Flawed Justice

by Tibby Armstrong

  Fork halfway to his mouth, Matt stilled. “Not sure I like that look.”

  Lawson chuckled. “You’re an intelligent man.”

  Huffing out a laugh, Matt continued eating for a bit. Drank some more juice, then wiped his lips with a napkin. “Until I was about thirteen, my whole life revolved around training and competitions. I missed a lot of school for them and had to bust my ass to make up for it. Mom told me the minute my grades fell I’d have to ease back and that kept me motivated. I’d finish my homework just so I could go over my katas until I’d perfected every one. Study for hours so she’d practice with me.” He finished his juice and set the empty glass aside. “Then my father lost his job and she had to get another one to make ends meet. He liked staying home and got into gambling. They had some horrible arguments about it.”

  “Money problems can cause huge riffs in families.” Not that Lawson would know from childhood experience, but when he’d been living with Vincent and when things got tight, the man got even meaner. More violent. He reached out and put his hand over the one Matt had pressed to the table. “But you continued your training.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t able to do as many competitions. Then…then she died. It was sudden. She had headaches all the time but refused to go to the doctor. I didn’t know then that she’d had to cancel her insurance to be able to pay the bills.” He blinked fast. “She had a brain aneurysm. I was thirteen. Garet was only six. My father went from being neglectful to cruel, but at first it was mostly yelling. Throwing things.”

  Lawson’s jaw hardened. “Then it got worse.”

  “As far as I knew, only with me. But I’m thinking I was wrong about that. I always figured he hated me because I got so much time with my mom when things were still good. When Garet acted up I’d do something to draw my father’s focus to me.” He let out a bitter laugh. “It wasn’t hard. And him hitting me wasn’t that effective. I mean, I’d taken much harder hits in the ring.” He rolled his shoulders. “I started doing odd jobs around the neighborhood, cutting grass, walking dogs, different chores. Saved up for my first competition in years. I didn’t tell him about it—the win was for my mom. I was going to continue fighting for her.”

  “What happened?”

  “He came home from losing a lot of money on the fucking slots. Garet was at a friend’s house. Not sure what went down between them, but my father showed up outside the arena. Started screaming about me wasting my time, acting like I was a big shot. He grabbed my trophy and tried to hit me with it.” Matt’s jaw hardened. “I blocked him and he punched me in the face. Broke my nose. So, I punched him back. Laid him out.”

  “About fucking time.” Lawson squeezed Matt’s hand, trying to recall from the few details Matt had given him what had happened next.

  Whatever it was had led to Matt being homeless.

  “Someone called the cops. I was arrested.” Matt glared at his empty plate. “Didn’t matter that he’d come after me. That he was my father. They were going to charge me with assault because of all my training.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Matt shrugged. “The ‘law’ can be fucked up.”

  “Ha ha.” Lawson sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m assuming he dropped the charges?”

  “Yep. He got me out of there and said it was the last thing he’d ever do for me. Drove me home but didn’t let me inside. He’d already packed my bag.” Matt rubbed his hand over his lips. “He threw it out on the lawn and I realized he was serious. I begged him to let me see Garet. I wanted to make sure my little brother knew I’d find a way to be there for him. That he’d be okay. That things would be better at home with me gone.”

  Brow furrowed, Lawson sat forward, hands on his knees. “You must have known that wasn’t true?”

  “I… No, I didn’t. Everything about me, my eyes, my hair, my love of martial arts, came from my mother and the only thing that made sense was he couldn’t stand the reminder of her anymore. Garet wasn’t exactly close to him, but he seemed okay with the kid, you know?” Matt groaned and shook his head. “I needed to believe that. I didn’t think too much about how careful Garet was around him. How quiet.”

  “But you went back for him as soon as you could, Matt. You took care of him. He’s doing a lot better now.”

  “Because I’m not the only one he has.”

  “Even when you were, you did what you could.”

  “I’m not sure about that, but…” Matt shook his head, his lips curving slightly. “I can’t go back and change what happened, but aside from him taking a joyride with his new BFF, you’re right. He’s doing amazing now. After just a few weeks it’s like night and day. I was so fucking scared he’d wind up in juvi. Or…worse. I didn’t know how to set boundaries for him, but he needed them.”

