Flawed Justice

by Tibby Armstrong

  The bartender had tied his hair in a red bandana, its printed yin-yang sign in the middle of his forehead giving him an absurd Karate Kid look Matt chose to ignore in favor of attempting to get more information about the situation.

  “Look, why would Curtis have had to tell Law to stop if I tap out?” As far has Matt knew, stopping when a guy figuratively or literally cried uncle was a pretty standard thing. No matter the venue. “And what the hell are the usual rules?”

  Reed glanced over Matt’s shoulder and shook his head. “Sorry bro, I can’t be helping the enemy.”

  Matt handed the half-empty bottle back to Reed, who scurried off to Lawson’s corner. Matt closed his eyes and straightened. When he turned, he knew he’d see two things. Lawson’s detached expression and the crowd who had come to cheer their guy on. They hadn’t come here just to see the fight. They’d come to see the brother of the kid who’d defaced their building get his ass kicked into next week.

  Shame poured over him, adding to the prickling under his arms. He’d feel the same way in their shoes. Regardless, he’d have to disappoint them, because working off ten-thousand dollars and spending another minute in Curtis’s abrasive company were both out of the question. There was no way in hell he’d let Lawson win. Not because he didn’t think paying his brother’s debts was the right thing to do but because if he stayed, he would have to part with what little of his and Garet’s lives he’d managed to scrape back together.

  Chapter Four

  Whatever game Curtis was playing, Lawson wanted no part of it. He climbed into the ring without bothering to change his clothes and ignored the irritated look Matt gave him. The boy had no clue what he was in for. Or what Lawson could do to him if he was in the mood.

  The ‘usual’ rules meant Matt would essentially belong to him for one night of Law’s choosing. Letting him tap out would be more than a loss. Lawson could take him upstairs—once Doc got him patched up and he was fully recovered, of course. Because they both knew he wouldn’t take it easy on the man.

  In the ring, not in the dungeon. Those who signed up for fights with that caveat were here willingly. Consent was understood between the fighters unless other stipulations were made, and regardless of the outcome, both parties came out…well, they both tended to come in any case.

  For all he knew, this was Curtis’s attempt to level the playing field by distracting Lawson to save himself some money, but he doubted it. Matt was a hot piece of ass and tempting as hell. Curtis probably hoped to find a way to keep the man long past what it would take to pay off the damages. Once Matt understood there was money to be made in this ring, and the intense pleasure to be found in surrendering to the right man, he might want to stay.

  He’d be more open to Curtis’s advances.

  The bastard wanted Lawson to soften Matt up.

  Lawson might have played along if Noah was still free. His ex-lover had enjoyed seducing the green-as-fuck fighters, and he’d been damn good at it. There had been nothing more erotic than watching Noah dominate a man in the ring, then continue once he had the same man naked and bound in chains. Every fighter in The Asylum would sign up to fight Noah, knowing how the night would end.

  These days, Lawson didn’t find much pleasure beyond what took place in the ring. And he rarely allowed himself even that. He frowned as he looked around the expansive space, now lit up and crowded, with specks of dust dancing in the light, the air musty from the room being closed for almost a month while focus had turned to finishing the lofts.

  Once Lawson was done with Matt, he’d strongly suggest Curtis send the fucker home. Let the cops deal with him as should’ve been done in the first place. He wouldn’t lie, seeing Matt strip down, right there, had weakened his resolve. The man had a body that would usually have Lawson thinking of fucking, rather than fighting. Long, wiry build, tight abs, nicely carved arms and legs, and an ass with the kind of curve Lawson craved. Some men lost themselves so much to building and toning, their asses were like granite. Matt had some softness to his. A softness that would give perfectly as Lawson gripped him tight and—

  And nothing.

  If Lawson was that hard up, he had any number of men he could have with no more than a glance and a nod. Reed’s mouth had Lawson wondering if he should take him upstairs. Under protection for Noah or not, the quirky sub was getting a bit too bold.

  He eyed the young man and dismissed the idea. Noah’s clear “Hands off” rules aside, he didn’t stir the lust in Lawson that Matt did. But someone would. Anyone who didn’t find spray painting fucking swastikas on a building some form of entertainment. Someone who wouldn’t come into the only place Lawson considered home and try to destroy what he’d built with his closest friend. Noah had given everything to this goddamn place.

