20 - Lane
Lane
Bear’s face was stone. “Screw that. We’re not stopping.”
I slumped even further down the wall. I felt numb. I was trying my best to keep my emotions in check and try to find the logical loopholes in the current situation but it was hard when so many things felt like they were falling apart all at once.
“We don’t exactly have much of a choice,” I said. “I don’t think you understand just how much trouble we could all get in. And if you get dragged into a courtroom, Cornerstone is going to sink under the notoriety. I refuse to let that happen.”
“And I refuse to be bullied by an asshole who hides behind legal red tape. Just like I refuse to let him bully anyone I care about,” Bear replied.
His steady, dark brown eyes met mine. There was so much promise buried in that gaze, just under the surface.
A protective anger burned there, whether directed specifically at the guys or me or all of us, I wasn't sure.
But Bear wouldn't be convinced otherwise.
Sy came over and put a hand on my shoulder, offering support in the sweet way he always did. Then he turned to Bear.
“Okay, Boss. I'm in. How exactly do you propose we do this?” he asked.
“We don't use the Cornerstone truck. We work as silently as possible and make sure no noise carries upstairs. We've finished most of the heavy lifting, so it shouldn't be that difficult until we get this stop order revoked.”
Sy nodded determinedly. I looked around, noticing that Dax was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, we're missing one.”
The other two looked around.
“Perfect timing to dip out, Miller,” grumbled Bear but Silas looked like he had something on his mind.
“Sy?” I touched his elbow.
He didn't look very comfortable, his eyes shifting from me to Bear. “I think I know where he is.”
Bear's expression told me that he might have an idea as well, but was hoping to be proven wrong.
“I hate to even entertain the idea, but I've been suspecting that Dax is back in the cage. I think he's been there for a while now. There's rumors doing the rounds that there's a big fight happening today,” Sy said.
Bear closed his eyes, disappointment settling over his features. I peeled myself off the wall.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
“All the signs are there,” Sy explained.
“Whenever he'd relapse and get back into fighting again, his behavior would change.
Just like this. He'd become closed off and disappear at odd times and be mad at the world for no reason.
And that's not all. Apparently, if those rumors are true, tonight's pot is the biggest of the year so far.”
Memories flashed in my mind of Dax's disgruntled answers when I asked about the pair he'd met up with. I saw that fat envelope he handed over, knew that the chances of that being some kind of money transfer was practically undeniable.
He'd be just as much a fool to pass up on this opportunity as he was for going at all.
“I'll get him,” Bear said, grabbing his jacket.
“No, I should be the one to do it,” Silas said. His expression was grim. “I'm his best friend. It has to be me.”
“No, it doesn't,” I chimed in. Both men turned to look at me in surprise. “Bear, you go in guns blazing. The chances of you two getting into a fight of your own is way too high. And Sy, you have too much history with him. I'm the newest person here and I know how to provoke him.”
Just as he always knew how to provoke me.
I squared my shoulders. “I do this shit for a living.”
Neither of them looked too enthused about the idea.
“We don't even know where this warehouse is,” Bear pointed out. “Do you have a location, Sy?”
“No,” he replied.
“I do,” I said.
The shock on their faces would've been amusing under different circumstances. I grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and slipped it on, then took my bag.
“I had a client in lock up affiliated with a fight ring. The address of the venue was in the docket. It's the biggest one in the city, so if the money is as good as Sy says, then it has to be that warehouse,” I explained.
I didn't even make it out the door before Bear grabbed my elbow. “Lane, wait.”
I turned around.
He looked like he was fighting with himself about whether or not to let me go.
I could understand why. Bear had a natural protective instinct, the same instinct that resulted in his injury when he tried to protect that kid in the field.
It was just part of who he was, his code. But I had a code of my own, too.
“Trust me,” I said quietly.
Our eyes locked and the hand on my elbow tightened, then let go. He took a step back. “Keep us updated, alright? And call if you need us.”
I shot him and Sy a grateful nod, then headed out into the cool night.
*
I knew I was in for a time when the cab driver’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline upon hearing the address.
