Flawed Justice

by Tibby Armstrong

Curtis stood, went to the side of the ring for Matt’s water bottle and handed it to him along with a towel. He retreated to lean against one of the posts while Matt mopped his face and neck. Reed got his own towel and did the same in the red corner.

  Water bottle tipped to his lips, Matt caught Curtis staring at him. “What?”

  Curtis shook his head, a small smile playing about his mouth. “I should have known you were addicted to rules.”

  Adrenaline’s kick threaded through Matt’s blood, and he licked his lips. Curtis’s eyes darkened and he leveled Matt a look that said any other circumstances and any other time he’d have taken up everything on offer in that all-too-brief moment before Matt came to his senses and stepped back.

  “Smart boy.” Curtis held his gaze for another moment, then leaped back over the ropes and pushed through into the bar.

  “Lucky sonofabitch.” Reed tossed the observation from outside the ring now, where he’d taken up Curtis’s perch.

  “Huh?” Matt hung over the ropes, water bottle between his fingers.

  Reed, dressed in a lime green tank with a naked-assed glitter cupid on its front, flicked his gaze to the bar door and back to Matt. “They’re both hot as fuck. Really good guys. And if Curtis wasn’t Curtis, he’d have fought to keep you. But you’re just what Lawson needs.”

  Eyes wide, Matt blinked, thinking he hadn’t heard the man right. “I don’t think so…”

  The bar door creaked open, and Reed closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say.

  Curtis sauntered in, Lawson following. He’d been upstairs working on whatever he did during the day. Matt hadn’t really asked Law about his businesses, but the guy was mind bendingly sexy when he spoke on the phone to one of his customers. All that professional calm and clipped control drove Matt wild with wanting to climb under Lawson’s desk and turn him white-knuckled with desire.

  He met Lawson’s gaze as the man crossed the gymnasium floor. A sharpness to his strides had Matt backing away from the ropes before Lawson reached the ring. He swallowed as Law reached the ropes and vaulted over them in a fluid motion that brought that first day, that first fight, rushing back.

  “I can’t do this—”

  Lawson pushed up against him now, backing Matt up when he kept on coming until he had Matt pinned against the side of the ring. His hands moved over Matt’s putting them around the ropes, clenching tight, not letting go. Surrounding him, Lawson lowered his head to claim a bruising kiss. Matt gasped as Lawson took what he wanted using his mouth, his lips, his tongue, until light arced behind Matt’s eyelids and his legs shook with the effort to stand. Teeth grazed Matt’s lips in warning nips when he arched to rub his dick against Lawson’s leg. The man shoved Matt’s knees wide with his thigh and pressed. A warning. Matt stilled and Lawson growled his approval. He lifted his head, eyes glittering, and studied Matt’s face.

  “You can.” Lawson’s jaw ticked. “And you will.”

  “You can’t just order me to win.” Matt whispered the words, his gaze dropping.

  Lawson added pressure with his thigh and Matt responded, torn between a hiss and a groan. “I just did.”

  Matt opened his mouth, his response as natural as breathing. “Yes, sir.”

  A smile broke across Lawson’s face, reaching his eyes. He leaned in, nuzzling Matt’s ear, and breathed “Very good, boy,” before pushing away.

  Matt held onto the ropes, watching as Lawson retreated the way he’d come. Reaching the door, he looked over his shoulder at Curtis who stood by the blue corner, arms folded smugly over his chest.

  “You know where I am if he needs a reminder.” Lawson’s gaze trailed to Matt, who fought to bring his breath under control. “Don’t make me come back down here.”

  Nodding, Matt swallowed. Damn, but there was a part of him that wanted to find out what would happen if he interrupted Lawson from his work, but the larger part of him wanted something else even more. He wanted to obey. He wanted to win.

  “Calm your dick down.” Curtis cracked his knuckles before slipping between the ropes. “Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

  Hands unclenching, Matt moved from the ropes and grabbed his water bottle. Took a drink to wash the distracting taste of Lawson’s coffee from his mouth. Done, he tossed the bottle to Reed, who caught it and placed it with his before entering the ring.

  “So, a full nelson. You can’t break it with your back without injury. The counter move is a twist and lift.” Curtis motioned Reed forward, spun him around.

