by Addison Jane
“Grab your shit, let’s go,” the unbearded guy ordered as though he was here to pick up an old friend.
My head fell a little to the side, and I couldn’t fight the grin that took over my face. “Sweetie, I don’t know who you think you’re looking for, but it’s not me,” I told them straight, nodding to the door, hoping like hell I was right, and they’d come to the wrong room. “Thanks for coming, though. They have complimentary hand sanitizer at the exit. You should probably use it, I have the kind of crazy that’s contagious.”
They both ignored me, unfazed by my sarcastic comments, instead taking their time to look around my tiny room. Magazine clippings of nothing in particular covered the painted brick walls, simply so it felt less like a fucking prison cell. The cramped space was barely even big enough for me, and now I had two miniature Hulks inside here with me, and I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.
Their eyes finally turned on me. They were red hot, burning through my skin like they were fighting so damn hard to figure me out. They wouldn’t, though. I’d been through four psychiatrists since I’d been here, and at least three different group therapy classes, and they still looked at me as though I was simply broken.
Unfixable.
Fucking crazy.
“You Laken?”
I tried not to be surprised by the question, but the truth was, I was expecting them to say another name. My real name. So now I was confused as hell.
My eyes narrowed, moving between the two of them, but their poker faces were impeccable. “And you are?” I asked cautiously.
“Name’s Repo,” bearded guy explained gruffly, then pointed to his friend. “This is Shotgun.”
Road names.
Bikers.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
Of course, they were fucking bikers.
Wonderful.
I steeled my spine and sat taller. “Dunno what you want, but you ain’t getting it here. So, you can get the fuck out.”
“I just put a large sum of money in that lady’s pocket out there so we could get you the fuck out of here,” Shotgun clipped, folding his arms across his chest, making his muscles bulge. “You got about thirty seconds before I’m throwing you over my shoulder with exactly what you got on and nothing else.”
He came off hard as hell, but I didn’t miss the way he was rolling his neck and shuffling on his feet like he was itching to get the hell out of my room.
And quick.
“You’ve done time, huh?” I quipped, raising an eyebrow. “Small space getting to you?”
Shotgun looked over at Repo and shook his head. “Fuck this! I’m not dealing with this smart-ass shit in my clubhouse. Kennedy’s gonna have to live without her.” He turned and took a step toward the door before I managed to scramble off the bed and grab him.
Hearing her name was like grabbing a live wire, shooting my heart straight up into my throat. “What did you just say?”
Shotgun turned back to me with a smirk on his face. “Oh, you wanna play now?” Fucker knew precisely what he had to say to get me moving.
“How do you know Kennedy?”
“Repo here is her old man.”
I looked between the two men, trying to find something in their expressions which would tell me something. Fucking anything. “How do I know that? How do I know you’re not full of shit?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes. “Because trust me… my experience with bikers, they usually fucking are.” I was holding the tears at bay, trying not to get pulled into what could be some epic story to get me to trust them.
Repo pulled a cell phone from his back pocket, something I knew no one was allowed to bring in here for visits. The boys must have laid a large sum down for someone like Julie to let them back here, at this time, like they were. Repo turned the cracked screen of his phone toward me. It was a picture of Kennedy and Brooklyn hugging tightly with some kind of fair in the background. I was really fighting the tears at that point, but he swiped the screen again, and there was a picture of Kennedy wearing a club cut with ‘Property of Repo’ stitched across the back.
The photographs flicked by.
Ones of her and Brooklyn.
Her and Repo.
Her and the club.
All with this smile on her face I wasn’t even sure I’d ever seen. It stole my breath, knowing maybe she’d finally found that peace she’d been searching for, for so long.
Not only that, it was in the same kind of environment which had bred so much hate and destruction within her life.
How’s that for fate?
“She asked us to find you,” Repo explained as he tucked the phone back in his pocket, his eyes studying me. Like even though he’d come here looking for me, he still wasn’t convinced it was the best choice. “And I can tell you now, we haven’t told her this is where the search lead.”
“Or, what the helpful bitch outside told us you were here for,” Shotgun added as he leaned his shoulder into the wall, propping himself up as if he were waiting for some kind of story-time or explanation.
A familiar sinking in my gut returned—an ache, a reminder.
Ah… guilt, my old friend.
“Don’t tell her,” I rasped, shaking my head, my throat burning. “I’m sure one day I’ll have to explain, but not now.”
I wasn’t proud of the choice I had made a few months ago. I didn’t exactly think I’d be here now having to face the consequences of it.
But my mind was set on a different path now.
I’d have to fight harder.
But that was fucking life, wasn’t it?
I could tell by the way Repo’s eyes narrowed he didn’t like the idea of me keeping something from this woman he seemed to care so much about. He appeared like the kind of guy who would simply do what the hell he wanted, anyway.
“If you’re coming, we’re leaving now.”
Nodding, I turned and grabbed my biggest, warmest hoodie from the end of the bed and pulled it over my head. “Let’s go.”
Shotgun raised his eyebrow. “That it?”
“That’s it.”