  No one got to fuck with it.

  In a better mindset for the coming fight, Lawson finally set his gaze back on Matt, enjoying the way he shifted uncomfortably as the crowd pushed against the barrier and jeered at him. Word had gotten around as to exactly why he was here from some of the insults he heard thrown at the man. All bets would be against him.

  Curtis would rake in a ton of cash if, by some fucked-up bloody miracle, his boy managed to best Lawson. Not being completely humiliated was the most Matt could hope for. Being able to walk out of the ring?

  Lawson wasn’t that cruel. The other fighters would leave Matt alone if they saw justice served. If they didn’t, he’d have to watch his back every time he climbed up a ladder to paint one of the walls here. Or crossed the street to grab a snack at the corner store. Or was out of Curtis’s sight for more than five minutes.

  Hopefully, Matt wasn’t one of those ‘I know how to fight because I took some karate in elementary school’ kind of guys. Lawson had dealt with a few of those when the club had first opened. He no longer took on fighters because ‘a buddy’ had gotten them through the door. A challenger had to prove themselves first, get bloodied up in the ring against some regulars. Win enough matches that the crowd would start wondering if this new fighter would be the one to take Lawson down.

  Most weren’t wondering that now. The bets wouldn’t be on who would win.

  They’d be on how long Matt would last.

  And maybe…if he’d make it out of the ring alive.

  Lawson had never killed a man here. He wasn’t about to start tonight. He leaned against the padded post in the red corner, frowning when he saw who the ‘referee’ was. Not that a ref had much purpose other than to begin and end the match, but he still couldn’t get used to seeing Ezran, Noah’s sixteen-year-old ward, getting so comfortable around here.

  In the center of the ring, Reed was speaking low to the boy, who he’d dressed in a striped shirt better suited to an old-fashioned prison movie than for someone overseeing a goddamn underground fight. Patting Ezran’s shoulder, Reed reached out to brush the boy’s overgrown, sleek black hair away from his face. Big green eyes peered up at Reed before Ezran stiffened his slender shoulders and nodded.

  As Reed exited the ring, a man in the crowd whistled.

  “Where’s this pretty little twink been hiding?”

  Lawson went still. Rage spilling through his veins, he moved toward the ropes, but there was no need to vault over them. Curtis had locked on to the bastard who’d spoken up. Blood sprayed as a massive fist caught the man in the bridge of his nose and he went down hard on the concrete floor. The crowd made room as Curtis hefted the man up and dragged him to the edge of the ring, blood spilling over the man’s lips as he cowered and tried to shield his face.

  “He’s sixteen, you piece-of-shit.” Curtis’s voice had taken on a low, deadly edge that had Lawson folding his arms over his chest and relaxing back against his corner, knowing the bastard would be handled appropriately. “Apologize to him for being fucking scum, then get the fuck out of here. I see you so much as look at him again and I’m crushing your balls with the butt of my gun before putting a bullet through your dick, you hear me?”

  Sobbi
ng, the man nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Curtis looked up toward Ezran, who’d gone pale. “Satisfied?”

  Way to traumatize the kid, idiot.

  But Lawson stayed out of it. Curtis spent more time with Ezran anyway and the teen was fairly well-adjusted, considering he’d been raised since the age of eleven by a street fighter. Noah had partially raised Reed as well and he seemed…all right.

  Ezran swallowed, then nodded quickly, fisting his hands at his sides. “You don’t gotta kill him. He ever touches me and I’d do it myself.”

  Pride filled Curtis’s eyes as he grinned at the boy. “So long as I get front row seats, sport.”

  “Deal.” Ezran’s smile was a bit shaky, but he hiked up his chin and turned his back on the man as Curtis dragged the dirtbag out. Then he glanced from Matt to Lawson. “Ready?”

  Looking almost as shaken as Ezran, Matt inclined his head and walked to the center of the ring. Lawson met him there, raising his fists to bump them with Matt’s in a show of mutual regard he didn’t feel. Every time the inclination crept in, one of those ugly symbols on the brick walls flashed behind his closed lids.

