“Dude, you’re broke.” My brother slams the ledger on top of his desk, scattering a few loose papers across the polished mahogany surface.
My senses are heightened but my gaze remains trained on the bound black book in which I record my livelihood. I breathe in the stale air, cooled by the constant hum of air conditioning so the building remains a consistent sixty-eight degrees. Comfortable. Only the coolness tightens my already anxious nerves. I’d rather be covered in my own sweat, working my muscles until they are loose and limber. Ready for battle. Ready to fight for what’s mine.
Only this isn’t an opponent I can take down with skill and training. It’s a simple matter of math. Black and red. “I know things are tight, but—”
“No, Matt. You’re broke-broke. Like, I’m not exactly sure what you were thinking, broke. You needed a loan yesterday, broke. Won’t make next week’s payroll, broke.”
“I get it. Jesus. Fuck.” Blowing out a breath from the pit of my belly, I rake my fingers through my overgrown hair, tuck it behind my ears, and stroke the scruff that fills my face.
Danny cocks one eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it?”
A huff of humorless laughter pushes through my lips and I meet his stare. “You’re the accountant. Aren’t you supposed to answer that question for me?” My mouth pulls into a smile I don’t really feel.
Danny’s concern only grows. “Matt—”
“I know. Fuck.” I grip the arms of my chair. I have to face the reality I’ve been avoiding for months. No matter how hard I try, I cannot bring myself to accept the truth. I can’t even speak the words.
Danny does it for me. “You’re not gonna close the gym, are you?”
I shake my head because that can’t be it. I won’t go down without a fight. “No. I won’t do that. I’ll figure something out.”
“You could always ask Pop.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. We may share the same father, but my little brother will never understand the relationship I have with dear ol’ Dad. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever ask for a hand up from that man.
“Well, I wouldn’t have suggested it unless things are that bad, but we’ve already assessed the state of your finances.” The tight line of his lips pulls into a smile and I have to laugh because, fuck, what else can I do?
“I can fight again.”
“No.” He shakes his head adamantly. “You’re not doing that. Not after last time.”
I know he’s right, but still. “I just need something to get me by until next month. My guy Xavier, he’s a beast. You should see him, Danny. This fight I have him in . . . That’s it. After that, he’s going straight to the top. I guarantee it.”
Two years ago I stepped away from the octagon after repeated knocks to my head forced my decision, but I made peace with it. After a six-month stint of saving, planning, investing, and working more than just my muscles, I opened South Side Gym. The gym is my baby, and focusing on others’ training ignited a passion I didn’t know existed. Xavier’s an eighteen-year-old from a rough part of town, but with the right coaching and mentorship I believe he has what it takes to go further than I ever did.
“I’m proud of you.” Danny nods. “What about calling Uncle Jimmy?”
I groan because I really would rather not. “He’s almost as bad as Pop!”
“Close, and I see your point, but he does own a few legit businesses.” Jimmy’s mixed up in several shady business ventures. Mostly gambling related, or at least we assume, but no one dares to ask. But like any good hustler in south Chicago, he runs a few fronts.
“I guess I could see if he needs a temp for his painting crew.”
My brother smiles. “See! I’m full of great ideas.”
“You’re the best.” I laugh and shake my head. “Got any more in that Northwestern educated brain of yours?”
He chews on the end of his pen a few seconds and pops his brows with his next words. “Hey, what about Zig’s place? He’s always looking for help.”
“Work at the bar?” I tap my toes across the sleek hardwood floor of my brother’s posh uptown office and run my fingers over the whiskers that cover my face. I should shave soon. They’re getting a little long, even for me. “You think he’d be up for that?”
“Sure. Business is booming. We went down there last Saturday and it was insane. He mentioned bringing in more security. Hell, I know you put in fifty-hour work weeks as it is, but it’s not like your gym’s open on Friday and Saturday nights. He might even need help Sundays. It’d get you cash to get by.”
“I’ll hit him up. Thanks, Danny.” Standing, I grab the ledger from his desk and tuck it under one arm while I reach out to shake my little brother’s hand with the other.
His brow pulls to a frown as he releases my hand. “I’d loan you the money, but Nikki would kill me.”
