17. Mason
17
MASON
T he guy fighting Logan was big. He had a good twenty extra pounds of muscle on my brother, and I didn’t like the look on his face. He was looking at Logan as if he were about to steal candy from a child, then eat it in front of the kid.
He was going to enjoy this fight. Or so he thought.
The guy went in fast, with brute force.
Logan dodged him easily, not even moving, just ducking his head. There was no hint of anything light or unhinged or surface level with my brother right now. He was all serious, and he was all dark. It was as if all this had been festering inside of him—building, rising—and the second the guy charged him, Logan gave himself permission to peel back the layer he used to face the rest of the world. This was the real Logan. As the big guy turned and went at him again, delivering an uppercut, Logan stopped it. He fucking reached out, stopped it, and then he leaped and pounded down with his other fist. It was a pretty move, and once that happened, a different wave of energy entered the warehouse.
This was what I’d known coming in. They thought we were pretty boys. We were famous. We were wealthy. We were civilians.
Yes, we were all that, but in our heart of hearts, we were like them. And as I looked over to where Nate was standing, I knew another truth. Logan and I were not like him. We had these monsters inside of us, and mine had been hiding. The moment I committed to the NFL, I tucked that beast away. I locked him up and tossed the key. My years of playing football had been some of the best in my life.
I had my children. Dinners with my colleagues. Fancy fundraisers. We’d been to a few movie premieres. To the White House. Played in the Super Bowl. Won a couple rings. I had lived life, and one could argue that I’d lived life to the fullest.
We’d been normal.
The difference between Nate and Logan and me was the life I had before my dad killed himself, that life would’ve made Nate content. Being normal. He would’ve been at peace. Happy.
But for Logan and me, that life was our mask. It’s what was expected of us. So we went the normal route. I did it because I loved playing football, but I also did it because I didn’t want to work in my father’s company. Taking that road would’ve led here a lot sooner. In this warehouse full of criminal bikers, at a fighting ring where my brother was dominating a guy twenty pounds bigger than him, and I was buzzing with anticipation. This felt altogether too comfortable.
I’d barely kept myself in control growing up, and now that I was back in Fallen Crest, here I was anyway. A part of me loved this. My soul thirsted for this, and Logan was the same. I could see the sick delight on his face.
His opponent had gotten a few hits in. Blood streamed down the front of Logan’s face, but his eyes were alive. They were dancing.
I glanced back to Nate, wondering what he saw when he looked at my brother.
I knew they had their own dynamic.
Stripes came over to me. “You could’ve told me he was a ringer.”
I grinned at him, not hiding it. “A ringer? My brother’s a lawyer.”
He still glared. “You know what I mean.”
“Not my fault you didn’t do your homework. There’s a documentary about us.”
He scoffed, but I caught a hint of a grin before he left again, ambling over to some of the other bikers.
“What’d he want?” Nate asked, reappearing at my side.
I told him.
Nate snorted. “He should’ve done his research.”
I searched Nate for derision in his face or in his voice, but there wasn’t any. He was tense, on guard, but he wasn’t judging us, not the way he had earlier.
“You’re okay with this now?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
A wariness came over Nate’s face, and he seemed to be choosing his words. “I…I hate this shit. This…” He waved toward Logan, nodding at the rest of the warehouse. “I think you’re better than this. I think we’re better than this. But I see your point. Logan needed this. I can see that now. You were right to bring him here.” He hesitated. “And whatever other reason you’re doing this for, I’m sure it’s valid.”
I waited to see if there was more.
After a moment, he gave a short laugh. “Being a dad now, I can understand why my parents pulled me out of here.” His eyes sparkled, until he saw me.
I wasn’t amused.
His laughter fell away. He cleared his throat. “I was referring to you being a bad influence on me, so they sent me to that school.”
“I remember.” I still wasn’t amused.
He frowned, looking away.
Stripes stalked back over. “Your boy is playing with him. That shit’s going to get old real fucking fast.”
I shrugged. “What do you want me to do about it?” I gestured to the ring. “Get another guy in there and get that one out. And if Logan starts playing with that one, do it again. I paid for this.”
He huffed. “Yeah, we can do that. We’ll consider this one a win for your boy.” He whistled sharply and motioned. “Get in there. Core, you’re out.”
“What?” the guy started protesting.
“He’s playin—” Stripes had his hand in the air.
Wham !
Stripes stopped talking because Logan rounded on the guy and hit him so hard in the face the guy’s entire body flew in the air. When he landed, no one was surprised that he was knocked out.
Logan stood in the ring, heaving, blood and sweat streaked over his entire body. After a moment he came to the edge. “I want to go again.”
Stripes gave in. “Roadie, it’s your turn. Let’s see if you stay pretty for all those girls.”
Some of the bikers laughed, whistling as the next guy climbed in. He eyed Logan with a bit more wariness than the first guy.
The second fight wasn’t won as easily. Logan eked it out, but just barely.
After that, it was my turn.
Logan passed me as he climbed out of the ring. His hand slipped, but Nate was there to catch him. Logan patted my back. “Kick ass, Mase.”
