Hard Justice: The Asylum Fight Club Book 3

by Bianca Sommerland

  Curtis laughed and shook his head. “Reed’s right. You need to listen to that album. Your boy’s not moving on anytime soon.”

  “He hasn’t been gone long enough to release an entire album.”

  “Well he did. He’s gone independent. Maybe a bit too independent.” Curtis cocked his head. “After listening to a few of the songs, I was pissed. But I didn’t know shit. Now that I do… I’m curious if he’ll outdo Reed, trying to get a reaction.” A smirk slid across his lips as he held up the phone he’d been busily tapping at and showed Noah a scroll of scandal headlines. “But hey, should be fun to watch. You do you, man.”

  Noah’s eyes narrowed. “Give me your keys.”

  Without hesitation, Curtis tossed them over. “Spotify. It’s hooked up in my car. You know how to use it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enjoy your road trip.”

  “Keep it up, my man.” Noah palmed the keys and gave Curtis an arch look. “I’ve been itching to get back in the ring.”

  The man grinned, completely unfazed. “If there’s anything left of you when you’re done groveling, you know where to find me.”

  In the car, Noah set the GPS and pulled up Jamie’s album. As he drove, he shook his head, letting the whole thing play on repeat until he had every line memorized. The challenge Jamie had laid down was pretty damn clear. He didn’t want his Dom to grovel. He was demanding something more. And Noah was more than willing to give it to him.

  But first, he needed to make one last stop. One that would leave no doubt in his little cat’s mind that he’d never let this happen again.

  A promise etched in something stronger than stone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Key fisted in his hand, Jamie breathed in cold air and spun around to take in the silhouettes of broken pews and jumbled furniture around the abandoned cathedral. A cathedral he’d bought for a song across from Anniston Falls’ tatty town green with its dilapidated bandstand-come-impromptu skate park that the local kids seemed to buzz around constantly. Even at midnight last night, he’d heard the sound of wheels against pavement from the old rectory where he’d cleared space for a place to sleep.

  A few paparazzi milled about on the sidewalk, hoping for a glimpse inside. He peeked through the clear pane that someone had used to replace a piece of the broken stained-glass window and blew out a breath, massaging the back of his neck. He’d use them when he was ready, but not before. First, he needed something to show them.

  Two weeks ago, he’d left LAX on a plane bound for Albany International Airport, managing to get to his first-class seat without being recognized. A small miracle. There were enough abandoned and derelict properties around Anniston Falls that, with a cash deal, he’d had his pick. A few of the places had been in much better condition, but none of them had the acoustics of the beautiful nineteenth-century stone cathedral with its grimy jeweled mosaics and overrun gardens. Near Curtis’s dojo, yes, so he knew it’d only be a matter of time before everyone at The Asylum knew who had bought the place and where he was, but he couldn’t think about that. Not now.

  Place was a fucking wreck.

  Damp tickled his nose, making it twitch, and he would have bet his last dollar there was asbestos lurking in twelve different places. He’d already had it pointed out to him by the agent on the tour of the now-empty catacombs where it wrapped around pipes someone had bored right through the walls. A structural nightmare waiting to happen.

  “What the fuck was I thinking?” He shook his head at himself and cast a jaundiced eye at rivers of dust dancing through jeweled sunbeams.

  He’d never held a hammer in his life and he wasn’t about to start, not on a project this important. He wanted to give the community something besides the ever-present pain-in-the-ass paparazzi that followed him like horseflies around a manure pile. So, he needed to get cracking. Starting with contacting Matt.

  Pulling out his phone, he paced, boots crunching over plaster that had flaked off the ceiling in chunks. He hadn’t driven anywhere near The Asylum, going out of his way to reroute his GPS whenever he went to meet with his real estate agent. Opening the phone book app now, he scrolled down to the main number. Breathed deep, tapping the call icon for his second time ever.

  If Doc answered, he’d hang up. If Reed answered...shit. He had no clue what he’d do. Matt was usually down in the bar by himself at this time of the morning, so hopefully he wouldn’t have to make any decisions beyond how to choke words past his already-constricted throat.