There was nothing about this place I wanted to keep.
These guys were offering me a way out of here and a chance to see Kennedy and Brooklyn and check in on them. To see whether they were really as happy as they seem, and whether I could finally be at peace.
Shotgun paused for a second, his eyebrow raised. “Well, all right.”
I walked out of the room behind him, throwing a smug grin at a wide-eyed Julie as we sauntered down the white corridor. “Can we stop somewhere and get a burger?”
Shotgun paused, his hand on the door—my escape. “Yeah, I could eat.”
I grinned. “Cool.”
MYTH
“Harder.”
Dax pulled back, twisting his hips as he launched his fist forward into my pad.
One, two, three, four.
“Faster.”
One, two, three, four.
My muscles were burning, my entire body feeling like it was on fire. Sweat rolled down the center of my back, soaking into the waistband of my shorts. The power behind Dax’s punches was growing every damn day, and I was starting to feel fucking old as I fought to keep up with him.
The seventeen-year-old had potential. He had the skill to go places, and he was already on the fast track there.
Two Muay Thai Youth World Championships already under his belt. An opportunity to make the under twenty-threes at the world championships next year. And his eye on an Olympic gold medal if the sport makes it out of provisional status before the next Olympics.
The last punch connected, and I pulled back, shaking out the tension in my arms. “Good work,” I praised, clapping the pads on my hands together before I started to rip off the straps. “Now… go run a lap.”
Dax fell back against the ropes, yanking his mouthguard from his mouth. “You’re fucking joking, right?” His chest was rising and falling heavily. He was exhausted, pushing his body to it
s absolute limit.
“Two laps,” I ordered, raising my eyebrows, waiting for him to try and push back.
“Fuck!” he cursed, his sharp blue eyes glaring at me across the ring as he stripped off his shirt.
“Three laps. You wanna keep going with that mouth?”
The kid ducked through the ropes, cursing under his breath as he jogged around the ring and out through the doors and into the alley. If he made it the three laps without collapsing, I’d be shocked. But if he really wanted to be the best, he had to hit every damn wall and limit he had and then bust them down.
“Wow,” Austin called in awe. I hadn’t missed the two of them walk through the doors. “You’re a hard man.”
I dumped my pads and grabbed my shirt from where it was hanging over the ropes, using it to wipe the droplets of sweat off my forehead. “Not hard,” I defended as I snatched my cap off the corner post and pulled in on backward before slipping my body between the ropes. “Realistic. Seen too many fights lost because the fighter can throw one hell of a punch, but he ain’t fit enough to make it more than three rounds.”
The kid I’d met yesterday shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his hands tucked deep in his pocket, while Austin just looked amused, hooking his thumbs inside his Kevlar. “And what about you? You still fit enough?”
I smirked, scratching at the five o’clock shadow that covered my jaw. “You’re welcome to get in the ring with me, and we can find out.”
I didn’t miss the way he swiftly began to shuffle backward, attempting to make a quick exit without looking like a damn pussy. “Maybe when I’m not about to start a shift,” he bargained, the line a pure pussy excuse at best. “I’ll pick him up at eight and take him home. Till then, he’s all yours.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me with the teenage criminal.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest, ready to get the technicalities out of the way.
“Mase.”
“Name’s Myth—”
“I know,” he admitted, his wide eyes moving throughout the gym. “I googled you.”
I scoffed, walking over to the cleaning bay in the corner. This was a different kid than I’d met yesterday. He was less aggressive, more observant. But I wasn’t exactly surprised. I knew firsthand how the feel of cold steel handcuffs against your skin can instantly impact your sensibilities. It’s almost like an injection of adrenaline, it makes you edgy, defensive and yesterday, he’d been both.
“Oh yeah, and what’d google have to say about me?” I asked curiously as I gathered some disinfectant spray and a roll of paper towels.
“Retired. Multiple titles. Technically undefeated…” He paused for a beat. I instantly felt something else flowing off him like a rush of cold air, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides telling me a little more about this anonymous juvenile. “They said you almost killed a guy for hurting your little sister.”
“True.”
“They said because of that, you lost a major title. Possibly millions of dollars in endorsements.”
“Also true,” I admitted with a nod.
I wasn’t ashamed of my past—I did time behind bars, I lost an entire career, and I didn’t regret a fucking thing.
“Was it worth it?”
I tilted my head a little, watching the kid shift on his feet, his body tense and agitated. It was all starting to paint a picture. One I was sure wasn’t going to be pretty when the masterpiece was finally revealed.
Though, I anticipated it feeling pretty fucking familiar.
“Let me give you a list of things I would do to protect the people who I give a shit about.” I lifted my index finger, holding it up, so Mase could see it clearly. “Number One, fucking anything. The end.”
I gave up fighting professionally over ten years ago, and when I say I gave up, I mean Mase was right on the fucking money with what happened. Some asshole I was fighting for a championship tried to kidnap my sister, Shyloh, and forced me to fold. So, I almost killed him in the locker room, and I was banned.
Not just banned—arrested and charged.
I did two years.