I watched as Nate eased him to the ground. He threw an arm around Logan’s shoulders and took him over to a corner. A biker was there with a first aid kit ready to go. The two bikers Logan had fought were already there. The first one was lying back on a bed, beer in hand. He saw me looking and held his beer up. “Good luck. Hope you’re half as good as your little brother.”
I held his gaze, seeing he meant what he said. He was being good natured about it. Scanning the rest of the room, none of the bikers seemed pissed. This was what? Normal life to them? All in good fun, that sort of thing?
And Nate was back there, helping my brother out. My chest rose, but not with jealousy. With… I don’t know, but it was something good. It hit me all over again, just how much we’d evolved since we’d grown up. I wasn’t the leader anymore. I was just one corner of the square box our fearsome foursome made. I liked that, even if I couldn’t completely understand it.
I climbed the rest of the way into the ring.
I recognized the guy who climbed in across from me. Boise. I didn’t get a big motherfucker. He was my height. Slender. His long black hair was loose, but as he stood across from me, he reached back to pull his hair up. Since he was shirtless and in similar shorts, I could see some of his tattoos. They looked Native American. A buffalo. A headdress spread out over his chest. A set of wolf paws. He turned to talk to someone behind him, showing me the giant tomahawk that ran down the middle of his back, right between a set of two red demons. When he caught my gaze, I knew this guy wasn’t going to be a normal fighter.
He’d be fast, and he’d be good. I felt it in my bones.
I closed my eyes, breathing out harshly. I needed to wake up. Warm up.
“You ready?” Stripes called from the sidelines.
I looked at the other guy again. He shifted, and I saw the guy he’d been talking to. He was tall, well over six feet. Lean. Muscled. Tan and tattooed all over. That was their president. The guy Channing said was also the National VP for the entire Red Demons club.
He was here for the fight. He turned to look at me, and there was a knowing in his gaze. I had a hunch he knew the second reason we were here.
Nate was taking care of Logan. Samantha had the family. No one else was here that I needed to be responsible for. Just myself. I let out a deep breath, feeling a lot of the fucking weight come off my shoulders, and I reached up and plucked off my shirt. I kicked off my jeans, standing now in shorts like the others. I’d done my research. This is what they wore.
“Fuck,” a guy spat, lunging and climbing up into the ring. He strode over to me with a toothpick in his mouth. “He ain’t taped. WE NEED SOME TAPE OVER HERE.” He shook his head at Stripes. “What the fuck you thinking? About to ring the bell when he’s not taped and ready. You should know better, bo—”
Stripes was up on the ring in the next instant, a savage growl roaring from his throat. He grabbed the guy’s shirt and yanked him hard. “You fucking want to finish that sentence?”
The grizzled biker in front of me looked like he did, but he did not. He closed his mouth. Stripes nudged him back with his elbow as a sharp whistle sounded. He looked over and raised his hand in the air to catch the tape.
Or he would’ve. I caught it first.
He blinked, surprised. He hadn’t even seen me move for it.
I blinked too, because I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just caught it. I handed it to him. “Habit,” I explained. “Something’s thrown my way, I catch it.”
“Hell yeah, he does.” The other biker was done getting patched up and strolled over to us, grinning. Roadie. “That’s why he’s got two Super Bowl rings. You couldn’t have stayed another year? Helped the Orcas get their Lombardi?”
I chuckled. “They’re still a new team.”
He scoffed. “You got ’em to the game in the first year. You kept getting us there. If it wasn’t for the Kings, we would’ve had it. They had to go and sign fucking Broudou, man. Their team’s stacked. Or was, I guess.”
Stripes motioned for me to sit, and I looked back to find a stool had been put behind me. Once I did, he knelt and began taping my feet.
Logan and Nate came over. Logan was holding a bag of ice to his head, his knuckles already black and blue. “We’re still talking?”
Roadie grinned at him. Apparently he held no ill will against my brother. “Shit, man, we’re bonding now, but the real bonding’s about to start.” He motioned around the room. “A lot of these guys are new. They don’t know about you around these parts. But I do.”
“You’re from around here?” Nate asked.
“Fuck no, but I listen.”
Another biker grunted. “More like he’s got TV.”
Roadie threw him a dark look. “I watch shit.”
“You watch porn and sports. That’s it.”
“No!” he said hotly. “There’s a documentary out, but I hear things too.”
A couple guys made some slurping sounds. Another guffawed.
Roadie grinned. “Nothing wrong with liking the sound of pussy—”
“Roadie.”
One word. That’s all it took. Everyone stopped for a second. It was Ghost, their president. Shane King. He leaned his arms over the ropes, giving Roadie a bored expression. “Get to the point.”
The biker nodded. “Yeah. Well, even Stripes isn’t privy to this, but I’m just saying, I know the reputation of these two.” He motioned to me. “Especially him.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He handed it to Stripes before stepping away. “My money’s on Kade. Sorry, Boise. Any other guy, it’d be you.”
Their president gave me an assessing look before he stood. “Let’s get to it then.” He gave Stripes a nod. “Let’s fight.”
Stripes didn’t ask me again. He hit the bell and backed away from the ring.
My turn.