  “Curtis is very good at those.” Lawson considered Matt for a moment. “And having him set them for Garet, having Reed and Doc help out with his training and schooling, gives you a chance to just be his brother. Which is what you both needed.”

  For a moment it looked like Matt might argue, but then his expression softened. He rested his elbows on the table and set his chin on his laced fingers. “I think you’re right. The Ravagers gave him a sense of belonging, but…it wasn’t real. Here, it is. Almost like family.”

  “The key word being ‘almost’.” Lawson reached for Matt’s plate, lips thinning when Matt carefully took hold of his wrist and lifted the edge of the dishcloth to check the burn. “If you’ll stop fussing over me, I’ll have Doc tend to it.”

  Tension lined the space between Matt’s eyes, but he nodded slowly. Pressed his teeth into his bottom lip. “If we’re doing this whole power exchange thing, I need to know I can still take care of you too, Lawson.”

  “You can, but it’s unnecessary at the moment.” Lawson frowned as Matt began to clear the plates from the table but decided to let it be. If the man had to keep himself busy, cleaning wouldn’t distract him as much as Lawson’s uncharacteristic clumsiness or the negligible wound. He turned in his chair as Matt began to rinse off the dishes and load the dishwasher. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me about tonight?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Besides questions I’ve already answered.”

  “I…” Matt exhaled noisily. “Fine. I was wondering about the whole bet. You’re covering the five grand entrance fee and taking a cut if I win—”

  “When you win.”

  “Yeah… When.” A slow inhale. Matt dried his hands, then shoved them in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t have to fuck Ram, do I?”

  Lips slanting, Lawson brought his arm to the back of his chair and eyed Matt with amusement. “The idea doesn’t appeal to you?”

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “Then no, you don’t have to fuck him. The challenger may dictate the terms, but the winner has full control. It’s rare that this kind of match involves fighters who share genuine animosity, but it has happened.” He thought back on one such fight he’d been in himself. The reason the questionable practice had been implemented in the first place. “Noah had Curtis challenge me once. We’d grown apart and there was a lot of tension around the club. Conflicting ideas on how things would be run. Curtis wanted to have membership open to everyone. I preferred an on-referral only system. Noah decided we should settle it in the ring.”

  Matt’s brow rose. “I take it you won?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you had awesome hate sex and peace was restored?”

  “Temporarily.” Was Matt rethinking his aversion to Ram? Lawson’s jaw tensed, but he resisted the urge to warn Matt away from the other man. It was too late for that and not his decision to make. “In any case, a win means you’ll have a choice.” He had to inform Matt of the one other caveat that hadn’t been addressed. Like most, the man hadn’t spent much time reading the fine print on the contract he’d signed. “But a loss doesn’t automatically mean you can be forced. You can refuse to honor the agreem
ent.”

  Snapping his gaze to Lawson’s, Matt’s lips parted. “I can?”

  Lawson inclined his head. “Yes.”

  The man was too smart to believe there wasn’t more to it. His brow furrowed. “I’d lose the respect of the entire club. They wouldn’t trust me enough to let me take on any other challenges.”

  “You would not be considered for any future challenges.” Lawson stood and pushed in his chair, hands clenched on the back of it, the muscles tensing in his forearm bringing back the tight throbbing ache from the burn. He hadn’t wanted to discuss the consequences of Matt’s rash decision to challenge Ram, but it was unavoidable. “Your membership would be revoked.”

  “Fuck.” Matt rubbed the nape of his neck and tipped his head back. “Lawson… I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. What’s done is done.” Lawson crossed the room, pulling Matt’s hand away from his neck and bringing his own hands to the man’s shoulders. He massaged the tight muscles, chuckled when Matt groaned and leaned back against him. He brushed a soft kiss over Matt’s lips when he turned his head but cut off his attempt to deepen it. “No.”

  The expression Matt gave him was damn close to a pout. If he wasn’t concerned about it leading to more, Lawson would smack his ass. Instead, he settled for working the muscles in his shoulders and back and dismissed the look.

