I can’t just drop out of it. You know that,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “Find a way.”
“It’s not that easy,” I breathe softly.
I close my eyes and fall back on the bench, pinching my nose bridge. I can feel him fall next to me, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours.
“What does he have you do nowadays?” he asks, but it sounds like he’s accusing me of something.
“Nothing you should worry about,” I reply quickly and stand. I should get to the gang spot now, or he’ll send one of his goons. Lord knows David won’t be able to hold back his anger for the gang with one of their imbecile members strolling through like they own shit.
“Like that gas station robbery?” he says, and I freeze but don’t turn around. “Really weird how you weren’t here that night for a sparring match I set up for you and Rodriguez…” He lets the words hang heavily in the air, and so do I.
***
“Why the hell didn’t you answer when I called?” Dean barks as I enter the venue, but he doesn’t seem as angry, as he is winning a pool game. He lands two pocket shots at the same time, then straightens up, taking a long drag of his blunt. He smirks devilishly when I pick up a cue stick to join, some members stepping back with a wave of his hand.
“I was training,” I tell him, then land a blue shot in a pocket.
His lips turn up. “Why do you even busy yourself busting your knuckles for them when you can do that full-time for me…” He pauses, sinking another ball, his eyes lighting up. “…for double the price?”
I shrug and coolly lean against the table. “Passion calls.”
He lets out a roar of a laugh that sends the others on edge, but I don’t even flinch. “Passion,” he scoffs, sliding his tongue across his lips. “Passion got you into trouble with that little redhead beaut you’re running around with. And got you heartbroken the second time around with Blue.”
I stiffen and let a beat go by before asking, “Blue?”
His eyebrows shoot up, and his lips round into an O as he playfully looks around at the laughing members. “Whoops.” His eyes meet mine, and they’re rimmed with mischief. “You didn’t know your little honey bunny and I are acquainted, huh?”
Blue…big blue eyes…he fucking means Liv! God damn it, that fucker Nate got her involved with this! What the absolute fuck does she see in him? All he’s doing is setting her in sight of a monster hungry for sweet blood. Her blood.
“No, I didn’t,” I mutter and line up for another shot.
“She is quite the girl, though,” he says, almost dreamily. “Quite a fire in her. A spark.”
“Does she?” I land three pocket shots. I stand up and play this around in my head. “Don’t you have more important things to do than toy with her?”
“Eh.” He shrugs and glances at me while he bends down over the table. “I’ve only seen her once or twice. I’m just hoping you haven’t seen her at all.” He sinks a shot and shoots me a hard, cool glare. “Have you?”
Do my dreams count?
“No,” I lie without hesitation.
His lips quip into a knowing smirk. “So she’s available.”
Over my dead fucking body…but he can easily have that arranged.
“Don’t think she’s your type.”
Silence fills the rather buzzing area.
He laughs and wags a finger at me as he stands. “You know me so well. I’m more of a redhead kind of guy.”
“Don’t think about my girl,” I joke with smile. But seriously, he can’t. Even though she and I aren’t anything, I feel like I should do her a favor and protect her from this ass.
He laughs with me, and the members fall in like the followers they are.
We play a few more rounds where he wins because I let him, then chill out in the back, smoking weed. He offers E, but it’s a little too early and I’m not in the mood.
“Who’s ready to party tonight?” Sam makes a loud-ass entrance.
I roll my eyes. “Not up for it,” I grumble.
“You and Liv, man. Boring-ass people,” he says, falling into one of the chairs opposite the couch.
I perk up, but not too much because Dean is still next to me. “Why’d you invite her? You know she’d never be up for it.”
“I invited her a few days ago, such a bummer.” He snickers, nodding at me. “She’s got a cute ass, I’ll give her that. Too bad she’s got a stick up it—”
I tackle him to the ground and punch him in the mouth. Members gather around and cheer me on, and all hell breaks loose inside me as I punch him over and over. All I see is red, blue, and white-knuckled fists turning crimson, almost black.
I am finally pulled back by Dean, who looks at me with an unreadable expression. Before he can make any assumptions, I shrug out of his hold and say, “He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.”
“Ready to use your fists for good?” He looks fishy, like he’s planning something. And when he gets to planning things…let’s just say they don’t end with unicorns and rainbows.
I glance at Sam, who is cursing every word he knows at me, then at Dean. I turn to the front door and begin walking. “Always.”