Chapter Three
My mind is a mess of emotion I never expected to feel. Anger. Too tame a word. Rage. That doesn’t feel enough? The desperate need to rip someone’s head off, only slightly better. Fear. I can’t bear the thought of her suffering. Sadness. At the way she looks when she realizes I’m paying for her bail, like she can’t believe someone stepped up for her.
After speaking to Jenna to find out what is happening, I know there isn’t a lot I can do. Pay her bail to get her out of that fucking place? Hell yes. I’d have paid treble what they demanded because she does not deserve to be punished.
As they wrap up the arraignment, I slip out of the courtroom. The plan was to get in and out, pay, and leave before she saw me. The only person who knows what I did is Megan’s lawyer. I’ve never met her, but she is friends with Megan and Jenna.
Like a fucking fool, I didn’t leave. I went inside to watch, to make sure they didn’t lock her away.
My head is still spinning. Her face. Her beautiful face. It shouldn’t look the way one of my opponents does after a five-round fight, when I’ve pounded it to meat .
A man who lays a hand on a woman deserves everything that prick got. I’m only pissed she is the one who did it. If I could, I’d bring that fucker back to life and beat him to death. Slowly, over a long period, just to give him half of the suffering he put Megan through.
I understand it isn’t my place. We talk when she is at the gym, we’ve shared a drink at the vending machines and chatted for a while. All surface stuff because she hid something beneath her facade, she isn’t willing to share with someone like me.
She’s suffered from violence for a long time. I do violence for a living. It’s understandable she is wary. I could have been pissed about people being scared of me. No matter what my job entails, I keep that shit in the ring. Hell, I don’t even get in fights out of the ring with people who deserve it. Fighting is my job, it doesn’t define who I am as a man.
But I get it where she is concerned. And for all of Sam’s rules, if I thought I had a chance, I would have asked her out.
In my lifetime, I’ve known people who’ve gone to jail. People who should be behind bars and people who received a harsher sentence than they deserved. All of them committed the crime and I’m a firm believer you should pay for any crimes you commit.
Killing your abuser? Not a fucking chance.
I’m halfway down the courthouse steps when my name is called. My heart pounds in my chest, in time with the beat in my head. I turn and relief runs through me. It’s not her.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“She doesn’t deserve to be in that courtroom,” I tell Jenna, then get a look at her face and the splint around her fingers and my heart hurts even more. I read the stories as soon as I hung up on Sam.
I devoured everything I could about what happened. Jenna being in a relationship with the lead singer of a famous rock band meant the press was going crazy .
She fought him off, she kept him away from Megan. The press didn’t report the full details because they didn’t know them. Like how Megan ended up with a gun in her hands, but without a doubt, Jenna is a huge part of the reason Megan is still alive.
“Reckon our training worked out for you,” I mock punch her shoulder.
“Don’t downplay what you just did.”
My jaw grinds and I look away. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask why I did it. Problem is, I’m not sure how to explain it, even to myself.
“I’ll get it back when they drop the charges,” I say, looking at the grid locked traffic, the people hurrying along the sidewalks. All going about their usual daily business, none the wiser about the turmoil churning in my stomach.
Jenna touches my sleeve and I look down at her hand. “You’re a good man, Joey.”
“When it counts,” I mutter, then look her in the eye. “And she counts.”
Before she can say anything, I turn and blend into the crowds, walking away. I don’t need thanks for doing the right thing. I am able to help, and I will. The charges will be dropped, or I’ll use my fame and standing to wreak havoc on the court system.
I head to the gym, because the only place I need to be right now is somewhere I can beat the shit out of something. Wishing with every fiber of my being it’s that sick piece of shit who thought he had the right to hit her .
Three weeks after I paid to make sure she was not locked up, I hear from the court that my money is to be returned.
I avoid discussing Megan’s case and my part in it with anyone. Not that people at the gym know I put up her bail. Jenna hasn’t been back to the gym, Megan hasn’t either. But Jenna has reached out and kept me up to date via text. I rarely respond, but she sees the read receipts.
All charges have been dropped. Jenna explained they used the Domestic Violence Survivors Justice Act, and the fact he was breaking and entering as he didn’t live at the property, justice came down on her side.
She’s free.
Not that it will ever be easy to forget. Nor will she easily get over what happened that night.
I’m good with how things played out. I don’t think my part warrants celebrating. I put up my money, and I got it back, like I knew I would. I don’t need anything other than to know she is safe.
I’m fucking relieved she hasn’t reached out. I have no clue what to say to her. I’m still the same person I was before all this happened. A fighter.
It’s Thursday and I’m due in for a session with Sam today. I’ve been putting in more work the last few weeks. Guess I had some energy to work off. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out my interest in Megan. Sure, she’s hot and sweet and I want to help her, but would I have done this for some other woman at the gym I barely knew? It is driving me crazy trying to figure it out, so I stop.