He went on to win the title by default.
Real proud fucking moment it must have been for him.
It didn’t matter, though, I was already done, and I knew I needed to walk away before I did even more damage by going after the owners of the UFC, who let all this crap go down on their time. All because of ratings and money.
I fucking fought for me, and only me.
I refused to fill their fucking pockets.
They didn’t give a shit who was bribing or blackmailing who.
As long as they got their fight.
I walked back to where he was still watching me with curiosity, and pressed the paper towels and spray against his chest. “Start wiping. The mats, the machines, the weights. Disinfect them. Make them sparkle.”
Mase screwed up his nose, his lip curling. “Cleaning?”
“Cleaning,” I confirmed. “That too good for you?”
He huffed. Snatching the things from my hand and stomping away.
The hell did I get myself into?
“Holy…crap,” Dax wheezed as he basically crawled through the open door, his face and shirt so drenched in sweat I had to duck my head outside and check to make sure it wasn’t raining. “Happy… now? There’s… no way… I’ll be able… to walk… tomorrow.”
“But did you die?” I grinned, holding my arms out wide.
Dax’s deep frown and clenched jaw let me know just how unimpressed he was. Which only amused me more.
“Go on,” I urged, waving my hand. “Get out! I’ll see you Friday.”
His body instantly slumped, his legs visibly shaking as he walked over to his workout bag hanging on the wall and hooked it down. “Who’s that?” Dax asked, his eyes watching curiously as Mase made his way around each of the weight machines, spraying, wiping, and surprisingly being pretty damn meticulous.
“New cleaner.”
“Bullshit!”
“You just worry about your own shit,” I told him seriously, pointing at the exit. “Ice your damn muscles. Lots of ice.”
Dax wasn’t satisfied with my answer, his eyes continuing to watch Mase as he made his way out. Curiosity was natural, it was the reason we all stared as we drove past car accidents, or why we moved a little closer when we heard two people arguing. As far as I was concerned, though, it wasn’t up to me to share Mase’s story with the world.
If Mase wanted people to know why he was here and how the hell he got here, that was up to him.
It was called respect.
Something Mase seriously needed to learn the value of.
And something I was about to test.
“When you’re done there…” I called, pulling my headphones from my bag to prepare to finish up the afternoon with my own workout, “… you can head out the back and clean the toilet.”
Silence.
“Man, fuck that,” he protested while shaking his head.
“Excuse me?”
Mase placed the cleaning supplies on the nearest machine and began to walk toward me, that smack-talking bravado suddenly making a surprising comeback, but this time it was accompanied by a look that almost resembled betrayal. He gritted his teeth. “I’m not your bitch boy.”
Wrong.
“The cops disagree,” I snorted, planting my feet at shoulder width and standing a little taller. “They say for the next month, that’s exactly what you are.”
I caught a flash of pain that sparkled in his eyes. I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been shit on, told he wasn’t fucking good enough, told he was just a piece of shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe, and by someone he should have been able to look up to.
To rely on.
Who should have had his back.
This kid was damaged.
“This is bullshit. I thought I was gonna work with you,” he protested, shaking his head fur
iously. “I wanna learn how to fight. How to throw a punch.”
How to protect himself so when his big bro gets out of lock-up, he doesn’t go back to being a human punching bag.
I stomped forward, meeting him halfway across the room, putting myself right in his face. He stumbled back, his eyes wide. “Then you fucking earn it.”
“You’re just like them, like everyone else,” he yelled, finding his footing and lifting his chin defiantly. “I’m just some kid with problems. Some kid who needs to be medicated. Or thrown in a cell. Everyone’s trying to fucking fix me, but maybe I’m too damaged to fix.”
The kid’s words hit a nerve, a fucking sore one.
The saying was far too familiar, something I’d heard more times in my life than I’d like to remember.
“We have this new medication,” the doctor advised with a smile. “It’s experimental, but it’s had good results with other problematic children.”
Problematic.
Stupid.
Broken.
At this point, those words didn’t even hurt anymore. I was just the kid with anger problems. The kid who couldn’t sit still long enough to finish my schoolwork or hold a conversation. The kid who had no future.
“Good! Give him one now,” my father snapped, his narrowed eyes focusing in on my leg. I couldn’t stop it agitating. We’d been sitting in this office for over an hour waiting to see this particular doctor. I wasn’t sure what was so special about him, but we’d driven a long way for this appointment. “Actually, give him a couple of extras, maybe it’ll be like magic and just fix him.”
I wasn’t doing this shit because I thought a good deed might erase some of the sins that stain my soul. I wasn’t doing it because I had this overwhelming urge to help young kids realize their potential in life.
It didn’t.
But Mase’s story? It was far too fucking familiar to walk away from.
My gut wouldn’t let me turn my back on the smart-mouthed, entitled little shit.
“You wanna not be that kid who everyone thinks you are? You wanna be something else? Then take this as your first fucking lesson…” I grabbed a fistful of his shirt in my hand and slammed his back against the nearest wall, pinning him there. “Learn your place. Then earn your place.”