  He positioned himself as Ezran left the ring. His focus narrowed to Matt, who bounced silently in place, fists raised in the typical stance. Confident enough to tell Lawson this wasn’t his first match.

  A step back and Matt directed a swift kick toward Lawson’s chest. Lawson caught Matt’s ankle and used his own momentum to spin him around, dropping him hard onto the canvas. He gave Matt room to stand, brushing off the next kick with embarrassing ease.

  Letting out a growl of frustration, Matt moved in close, throwing a smooth uppercut. Lawson dodged, then latched on to Matt’s next punch, hand on Matt’s fist, twisting Matt’s arm until he was forced to turn.

  Barring his arm across Matt’s throat, Lawson whispered in his ear. “Three moves in and you’re already getting emotional. You’re lucky I won’t take ‘the usual’ from you.”

  Matt panted, his jaw ticking against Lawson’s cheek. “What the fuck is ‘the usual’?”

  With a sharp laugh, Lawson released him. “You never need to know.”

  “Oh yeah?” Matt did an effortless kick-punch combo that likely looked pretty in a professional ring but didn’t have the intended impact here. “Still think I can’t take it?”

  If only he knew. Lawson blocked another punch, cracking Matt in the jaw with one of his own. Blood spilled over Matt’s lush, glistening lips, smearing on his teeth as he sucked in a breath through them.

  “I know you can’t take it, boy.” Lawson ducked under Matt’s next kick and swept his legs out from under him. He dropped with his elbow into Matt’s chest. “Talk less. Try to land a single punch.”

  Completely winded, Matt rolled to his side, giving Lawson the perfect opportunity to end things quickly. He never conversed this much during a fight, but he was enjoying it. The rage and passion in Matt’s eyes were addictive. In an even match he’d be magnificent to watch. He’d probably won enough fights to think he stood a chance tonight.

  His body was slick with sweat and blood and Lawson allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight as he rose to his feet. There were chicken wings and a cold beer waiting for him, but he found himself wanting to toy with Matt a bit longer. See what the man was made of.

  Leaping to his feet in a smooth motion, Matt feigned a kick, then drove forward mid-air with the other foot. Snapping his forearm down to protect his midsection, Lawson countered with a rapid jab that cut Matt across the high curve of his cheekbone. The next jab was to his mouth. An undercut to his chin sent him flying backward onto the canvas.

  Heaving in air, Matt lay on his back, stunned. He turned his head, spitting blood onto the canvas. Rolling over, he rose on his hands and knees, head between his arms as he tried to regain his bearings.

  He’d had enough, whether he knew it or not. Lawson positioned himself over the other man, twisting one of Matt’s arms behind him, speaking low. “You’re done. Take whatever deal Curtis has for you and get the fuck out of my club. You might think you’re a big man, calling us fagots and covering our building with your hateful shit, but you’re nothing. You’re a pathetic asshole who will always hate someone, will always blame someone else for your failures.”

  “You have no fucking clue—” Matt grit his teeth and tried to break free, “—who I am.”

  “You’re not worth my time.” Lawson twisted his arm harder. “Give up.”

  “No.”

  Abruptly dropping his weight, Matt spun to release the pressure on his arm and threw Lawson off him. He clipped Lawson in the shoulder with a single punch. Plowed into him, all form forgotten.

  Lawson curved his hands under Matt’s arms, lifted him up, and tossed him into the ropes, standing back as Matt sprung off them and slammed down, his head bouncing off the canvas. He braced as Matt came at him again. He was finished playing with the man. He wanted him out of his sight and there was one sure way to make that happen.

  As Matt rushed him, he evaded a kick and hit him with two quick jabs to the ribs, one to the chest, and a final one to the side of his face. Blood sprayed as Matt dropped heavily to the canvas, out cold.

  Ezran scrambled into the ring, nudged Matt, then stood, grabbing Lawson’s fist and raising it as high as he could. “Obvious, but…we have our winner!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers, chanting his name. Lawson gave Ezran a brief nod of thanks, then climbed out of the ring. He strode over to where Curtis was standing, looking far too pleased with the results. He’d set the punk up to lose. Risked a lot of money on it.