There are two rings, and as I cross the floor, I watch one of the fights. Malice is facing off with a new guy who started training here last month. He’s young, only twenty-one, and has won some matches in his weight class. He wants to take his career to the next level so joined Sam’s team.
Devon is good, a little too cocky for my liking. Malice will show him some humility and how to respect your opponent. He’s not in my weight class so we won’t face off, although I’ve heard he’s said he wants to. He’s funny if he thinks that’s a good idea.
Sam comes out of his office and spots me, lifting his hand and crooking two fingers at me to head there, rather than into the changing rooms. I frown and cut between the rings, just as Malice lands a kick to Devon’s solar plexus that has him doubling over. Malice grins at me.
We’ve been friends for years, went to college together where we bonded over underground fights, until Sam got a hold of both of us and made us knock that shit off before we got hurt.
Malice is an ass, but he’s loyal and he’s a good fighter. He doesn’t compete anymore after a back injury that competitive fighting could cause more serious damage. It has never stopped him from getting in the ring here.
Sam’s office is just as you would expect for an old-time gym like this. No windows, white walls that look greyer in the light. His desk is metal and dented, his chair is old and wooden with a cushion on the seat where the padding has worn through. He’s got more than enough money to replace all of it, but Sam is a creature of habit.
He has trophies and ribbons and two belts on a shelf in the corner. They’re not exactly displayed. It’s more like he put them there and forgot about them. He has a decent computer and a row of sturdy, lockable cabinets where he keeps all his records.
We have a receptionist who keeps track of our regular clients, people who come to the gym to work out, but anything relating to the fighters is kept in here.
Sam’s hair is greying more, and he’s pushing sixty, but he’s still built as fuck, having fought in my weight class for years. No one ever sees him training, but he does it to keep the physique he has.
He’s one of, if not the best trainer in New York, and I would never want to work with anyone else. His knowledge doesn’t just lie in fighting and training. He’s a shrewd businessman, and his knowledge of the sport is unparalleled. He’s highly respected in the fighting world.
Sam knows when to accept or decline a fight. He can tell when it’s an appropriate challenge or an impossible task. Without sounding like a cocky fuck, more often than not, the challenges that are brought my way, I win. It’s been a while since I’ve come across an impossible task.
“What’s up?” I enter the office with my duffle over my shoulder.
“Take a seat.”
“Well fuck,” I groan, dropping the bag.
I get a look that tells me to shut the fuck up without him having to open his mouth. I sit in the hard as shit chair in front of his desk. God forbid Sam makes his visitors comfortable. Mostly because he wants them out of his office almost as soon as they’ve sat down.
“Marris wants a rematch.”
My brows arch. You rarely get requests for a rematch so soon after a fight. I took Kelvin Marris on two months ago, he was my last fight. It was a closely tied match until the last two rounds, when I decided I was done and unleashed on him.
I could give two shits about it, but Marris is the kind of fighter who becomes your enemy as soon as the fight is arranged. It doesn’t need to be that way. We’re doing a job. Sure, we’re all competitive and we all want to win, but I see this as a professional sport. No personal grudges will get me any further. In fact, they can hinder you. Hence why he lost, he let personal feelings get in the ring with us and I capitalized on it.
“A grudge match, Sam.”
Sam shrugs. “Sponsorship will be good.”
“It’s not about money,” I wave a hand. “You think this is a good idea? Aren’t you the one telling me grudge fights should be avoided?”
Sam leans forward and rubs his chin, looking away from me for a moment. I frown, not sure what that means.
“Spit it out, old man.”
“Fuck your asshole,” he fires back.
I laugh. “That would be a hell of a party trick, Sam.”
“He’s gone on record saying you’re scared to fight him again, because you’ll lose.”
Another laugh huffs out of me .
“Usually I wouldn’t let that bullshit bother me.” Sam leans back and his chair creaks.
One of these days, the back of that thing is going to give out and he’ll fall on his head. I’ve told him often enough, and he’s ignored me just as much, so I don’t comment. “He’s being aggressive about it and it’s pissing me off. I won’t force you, just think about it. It’ll be in three months.”
“What about the match with Jackson?”
I’ve already agreed to that fight at the end of next month. There is not a lot of time between the two of them. It will mean nonstop training for the whole time.
“I’ll ask them to postpone. Jimmy’ll understand,” he says about Perry Jackson’s trainer. “The promoter will do as he’s told,” Sam says with finality.
I’m glad he’s on my side. I’ve never wanted an agent. Sam does everything for me.
“When do you need to know?”
“Sooner rather than later, even though I won’t be letting their team know straight away,” he adds with a sly look in his eye. “Let them sweat for their bullshit.”
I have seen nothing about Marris talking shit about me, but I’ll check it out later. I tell Sam I’ll let him know, then head out.
I hate grudge fights. They’re a waste of energy. I’ve only had two in my career, won both. I grin at the thought, but as I move towards the changing rooms, my eyes are drawn to the reception desk. My steps falter, and like a fucking dummy, I almost trip over my own feet.
Megan is looking right at me.