  The call rang twice before someone picked up.

  “Fucking early for a phone call.”

  “Dude?” Surprise bit a chunk out of his fear, and Jamie laughed. “I hope you have Caller ID, because if not, that was one hell of a chance you just took.”

  “Hey Jamie. Yeah.” The clink of a spoon against a cup stirred memories of early mornings in the bar, chatting about the previous night’s antics. Jamie’s hand lifted to his naked neck as Matt spoke. “What’s up? Isn’t it like three-thirty a.m. your time?”

  One side of Jamie’s mouth kicked up. “Um. Yeah, no. More like six-thirty.”

  He waited a moment until Matt got it. The phone rustled as he moved, his voice hushed. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Anniston Falls.”

  A choked sound, followed by laughter. “Oh, shit. Dude.”

  “What?” Jamie frowned, looking around the nave, toeing some old papers that fell apart under his foot.

  “Um.” He could almost picture Matt’s sandy-blond hair moving with his head shake. “Negatory. Not gonna spill this one. It’s gonna be too much fun to watch.”

  Okay, the man made absolutely no sense. “Well, if you’re not going to clue me in, and you seem to be speaking to me, would you mind doing me a favor?”

  Matt’s “Mhm. Maybe,” followed his slurp.

  “I did a thing that I don’t want anyone to know about except you, and—”

  “The album? Hate to tell you my man, but that kitty cat already leaped out of the bag and bit everyone’s ass. Reed has been blaring it in the bar nonstop for two weeks, and I’m pretty sure Curtis is ready to rip the speakers out of the wall.”

  Jamie bit the inside of his mouth and forced himself not to ask about Noah’s reaction. Obviously, if the man had heard it, he wasn’t interested in talking out whatever differences remained between them. The lack of voice mail, text, email, hell, homing pigeon, said he was as disinterested in their relationship now as he had been when he’d let Jamie go. At least the album was making mega sales, because looking around the cathedral, he was pretty sure he was going to need every penny and then some.

  “No.” He perched on the edge of a pew that rocked dangerously, the floorboards underneath bowing. “I bought a building, and I need your advice on how to go about getting the permits and paperwork to make my nonprofit.”

  The galley door’s distinctive creak followed. Voice lowered, Matt spoke. “Nonprofit?”

  “You didn’t hear the…” He moved his wrist, adjusting the cuff, enjoying the way the leather hugged his skin, grounding him in the absence of Noah’s collar. “No, of course you didn’t.” People here had lives to live that didn’t involve hanging on to his every word. “I bought the cathedral downtown to turn it into a youth arts center. You know. Music, dance, theatre...painting?”

  Matt let out a low whistle. “Fuck, Jamie. That place is giant.”

  “I moved into the rectory last night.” Gaze lifted to the flying buttresses, he wondered if there was a ladder that tall. “I don’t even have freaking hot water, so my shower this morning sucked.”

  “Jesus, dude… Oh, sorry. I probably shouldn’t say that, now you own a church.”

  Jamie grinned. “Shut up.”

  “You’ve like graduated from Doc’s prie-dieu to an entire fucking cathedral.” Matt laughed. “Cue self-flagellation from the choir boy.”

  “Okay. Seriously dude. Shut up.” Scowling, Jamie stood, stomach grumbling. “I need breakfast
and coffee. Want to meet me at the diner?”

  A pause stretched as someone came in the bar and Matt made an excuse Jamie couldn’t quite hear. The door to the galley creaked again. “I’ll try. Mind if I bring Reed?”

  He’d forgotten how closely everyone’s schedules interlocked in this world. Subs reporting in to Doms, Doms making sure their boys knew how to reach them. It wasn’t just a kink. With how much shit had gone down at The Asylum in the past, the lockstep and accountability gave everyone peace of mind. It would be hard for Matt and Reed to get away without lying. Something his nose still itched over when he contemplated asking them to.

  “Don’t worry if you can’t make it. I don’t want to put you in a bad spot.” Glancing over his shoulder, he mentally thought through his path through the back gardens over the chain-link fence to the grocery parking lot, and from there to Betsy’s, the local greasy spoon. “See you there in an hour if you can.”