  The position had Reed’s ass against Curtis’s crotch. Reed grinned, meeting Matt’s eyes, and waggled his brows. Matt bit back a laugh and settled in to watch the series of moves and counter moves that would have him breaking Ram’s hold. The idea of the guy handling him like this made his stomach churn, and he vowed to avoid the man’s hands on him at all costs.

  Considering what losing might mean, Matt was surprised Lawson hadn’t mentioned much of anything about the coming fight. He had been quiet, seemed focused more on his work, but Matt hadn’t gotten the sense he was particularly upset. A few times, he’d caught Lawson staring at him with a look he couldn’t quite parse. Concern, maybe? Then Lawson would go back to whatever document he’d been reading as if the moment never happened.

  “Got it?” Curtis broke into Matt’s musings.

  Matt’s cheeks heated. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  Lips thinning, Curtis leaned over and whacked him upside the head. “Less thinking, more fighting.”

  “Ow.” Matt rubbed his ringing ear and glowered. “Fine. Show me again.”

  Reed positioned himself behind Curtis this time, his arms coming up and under Curtis’s, his hands locking behind Curtis’s neck. Curtis twisted to the side, one leg moving back behind Reed’s knees, and knocked Reed off balance, scooping him up and over so he held the man in the air, one arm between his thighs.

  Laughing, Reed groaned. “A little to the left please.”

  Falling backward in a controlled motion, Curtis brought both himself and Reed to the ground.

  “You can slam your elbow into his face, or—” Curtis brought the flat of his hand to the inside of Reed’s splayed thigh, slapping hard, just below the line of his too-short shorts. “Spank his ass for being a smartassed pain in the butt.”

  Reed yelped, closing his legs before Curtis could smack him again. Curtis got to his feet and Reed scrambled backward, tugging down the satin hot-pants, but couldn’t hide a hard-on that strained the material.

  Matt bit his lips, trying not to grin. Curtis followed his gaze and shook his head.

  “Fuck.” Reed muttered the curse, rolling over and standing with his back to Curtis.

  “No way, my foul-mouthed friend.” Snapping a towel from the ropes, Curtis dried his face. “None of us is getting any until Matt wins this fight.”

  From his position near the ropes, only Matt could see Reed’s blush. Matt couldn’t exactly blame the guy. Curtis was like an erotic drug, impossible to quit. Still, the idea Reed might hold a torch for the man had Matt slanting a considering look between the two.

  Curtis’s finger snap brought both his and Reed’s heads around. “Your turn. I gotta check on Ez and Garet. They were supposed to be done organizing the inventory by now.”

  Matt faced Reed, waited for the man to finish gulping water. By the time they squared off, Reed appeared to have...everything under control.

  Reed circled his finger, motioning for Matt to turn. He complied and Reed didn’t waste any time locking him in the hold. Rather than executing the expected twist, Matt grinned, thinking of all the dirty things Reed had said over the past three days to ruin his concentration, and pressed his body backward, ass grinding into Reed’s still half-hard dick. “I’m not Curtis, but I don’t mind if you wanna close your eyes and think of him.”

  Sputtering, Reed loosened his fingers, and Matt took the opening to slip out of the full nelson. Days of Reed telling him he’d lose the fight if he let Ram get him on his ass
had Matt hooking his leg back and sweeping Reed off his feet. As Reed fell, Matt spun, aiming his elbow into Reed’s solar plexus, landing on top of him with force.

  Wheezing with his attempt to inhale, Reed turned scarlet. Matt would have felt bad if the guy hadn’t used a similar maneuver on him a half dozen times. Even now, his own lungs ached in sympathy. Not giving Reed time to recover, Matt rolled him, dug his knee into Reed’s back, twisted his arm up and away at an unnatural angle. Heaving, Reed attempted to unseat him. Matt rocked forward, and Reed used his free hand to fist Matt’s hair and pull. Momentum gave Reed the advantage, flipping Matt off of his back.

  Somersaulting, Matt rolled to his feet, scalp stinging. Fucker probably ripped out his hair from the roots.

  “Sorry. I don’t let needle-dicked bottom boys do anything but suck my balls.” Reed grinned, feral, and rushed Matt.