A deep chuckle escapes my lips when I think of my brother’s girlfriend. She’s a handful, a bit of a diva in my opinion, but she seems to make him happy. That is, when she’s not driving him insane. “No worries. I didn’t ask. You have your own life to live. My problems are mine.”
“But you’ve done so much for me.”
“And you return the favor by hooking me up with financial advice. I couldn’t have opened South Side without you, Danny. I hope you know that.”
“Hey, I’m glad I could do something for you for once. Guess I’m killin’ this adulting thing pretty hard, huh?” He glances around the room. It’s impressive what he’s achieved with this firm just a few years post-college.
“Like a beast.” I pull my lips up in a smile that matches his, the only real physical characteristic we share. Where his skin is dark, mine’s light. He’s average height and lean. I’m tall and built. I like to rock the five-day-old scruff, but he prefers to stay clean-shaven. It fits with the monkey suit he has to wear daily. “Now, I’ll let you get back to corporate America. See you tomorrow morning?”
“Shit. I hate that you have classes that early, man. But yeah, I’ll be there. Nikki’s digging the results.” He stands from behind his desk, running his hands over the rigid abs he hides beneath his dress shirt, and then flexing his arms so they bulge against the fabric.
I shake my head and stand. “You’re fully whipped, little bro. You should be proud of your muscles. After so many years of twig arms, I’m surprised you had it in you.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be UFC champs.”
“I can’t claim that title anymore.” It’s difficult to not taste the bitterness when recalling how my fighting career ended. To not feel slighted. But shit happens in life. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. It doesn’t do any good to wallow in something that was. “Later, brother.” I wave and he does the same.
“See ya ’round, Matt.”
When you taste fame for a hot second there’re people from your past life, the time when no one knew your name or gave two fucks about you, who glom on and can’t wait to tell everyone how they know Matt Haywood. But when you fall from grace, and inevitably you will, those people fade back into the pockets of their horribly boring existence. The small circle of individuals who don’t need you for anything, what’s left after the fallout . . . those are the people who always have your back.
Isaac Zigalenko—Zig for short because no one can fucking pronounce his last name—is one of those people. He still lives in the neighborhood we grew up in and he took over his old man’s bar after his pop started forgetting things. Or maybe he was botching biz on purpose, but either way, filling the vodka bottles with water was enough for Zig to take over management.
“Hey, Zig.” The door bangs shut behind me as I wave to where he stands behind the bar and walk further inside the dimly lit space. A glance around tells me Zig has been busy since taking over. The bar itself hasn’t moved, but the interior feels fresh, vibrant, not at all the worn down, men only, speakeasy type of establishment from our youth.
“Matt!” He finishes loading a row of clean glasses as I walk over. “How the hell are you, brother?”
“Still breathing. Can’t complain. Business good?” I slide onto an empty barstool.
“Pays the bills. Can’t complain.” He grins. “What can I get you?” He reaches for a glass but I stop him with a shake of my head.
“Actually, I’m here for a favor.”
Zig reaches back to the bar top behind him and leans against the wood. “Sure. Whatcha need?”
“A job,” I say, but when his brow shoots up I quickly amend, “I’m still running the gym, just looking to pick up a shift or two. If you have the work.”
“You mix drinks?”
“Only in my apartment. But I can learn.”
Zig’s fingers tap against the bar a long moment. He’s always been a thinker, not one to jump into a fight until he’s calculated the risk. Probably why he’s the owner of a profitable business. I wait patiently. He taps the counter one last time and leans forward to meet my stare. “Hate to ask, because I know it’s shit work, but I could really use your help with security. Friday and Saturday evenings if you have them.”
“I’ll take it.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just too much work to train you for behind the bar, especially if you’re only looking for temp w—”
“Zig. Stop. It’s good. Just what I need. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I’ve been meaning to hire someone. I’ve just been too swamped to even look. When can you start?”
“Tonight.”
“Hell, yeah. Can you stick around? I’ve got to finish a few things before we open and my cook is late, but I need you to fill out new hire paperwork.”
“Sure. Can I help?”
“Yeah, actually. I’ve got these cases of beer that need to go into the cooler.”
I stand and come around the bar, taking instruction before Zig glances at his watch. I wave him off. “Go. I’ve got this.”
“Cool.” He nods to the door. “If anyone comes in, just take their order until I get back. We don’t get many customers at ten in the morning, but since I said that, there’ll probably be a whole slew of people.”