  He hung up, then shoved his phone in his back pocket. Grabbed his leather jacket, shrugging it on before sliding on his shades. The back door didn’t really close all the way, so he left it cracked and climbed the fence. Leaping over, he landed in the slush and mud on the other side with a splat. Steam puffed from between his lips, he tipped his face up to catch the weak rays. He’d missed how crisp the air felt in his lungs. Sweeter in the Spring. Passing the grocery store, he ducked in to get some bread and peanut butter. Marshmallow spread, jam, some apples, and a half of a store-made cherry pie in his arms, he went to the register. Marveled when the clerk rang him out without a fuss.

  “Thanks.” He smiled. A real smile.

  “Have a nice day, Mr. Kent.” She waved to him and he left, shaking his head with his grin.

  Betsy’s was the kind of place, he’d realized over the last few days, that had regulars, and those regulars had their spots. Bell jangling overhead, he located a space at the back where he could watch the door and spot Reed and Matt if they showed.

  The waitress, Dana, brought him a coffee with a little jug of cream and a slice of apple danish without his asking. Mostly, he kept to himself and people around here didn’t seem to mind after the initial shock. It was the strangest fucking thing. Like what life would have been like if he’d been all normal and shit. He didn’t even care that the plastic tablecloth had little burn holes from back in the day when smoking had been allowed. The white walls were yellow from fryer grease and nicotine, but the food was homemade and the vent at the back blew warm air on his feet. Not much more he could ask for.

  Feet stomping, knocking snow and slush from heavy boots, Reed and Matt stepped into the diner, jockeying for position. Reed’s lollipop stick moved to the side of his mouth with his grin when he spotted Jamie.

  “Hey.” Jamie grinned, standing, arms out to his side.

  Reed launched himself like a freaking kangaroo, turning heads, and bounded into Jamie’s arms. “Dude, your hair.” He pulled back, eyes lighting up with his smile. “It’s all normal. What happened?”

  Fingers brushing over the top of Jamie’s head, Matt mussed his hair. “It’s like you think you can blend or some shit.”

  Blushing hard, Jamie ducked. That had been exactly what he’d been trying to do. To look normal enough that he might be accepted back into a world where L.A. glam stood out like a sore— He shook his head, cutting off the thought, unwilling to follow the pity path he’d been on so long. He was here now with the two men he’d realized were his closest friends along with Wren, and it looked like they’d both forgiven him. There was nothing to cry about. Not now.

  “Sit.” He waved Reed and Matt into the booth seat opposite. “Coffee and danish here is pretty good.”

  Reed looked around. “I haven’t been here in years. We used to come after school with—” Biting his lip he shook his head. “Sorry. How are you?” Face brightening, he grinned, wicked. “Love your new album!”

  The first few minutes of conversation were strained. As if Matt and Reed were trying to figure out how to relate to him. They all had The Asylum in common, but didn’t. Reed and Matt talked about some of the more notable fights, obviously avoiding talking about things like the dance club and Noah. Avoiding any mention of his last day, the way he’d been forced to leave, and the disaster that had precipitated everything seemed stupid.

  Reaching across the table, he covered Reed’s chilled hand with his own. “Hey. I’m really sorry about everything that happened to you because of me.”

  Curls brushing his shoulders, Reed shook his head and pulled out his lollipop. “Not your fault. And it’s...better now. Things have mostly died down…”

  Jamie gave him a sad smile. “Since I went away?”

  “Since we didn’t comment, and Noah hired a P.R. firm to manage it all.” Gaze lowering, Reed shrugged. “Five minutes of fame, right?”

  Jamie squeezed Reed’s hand, then drew away. Focused on stirring coffee that didn’t need stirring. He couldn’t expect things to be like they had been, but that Reed was willing to hear his apology meant a lot.

  Clearing his throat, he looked up. “So, I was wondering if you guys might want to help me with the arts center. I have no idea where to start, and, Reed, you have a way of organizing the bar that makes me think you’d be a great adviser.” He lifted his cup to his lips, gesturing. “You interested?”