  Finally, Matt simply sighed and slipped away from him. “I’m gonna get changed and warm up. Meet you downstairs?” He jutted his chin at Lawson’s arm. “After you see Doc?”

  “Very well. But under one condition.”

  “Sure.”

  “Put your focus where it belongs, Matt. Ram’s pride is riding on this fight. He won’t go down easy. You have to remember everything Reed taught you. Every single lesson had a purpose.” He held Matt’s gaze until he nodded. “Don’t get overconfident because you were able to beat Reed once.”

  “Reed’s fought Ram, hasn’t he.” Matt paled when Lawson inclined his head. “He lost?”

  “He came close.” Lawson didn’t want to frighten Matt, but he had to be prepared. “Much closer than any of us were comfortable with, which is why he won’t take another challenge from the man.”

  “I got it.” Matt rolled his shoulders. “Why did he take the first one?”

  Thinking back, Lawson shook his head with a thin laugh. “Ram insulted Noah, trying to goad him into a fight. When his challenge was ignored, he kept pushing and Reed snapped. You two have a lot in common.”

  “Noah must’ve been pissed.” Matt studied Lawson’s face for a moment, as though trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed frustrated by the lack of one but didn’t comment. “What did Noah do?”

  “Said the same thing I have.” Lawson cupped Matt’s cheek, wishing he had another answer for him. Some way out that didn’t involve him losing everything The Asylum could offer. He’d change the rules for this man. He’d get in that ring in his place if he could. Both would make Matt seem weak and he wasn’t. He could do this. “Win.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The San Andreas during a quake had nothing on Matt, because he was sure his entire body registered at a nine-point-five on his internal Richter scale. He’d been nervous before tournaments, but this level of anxiety was completely off the charts.

  “C’mon, c’mon.” Shaking out his buzzing hands, he paced the length of the upstairs hall between the empty lofts and Curtis’s and Reed’s doors, closer to the stairs.

  Gruff voices, laughter, and the clinking of glasses said the bar had filled up nicely. At least if nothing else came out of this mess, his challenging Ram would bring money into The Asylum. Which he sincerely hoped wasn’t going to drain right out again if he lost.

  “No.” He shook his head, emphatic. “Not gonna lose. Shut up, asshole.”

  He hadn’t dared show this amount of fear in front of Lawson, though he was surprised the man hadn’t smelled it coming off him anyway. He’d been sweating like a condemned man since he’d woken up. Matt’s lips curved when he remembered the way Lawson had gone all domestic that morning, making him scrambled eggs, french toast, and bacon, piling the plate high and bringing him seconds when he’d commented on how good it tasted. He didn’t know what he’d expected, exactly, but mother hen had not been close.

  Belching, he massaged his stomach, pacing past Curtis’s door. That second helping of pasta and chicken probably hadn’t been such a good idea. Except Lawson had been trying so hard, Matt didn’t want to make him worry more by not eating or by pulling some depressive, clingy pout. He’d made his own fucking bed and he wasn’t about to drag Lawson into it with him. His lips lifted. Not that Lawson would let him. The man seemed to be a stickler for taking control. Which was just fine by Matt.

  If only he’d been willing to talk. He had to have some feelings about tonight and how things went.

  “Matt!” Curtis called from the bottom of the second flight.

  “Shit!” Matt whirled, hand on his chest. “You scared the crap out of me, dude.”

  Climbing the last two risers, Curtis rolled his eyes. “I’ve only been calling from downstairs for the past two minutes.”

  “Oh.” Pushing both hands through his hair, Matt cast a glance at the door to Lawson’s loft. “Should I get…”

  Curtis shook his head. “Nah. He won’t want to distract you. He’ll come down when he’s ready.”

  Matt’s stomach took up radical maneuvers, nosediving to his feet and bouncing up again. Did that mean Lawson wasn’t going to watch the match? What if he really was pissed off and was planning to kick Matt out even if he won? What if Matt went through to the dungeon with Ram and Lawson kicked him out for betraying him with another guy?

  “Matt!” This time Curtis took ahold of his shoulders, shaking him once. “What the fuck dude? Don’t fall apart on us now. You’re almost there.”