  But had it really been a risk? Curtis knew Lawson would put every cent back into the club. Still, something about Curtis’s expression pissed him off. He wasn’t sure what the man planned to do now that Matt was even more indebted to him, but either way, he would make sure his position was clear.

  “I don’t want him, if that was unclear.” He ignored Curtis’s amused look. The man clearly didn’t know him. Not anymore. “Get him out of here. I don’t want to see him around the club again. Noah would tell you the same.”

  That wiped the smirk off Curtis’s lips. The man had loved Noah too, which had strengthened the bond between them all. Until he was gone.

  “No, he wouldn’t. He’d want to know why I brought him here.”

  “Maybe.” Lawson wiped the blood on his knuckles off on his slacks. “But I don’t fucking care.”

  Chapter Five

  Matt opened his eyes on a gasp, intending to come up swinging. No way would Lawson best him. No fucking way—

  “Hey. He’s awake.”

  Reed.

  The guy pressed him back with a firm insistence that belied his normally cheerful demeanor.

  “Gotta…” Matt attempted to sit up again before his brain caught up with what his body already knew.

  He’d been knocked out. He was no longer in the ring. He owed Curtis ten-fucking-thousand-dollars.

  “Shit.”

  He flopped back onto Curtis’s couch, one arm flung over the bag of frozen peas someone had put on his face. Probably Reed. No way Curtis would be that nice. And it sure as hell hadn’t been Lawson.

  Just the thought of the man shattered Matt’s pride. Even without the crowd baying for Lawson to smear Matt from one side of the ring to the other, it had been a thoroughly humiliating loss. One Matt realized he’d never even seen coming. Well, at least not until after the second time Lawson had landed him on his ass. Then, he’d lost his shit and practically handed the guy his victory. Not that it would have mattered much. He might’ve lasted longer and made a better showing, but Lawson would have won in the end. The man fought like a machine.

  A beautiful, brutal machine...who thought he was a piece of shit Neo-Nazi.

  A door opened and footsteps approached the couch. Judging by the softer soled shoes and lighter gait, it wasn’t Curtis, and Matt sure as hell hoped it wasn’t Lawson.

&
nbsp; “He’s awake, Doc.” Reed spoke to whoever had joined them.

  “Good. I’m surprised he was out for as long as it took you and Curtis to get him up here.”

  The frozen vegetables shifted as the guy Reed called Doc peered underneath and made an appreciative sound. “Well, that will do nicely, yes.”

  Matt glared at him from his good eye. Sadist much?

  “I’ll have to stitch up that gash on his cheek.”

  “No.” Matt made to sit up again, but the room spun and his stomach twisted along with it.

  Thankfully Reed was there with a bucket. When Matt finished puking up the water he’d drunk before the fight, the bartender handed him a towel. Matt dabbed his swollen mouth with it and the white cloth came away smeared pink.

  “Concussion?” Curtis’s question came from the corner of the room nearest the window.

  The sun had begun to set, slanting through the blinds in a way that spiked Matt’s headache when he glanced that way.

  “More’n likely.” Neoprene gloves on his hands, Doc threaded a needle with all the absent-minded concentration of a man who’d done the same thing a thousand times before.

  Curtis’s chin nudged up. “Use anesthetic.”

  Doc paused, considered, and nodded. “If you say so.”

  Jesus. Whatever happened to ‘do no harm’?

  Something cold and wet pressed lightly against his face and Matt nearly shot off the couch at the sting. “Fuck you, asshole!”

  Doc tsked. “It’s only a little rubbing alcohol.”

  Curtis crossed the room and lightly gripped Matt’s shoulders from behind. “Let him take care of it so it doesn’t get infected.”

  Matt thought about fighting, decided he didn’t want to puke again, and just laid back and closed his eyes. Doc finished cleaning the gash and Matt sighed in relief when the man briefly stepped back. Next time he approached, Matt stiffened. The jab of a syringe in his cheek was quickly followed by a numbing sensation that extended to his mouth. He breathed deeply through his nostrils and tasted the astringent bite of the anesthetic. At least the pain receded and his headache turned into a dull throb that he timed with his pulse.