  Eyes wide, Reed leaned in, forearms on the table edge. “You think I’d be good at that sort of thing?”

  “Absolutely.” Jamie smiled. “Gotta be honest that I have no clue what I’m asking you to do, but I’ll pay you. Maybe if you think Ez might—”

  “I think we might want to leave Ez out of this.” Matt cut in.

  Jamie blinked. Okay, so maybe not everyone was going to welcome him back with open arms. He nodded, pushing his napkin a few inches to the right with his fingertips. “Sure. I’m sorry. I assumed…”

  “He’s dealing with a lot.” Reed shared a look with Matt. “And he’ll come around eventually. Give him time.”

  Nodding, Jamie looked out the window across the lot toward the cathedral. “Matt, I thought if you had time you might advise me on the paperwork and tell me if you know of any good construction crews around here.”

  The rest of the conversation centered around the different spaces Jamie envisioned, the programs he wanted to bring to the space, professional artists he wanted to give seminar courses. Reed and Matt added their suggestions, animating with their excitement in a way that reminded him of when they’d been planning the dance club. At noon, they rose, guilty expressions on their faces.

  “Sorry we have to…get ready. Friday night and all.”

  “I have a shift at the community center.”

  Jamie nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Sure.” He waved his friends toward the door. “You have a good fight night, and don’t piss off too many Doms.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say that was his job, but the joke felt wooden on his tongue. He missed the smell of the place, the adrenaline that soaked the walls on weekends. Most of all, he missed feeling like he belonged somewhere.

  With someone.

  Reed hugged him while Matt clapped him on the back with promises to be in touch with the names and Curtis’s reaction to the idea of Reed working with Jamie. A restriction that he envied, and found chafed. He sat after they’d left, had another cup of coffee and a tuna sandwich. Avoiding going back to a building he had no idea how to handle. Far too big, and as yet far too empty.

  He finished the coffee and brought his bill to the register, the normalcy of the action settling his nerves. Dana’s “See you tomorrow” followed him out the door and he waved, his groceries under his arm.

  The fence posed a slight problem with his bundle and he sighed, walking around the building, and let the paps get a shot of him doing his thing, entering the rectory—Headline: Kent’s Monster Gamble—and went into the back to the kitchen with its green lead paint and ancient refrigerator. A few mice had chewed into his last loaf of bread, so he put this one in the freezer to guar
d against the creatures.

  “Fuck.” Closing the door, he leaned his head against the cold metal and breathed deep.

  Maybe he’d watch a movie on his phone and sleep…

  “Get a grip, Kent.” He shook himself, then straightened.

  Decided to at least order a dumpster to start hauling things into. Took out a pad and a pencil from his bag so he could make a list. No way was he going willingly down the road toward his depression again. Not if he could help it, anyway. He had to stay busy.

  He walked the connector hallway to the cathedral and opened the door, sketching as he went. A second story here would be a great art studio, the light from the windows there would be clear once he replaced the broken stained glass with a clear pattern. And the other side with the unbroken glass could be a recording studio with the right kind of soundproofing.

  Climbing rickety stairs, he eyed what could be saved, and what couldn’t. Floorboards groaned under his feet as he walked. He stepped carefully, attention mostly on his drawing—a series of lines and angles that probably only made sense to him. He’d have to hire an architect. And an assistant who could read better than he could.

  Memories of sitting with his back against Noah’s front, his Dom’s arms wrapped around him froze him to the floor in the middle of the choir, and he closed his eyes. Opened his mouth and sang to comfort himself, just to feel like he wasn’t alone. The words to his favorite love song on the album came out automatically.

  Little Cat.

  Hand at his throat, he tightened his fingers, letting the notes vibrate under his palm. Imagined Noah’s hand there. His teeth and tongue. Tipped his head back as, for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to remember what it was like to be in his Dom’s arms.

  When the last notes trailed away, he opened his eyes. Swiped the heel of his hand over his cheeks to clear his vision and looked out over the cathedral floor. Where somehow, God fucked with him, because…