  Surprise wasn’t something Reed had on him anymore though. Matt ducked, using his head to impact Reed’s still-tender abdomen. Catching him by the arms, Matt ducked low and flipped Reed over and onto the nearby ropes. Flailing, Reed nearly went over, his foot tangling in the middle rope so he fell onto his face with a nasty thwack that had Matt flinching.

  He opened his mouth to ask Are you okay, realized it’d cost him the fight if he did, and planted his foot between Reed’s ribs, then fell on him with an elbow to his liver.

  Reed screamed then rolled, folding in on himself.

  “Enough.” Curtis strode from the bar. “He’s going to tap out.”

  Fists balled, Matt glared. “If this is a trick—”

  “It’s not. You did good. Reed’s done.” Ducking into the ring, Curtis knelt by Reed, soothed his hair back. “Give?”

  Reed nodded, eyes rolling back as his body tried to process the pain from the liver hit.

  “Shit. I’m so—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Curtis stood, towering over Matt. “Or I will kick your ass all the way upstairs where Lawson will kick it some more.”

  Matt clamped his teeth shut with a clack, aborting his apology. Eyed Reed’s pale face. “But…”

  “He’s gotten worse beatings, and this is what he’s signed up for on his own many, many times.” Running his palm over his face, Curtis closed his eyes, schooling his features. “There are no rules in this ring, Matt. This is how you win. Now go hit the showers.”

  Casting one last glance to Reed, Matt stepped out of the ring and paused in indecision. He wanted to go upstairs and tell Lawson he’d finally won against Reed, but he had no desire to brag about laying the man low. His father’s voice rushed back to him, the man crowing over a gambling win, and his rage the times he hadn’t. Pivoting, Matt went to the gymnasium shower.

  Winning over Reed gave him no satisfaction. Picturing Ram in his place, letting the idea he might actually be able to humiliate the man in front of everyone? Now, that was something he didn’t mind doing.

  Sticking up for Reed on Sunday had been easy, and he’d do it all over again. Not to protect a man who clearly didn’t need protecting, but because the camaraderie he’d seen between Reed, Lawson, and Curtis made him want to emulate their loyalty. He’d jumped in, however blindly, to challenge Ram because he’d been thirsty to belong in this strange family of men and have Reed’s back just like Matt knew Reed would have his.

  Twisting the shower lever, he shucked his clothing and stepped under the spray. Leaned against the wall and let the water run over his hair and skin, and curled his hand around his cock. He gasped, head rolling against the tiles, imagination unspooling swaths of silken fantasy that he orchestrated with his fist. Imagined the hand he reached between his thighs to stretch his balls was Lawson’s, and pictured all of the rewards the man would heap on him when he won. He’d tell Matt he belonged. Tell Matt he was the best fucking boy a man could own.

  He came, hips jerking, on the realization that the fantasy could very well be his reality—all of it—if he proved himself a worthy opponent in the ring, a worthy partner for Lawson.

  He just had to fucking win.

  Chapter Twenty

  Steam burst up from the sink as Lawson poured the cooked rotini noodles into the strainer set up there, cursing under his breath as scalding water splashed over his arm. Ignoring the pain, he returned to the stove to plate the garlic chicken stir-fry he’d made. The tantalizing scent made his mouth water, but the pride and satisfaction that usually came from having taught himself how to cook some damn fine meals was completely absent.

  Did Matt even eat before fights? Lawson stilled, jaw clenched against the deepening ache of his forearm, and stared at the food. The man had practically inhaled the hearty breakfast Lawson had made him, but every fighter was different when it came to meals close to a match. Three hours before was Lawson’s go-to so he’d have plenty of energy but wouldn’t be sluggish or full. Matt might have a completely different strategy.

  One he hadn’t chosen to share. So far, his prep seemed to involve sweating and pacing, which was driving Lawson up the wall. Matt’s confidence had grown after he’d bested Reed in the ring, but today he was all over the place.

  If he doesn’t sit down, I’m going to strangle him.

  Then there would be no fight. Problem solved.

  Right. Permanently.

  His stomach turned as the burn on his arm began to throb. For fuck’s sakes, he didn’t have time for this nonsense. He needed to get Matt to eat. Or meditate. Or do whatever the hell it was he did to prepare for a fight.