“I’ve got it covered, man. Do what you need to do.”
“Thanks, Matt. I won’t be more than thirty minutes.” He walks along the bar and disappears behind the swinging door at the opposite end.
I busy myself with unloading bottles of brew, following the organizational pattern of whoever did this before me and hoping it’s right. My phone buzzes, a text from Aiden, one of the trainers I employ, asking when I’ll be back. I type out my reply and ask him to lock up the gym. I’m scheduled to teach a noon class, but I’ll be back in time to reopen for that. Before I can re-pocket my cell, the front door bursts open and daylight streams in, temporarily blinding me from making out more than a few boisterous silhouettes as they enter Zig’s.
Several blinks and a glance away from the doorway clears my vision in time to catch a group of zombie-fied twenty-somethings. The makeup along with the ripped clothing make me do more than a double take, but they’re all too absorbed in their conversation to notice my gawking. Strange. I guess the zombie craze isn’t only for movies anymore. I need to get out of the gym and my apartment more often.
I glance back at the kitchen doors and debate whether I should call Zig out now, but since the guests don’t appear to need help, I go back to the work at hand. The music over the sound system clicks on and drowns out their voices. Not wanting to be rude, I check on them every few minutes, but they’re all more interested in the screens of their cell phones than making eye contact or ordering food and drinks.
With the beers and clean glasses fully stocked, I’m moving the empty boxes and dishwasher crates out of the way when the front door opens again. This time I’ve learned my lesson and don’t ruin my eyesight by looking up at the entry. Instead, I grab one of the clean rags and wet it to wipe down the counter. I turn around and it’s then I’m met with the deathliest pair of plump lips, heart striking deep brown eyes, and lusciously exposed cleavage. She’s so sinfully gorgeous I can almost ignore the open flesh wounds painted onto her forehead, shoulder, and hand. She’s the hottest little cosplayer I’ve ever seen, and I’m suddenly very thankful for deciding to spend my morning at Zig’s.
Her manicured brow lifts as if she’s waiting for me to speak first. That or take her order for a drink. Not wanting to waste this moment of divine intervention, I set the rag on the bar and nod my head.
“Hey there, sexy zombie girl. How’s your day going?” I let my lips part in that way that says I’m interested and let’s flirt. Only she blinks twice and turns her chin away as if she’s searching for another employee to appear. Tough luck, I’m all she’s got.
“Oh, I see how it is. You’re a pretentious little thing.” A chuckle leaves my mouth and her gaze snaps back with fire in their depths. Hoping to diffuse them with a little humor, I lift my brow and try again. “You look thirsty. What can I get you?”
Her eyebrows arch but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I see how it is, you’re a Neanderthal who memorized the book of lame ass pick-up lines. That is what you’re attempting here, right?”
“Ouch. That stings a little.” I play it up and wince as I rub the center of my chest. It doesn’t escape me that her eyes follow the movement, darkening as she wets her lips with her tongue. Good. I’ve got a shot. “Let’s start over. I’m Matt.” I reach out to offer my hand, my smile wide and inviting. Sure, I came on a little strong. It’s been a long while since a woman caught my attention.
“That’s nice.” The words pop from her mouth and she ignores my hand. The front door opens and her attention follows. I take the extra moment to study her without judgment. She’s giving me the brushoff, but there’s something about her that’s got me okay with going for another round of rejection. It’s probably that short as sin orange mini skirt she’s wearing. The tailored cut showcases her long legs covered in ripped black tights. The torn off the shoulder black top calls to my inner alpha. I consider myself evolved when it comes to my male counterparts, but outfits like hers scream, “Look over here!” and like an idiot I eagerly step in line.
“Meeting friends?” I ask, but she’s already off the barstool and strutting over to the newest zombie-clad couple to enter the bar. She never even glances back as they find a table across the room. I’d know because my attention is fully piqued by the sassy little woman, dressed as dead as her apparent attraction to me.
Tough luck. I shake my head because I’ve got enough shit going on in my life. There’s no room for a woman. And something tells me this one is a handful. Still, it doesn’t cost a thing to fantasize. I may spend the rest of my time at the bar stealing glances and memorizing every single detail about her. It’ll make my shower for one later tonight even more satisfying.