In fact, he stopped about a block short and I had to walk the rest of the way.
It was already dark out, the cold air biting into my face as I marched to the abandoned warehouse.
I used the time to try and plan out what I was going to say when I got hold of Dax.
Anger, confusion, frustration, worry; all of these emotions swirled inside of me and vied for control of my mouth.
But I had to treat this the way I would any of my clients.
The job meant I was well acquainted with people who would otherwise have never received a second shot.
Their actions weren’t always justified but the shades of gray between intent and circumstances didn’t always play fair.
I’d seen enough of Dax to know there was more to him than just some reckless prick who couldn’t stay out of trouble. I had to try and reach him.
The venue loomed into view—a soot-stained industrial brick foundry in a desolate manufacturing pocket. The cracked glass windows were covered in black spray paint, and a single rusted metal side door with a heavy-set bouncer marked the side ahead of me as the entrance.
I watched as he checked phones and took cash from a long line of bustling patrons, and rummaged around my bag. Shit. I had no cash on me, and I knew that I had to think fast or I’d have come all this way for nothing.
As my hands continued to scramble around for a Hail Mary, my fingers brushed against my work ID badge. Bingo. I slipped it out and began walking towards the line. It was a relatively quick wait, and when it was my turn to give my entrance fee, I simply held out the laminated card.
“I’m Dax Miller’s legal counsel. He has an emergency bail hearing at nine tomorrow and if I don’t get his signature on these papers right now, the police are going to be tracking him down at this exact address,” I said.
The burly security guard glared at me with suspicion, then narrowed his eyes at my badge.
“There’s still an entrance fee, sweetheart,” he said gruffly.
“If this place becomes a crime scene, then that’s not really going to matter, is it?” I asked. “Let me through.”
He huffed but backed down and stepped aside, cracking the door open with a meaty hand.
I inclined my head and walked through, internally breathing a sigh of relief.
Not only had that plan actually worked, but it also confirmed for sure that Dax really was here.
That was the final little confirmation I needed.
Inside, the air was a suffocating mix of stale sweat, cheap beer, cannabis smoke and cold dust. The sounds and lights from the main arena guided me until the long, dark hallway opened up into the grand floor ringing the cage. It was a full house tonight and I’d arrived mid-match.
I had to squeeze through a dense wall of screaming bettors, heavy-set mechanics and street enforcers to get closer.
When I finally made it to the front, I pressed myself against a structural iron pillar to avoid being crushed by the surging audience.
The crowd’s animalistic roaring vibrated straight through the concrete floor and right into my chest, spiking my adrenaline as I looked into the cage where two muscular men were fighting.
Or, that’s what it was supposed to be but I’d never seen anything quite like it.
It looked less like a sport than it did a calculated execution.
One of the men had the upper hand, his lean but built body moving so fast I could barely keep track of what was happening.
His taped hands were little more than blurs of force as he threw heavy, sickeningly loud punches at his opponent, who was trying in vain to dodge.
It sounded like leather hitting raw meat.
For just a fraction of a second, the man paused to catch his breath, his eyes lifting to the crowd and my mouth dropped open.
It was Dax, blood dripping from a cut over one eye and his sweat, shirtless body heaving with adrenaline.
Up until this point, everything about Dax’s past had been a mystery to me.
I’d heard things here and there, and seen the result of years worth of fighting in his physique and speed and the steadiness of his hands as he worked the site.
But this was the first time I was witnessing him in his element; raw, almost beastlike, his eyes darkened by a predatory rage that had his opponent cowering on the floor at his feet. By all accounts, I should’ve been afraid, and I was. But I was also, undeniably, turned on.
It was so stupid, I knew that. But looking at him now, bloodied and bloodthirsty, it was hard not to try and reconcile those hands that had just caused so much damage with the same ones that had been gentle enough to hold me in that pantry.
The contrast was more than a little jarring, and more than a little hot.
Dax’s gaze suddenly landed on mine and his eyes widened with recognition and shock when he registered that it was me. In the brief moment it took for him to lose his focus, his opponent reared up and delivered a brutal hook to his jaw, dropping him to the canvas.