  “Hey, that looks ama—” Matt glanced at Lawson’s forearm, his lips parting. “What did you do to your arm?”

  “It’s nothing. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure, but you should run some cold water on that.” Matt took Lawson’s hand and tried to pull him toward the sink, frowning when he drew away and went to get the orange juice from the fridge. “Lawson, you’d lose it if I hurt myself and didn’t take care of it properly. Don’t be an idiot.

  Excuse me? Lawson took a deep breath. Every instinct screamed at him to put his mouthy sub in his place, but this wasn’t a situation where a simple command would end the conversation. Matt had a point, but he’d gone too far.

  Lawson shook his head and brought the food to the table. They could discuss it later. Whether he liked it or not, Matt would continue to follow part of Lawson’s pre-fight ritual. No fucking. No arguments. The focus leading up to a fight should be on the fight itself. Conditioning. Getting in the right headspace.

  Matt took the juice from Lawson and filled both glasses, then set the jug in the center of the table. He tugged at the edge of his lip with his teeth. “Are you ignoring me?”

  “No, I’m trying to help you get ready.” He gestured to Matt’s plate. “Do you usually eat? We can save it for later.”

  “What? No, I’ve been dying to dig in. I’m starving.” Matt grinned and shoveled a big forkful into his mouth. He let out a soft moan. “God, that’s good. You’re spoiling me this week. I knew you were a good cook, but I don’t think I’ve eaten this well since…” His grin faded. “Since my mom died.”

  “You don’t discuss your family much, besides Garet. How old were you when she died?”

  Matt met Lawson’s eyes across the table. Glanced at his arm again. “You take care of that and I’ll tell you anything you wanna know?”

  The fact that it was worded as a question saved Matt from a reminder of who between them was in control. Not that Lawson had felt very much in control of anything this week, but that couldn’t be helped. He inclined his head and pushed away from the table, fetching a dishcloth from a drawer and bringing it to the sink to soak it in cold water.

  After wringing it out, he returned to the table and lay the cloth over the bright red burn. The pain immediately lessened. “Better?”

  “Yeah, but you should still have Doc look at that. It’s blistering.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Lawson…” Matt sighed and stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. “If you’re pissed
off, I wish you’d just tell me.”

  “I’m not.” Lawson took a forkful from his own plate and filled his mouth. The flavoring was perfect, but the food still tasted like sawdust. The last thing Matt should be distracted by was him. Not that his mother’s death was a better topic. Still, maybe Matt needed to talk about her. “What was she like?”

  A small smile curved Matt’s lips. “Mom was…amazing. She worked two jobs near the end, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with her, but before that we were really close. When my dad was working instead of feeding his gambling addiction, she was home at night with me and Garet. Brought us both to all our sports things. Never missed my competitions.”

  “You were in a lot of those?”

  Matt nodded. “I wanted to go pro, so I trained all the time and she saved up to pay my entrance fees. She would spar with me in the garage where she’d hung a punching bag and made a small area with a mock ring. Garet would set up chairs for himself and his stuffed animals ‘ringside’ and scream for her to kick my ass.” His eyes took on a distant look. “She probably could have at one point, she was in really good shape and was into boxing before she met my dad. Always said it was just a hobby she had to stay fit, but I think she missed it.”

  The woman sounded wonderful. Losing her must have been devastating to both Matt and Garet. And likely explained why Matt found comfort in the ring.

  One thing confused him though. “If she boxed, why do you lean on footwork in your fights?”

  “Not surprised you noticed. I gotta learn to switch that up a bit.” Matt’s lips slid into a self-deprecating smile. “Because she boxed, I learned how to throw a solid punch early and copied her style. Which cost me a few fights. She had me in karate until I got my black belt, then mixed martial arts, but I still fought like a boxer. So, she came up with a plan with my sensei.” His cheeks reddened slightly. “For six months, I had private lessons with him. And I could only use my hands to block. If I slipped up, he tied one to my belt.”

  That sounded like an effective way to cure a student of bad habits, though Matt had ended up going to the other extreme. Either way, he’d keep in mind how well Matt responded when bondage was involved.