  “I can’t tell if Lawson hates me.” Matt blurted out his fear.

  Curtis’s brown eyes softened. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s trying to support you. It’s his ritual. What Noah taught him to help center him before a fight.”

  Remembering Lawson’s hands on his shoulders, massaging him, Matt breathed out in a rush, then back in slowly, willing blood to return to his fingertips. Whatever happened to him in the ring didn’t scare him half as much as the thought of losing the man, and place, he’d begun to think of as home.

  “I just want to know if…” Matt bit his bottom lip hard enough he tasted blood. “If I lose—“

  Curtis shushed him with a finger to Matt’s lips.

  “First, you’re going to win.” At some private amusement, Curtis’s smirked, tilted his head. “And even if you didn’t, do you really think Reed and I wouldn’t have something up our sleeves to turn the tables on Ram in the dungeon?”

  Matt shook his head. “No, you can’t do that. It’s not—”

  “Shut up.” Yanking Matt around by the wrist, Curtis swung his arm around Matt’s neck. “You’ve got this. Seriously. Just remember everything Reed and I taught you. And for fuck’s sake, breathe, and use the move you need, not the one you think is right.”

  “Matt!” Garet poked his head out Curtis’s door as he and Matt walked past.

  “Hey, Garet.” Matt mustered a smile. “You all set for the night?”

  Garet glanced toward Curtis and the stairs, then nodded. “We’ve got pizza and we’re gonna watch Easy Rider.”

  The two teens hadn’t been allowed to hang out, outside of chores and studying, all week. Apparently, Curtis was giving them a break.

  “Lights out by ten,” Curtis called back, pulling Matt along with him. “Don’t make me hafta think of new ways to punish your asses.”

  Garet groaned, rolling his eyes with his “Fine,” and closed the door.

  Downstairs, Curtis clapped Matt on the shoulder. “I’m going to go in first. Give it a minute, then follow when you hear Reed’s cue.”

  Matt swallowed down another bout of nausea and nodded. Curtis disappeared thro
ugh the doors, and the chatter beyond briefly increased and died back down with the door’s closing.

  Casting a glance toward the stairs, he willed Lawson to come down. Seeing him from the crowd wouldn’t be easy, but it’d be a lot easier than him abandoning the fight entirely. What if he wasn’t there because he couldn’t stand to watch Matt lose?

  “God.” Matt spun, his feet taking him toward the outside door before his brain caught up. He slowed, made himself face the bar. Dimly registered the chaotic mess of hastily pushed back chairs, half-empty beer bottles—alcohol wasn’t allowed in the ring—and the general disarray that accompanied Friday nights. When it was all over, the men would return here or wander up to the dungeon to seek other entertainment.

  Matt just hoped he wasn’t going to be part of the show.

  “Fuck.” He fisted his hair, pulling hard. Wishing it was Lawson who did it. Just to fucking make him stop thinking. “You can do this. You’ve got this.”

  Good boy.

  Lawson’s voice filled his head and Matt lifted his chin, breathed deep. He had strict instructions from Lawson to do whatever it took to win, and he was going to follow them. Whatever else came next, neither of them could control. Matt only had here. Now.

  And about a hundred guys who’d be watching how he did, some of them Ram’s friends, and others who still harbored a misplaced grudge, needing someone to blame for the vandalism that had brought Matt here in the first place.

  He really should just…

  A thudding backbeat from the direction of the gym brought Matt’s chin up. He frowned. What the hell? There was never music before a match. The pre-fight atmosphere was about as serious as things got here, with testosterone at a fevered pitch and men jockeying for the best position near the ring.

  Was this his cue?

  “Hell.”

  So help him, if Reed shined a spotlight on him and emceed his entry, he was going to kill the man. Striding to the door, Matt pushed through, gritting his teeth, and halted, jaw dropping. Oh, there was a spotlight, all right, but everyone’s backs were to Matt, their attention on Reed. The man had strung up a disco ball that flashed over his silver sequin dinner jacket and crisp white shirt and the ring...where Reed pranced around, shaking his booty to the techno backbeat of German Sparkle Party, smacking his own ass at every mention of party pants.