Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LEON - PRESENT DAY
The ref yells, “Fight!” and James and I start circling each other. I’m caught off guard, trying to read his facial expressions, see if he recognizes me too. Fuck, I can’t tell, and I can’t afford to lose this fight. I need those guns.
The crowd roars for us to get going, but I block them out.
We circle and circle, hands up in guard position, neither making the first move.
He’s got maybe an inch or two on me, but his stance tells me everything I need to know.
Yeah, he’s trained, but he’s never had to fight for his life. That’s the difference.
“So you’re daddy’s favorite bastard,” James sneers.
I guess he does know who I am, then.
I duck under his first jab, a clean shot that would have fucked me up if it connected. “Favorite?” I laugh bitterly, throwing a quick combination that he blocks. “He pretends I don’t exist.”
“Bullshit.” James lands a solid hit to my ribs that has me gasping. The crowd erupts. “Never stops talking about you. Leon this, Leon that. So bloody smart, so successful at university.”
I stagger back, more from the shock of his words than the hit. “He talks about me?”
He takes advantage of my distraction, catching me with an uppercut that snaps my head back. Bloody hell. Stars explode behind my eyes and I taste blood.
Spitting it onto the floor, I shake my head clear. Enough. Time to turn this around.
“‘Course he does,” James seethes. He throws another punch, then an elbow combination. “His perfect son who doesn’t embarrass the family name.”
I block just in time and drive my fist into his diaphragm. I’ve had enough of his bullshit talking. James doubles over, gasping for air, his styled hair now matted with sweat. I don’t give him a chance to recover.
“Perfect son?” I spit, circling him as he struggles to breathe. “He ignored me my entire life. I’m nothing to him.”
James straightens slowly, wiping bloody saliva from his lips. “Nothing? He never shuts up about you. Meanwhile, I’m the disappointment that can’t do anything right.”
He comes at me again, less aggressive now. We end up on the ground, grappling, both trying to make sense of what we’re hearing. He’s straddling me with one hand pressed against my throat, choking off my air supply, while the other draws back for a punch. The look in his eyes is pure hatred.
I grab his wrist and buck my hips, throwing him off-balance.
We roll to the left, scraping against the rough concrete.
I suck in a breath, shoving my knee between us to create space, but he’s right there, sweeping away my supporting leg.
We crash, my head thudding against the floor this time.
He tries to mount me again, but I twist my hips and slip out from under him.
We both scramble to our feet at the same time, breathing hard, circling each other again with our guards up.
I wipe sweat from my brow and smirk. “That all you got, brother? Afraid to get your manicured nails dirty?”
His nostrils flare and his footsteps grow heavier. I’m getting to him. Time to finish this.
“Least I know where I come from. What are you, half of what exactly?”
I see red.
“Racist piece of shit,” I spit. He moves and there it is. My opening.
I feint left, then drive my right fist straight into his temple.
His eyes roll back and he goes down with a thud, out cold.
The ref comes to check his pulse but I’m barely aware, doubled over, sucking in air to calm the spike of adrenaline rushing through me.
I want to kick him while he’s down… something I’d never do.
And fuck, I hate to admit that his words got to me, but it was a low blow.
Same shit I heard from kids at school my entire life.
“What are you?”
As if I’m some fucking alternate species of human.
I’ve heard it all. Ignorant questions they’d say in passing… like it was no big deal.
“You adopted or something?”
“So, like… what are you exactly? Like, what do we call you?”
And then there were the cruel ones that came as I got older.
Comments I don’t even want to replay in my mind.
It was hard enough having a father who didn’t give a shit that I was alive without bringing our racial differences into it.
What James said was fucking disgusting and I’m glad he’s knocked on his ass.
Tank’s voice booms that I’m the winner before calling the names of the next two fighters. Cruz rushes to my side, patting me on the shoulder.
“Fucking brilliant! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that angry, and that’s counting the time Abel dribbled piss on your bike.”
He hands me my shirt, which I use to wipe my face before shrugging it on. I don’t look behind me, if James doesn’t get back up, I don’t give a shit. I’m headed for one person—Knapp.
“Lee?” Cruz asks. “Did ya hear me?”
“Huh?” I ask, finally registering that he’s been asking me a question.
He steps in front of me, and peers into my eyes. “Maybe we should get you to a doc. Get checked out.”
“No, I’m fine.” I step around him. “Just need to finish up here and get home.”
I’m sure he thinks I have a concussion, but really, I’m just processing. Maybe there’s a slight concussion too, but I’ll live.
“If you’re sure?” I nod again. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go collect. Meet you out front?”
“You can head home,” I tell him. As much as I like Cruz, I don’t have it in me to carry a conversation at this point. I clap him on the shoulder, thanking him for setting this up, and head straight to a smirking Knapp.
“Have to say, I wasn’t sure about you, but you won me a lot of money tonight. Had my doubts when I saw who you were fighting, but you proved me wrong.”
I wipe a drip of blood from my nose with the back of my hand and square my shoulders. “Great. I need hardware, you need payment. Let’s do business.”
His eyes narrow and my stomach drops for a second, but then he chuckles, gesturing to the guy next to him. “I like this one.”
I force a laugh. It sounds unnatural but anything to get this over with.
Knapp leans in, speaking low. “Tomorrow. 10:00 PM. Clancy’s Garage, 23 Millwall Road. Park around back, knock three times on the rear door.”
“I’ll be there,” I say. As I pull away, his hand grasps my shoulder, holding me in place.
“Bring cash. And come alone.” His thick hand releases me and he’s already onto betting on the next round.
With our agreement settled, I stop by Tank to say goodbye, collecting my meager winnings. She tries to strike up a conversation, judging from the rare look of concern on her face, probably about James, but I cut her off.
I need air. I need a stiff drink. And most of all, I need to ice my head.
I wake to the sound of voices drifting upstairs from the kitchen. Either someone’s trying to split my head with an ax or I’m paying for my choices last night. Uppercuts and copious amounts of whiskey don’t mix.
I groan and sit up slowly, cataloguing the damage—split lip, bruised ribs, and what feels like a mild concussion. It’ll be worth it after I get what I need tonight.
Sunlight streams in through a crack in the drapes, somehow aiming directly at my eyes like laser beams. I groan, shielding my eyes with my hand. “Bloody fuckin—”
Mum stops laughing and I hear a male voice responding. A familiar male voice—posh accent, entitled drawl.
James.
What the fuck is he doing in my mother’s kitchen?
Ignoring the pain and nausea, I jump out of bed, and storm down the stairs. There he is, the sodding prick, sitting at mum’s table, a cup of tea in front of him and biscuits from my childhood plate. James sees me coming and scrambles out of his seat. Mum quickly jumps between us.
“Leon, don’t be angry. He’s not here to make trouble,” Mum says calmly but firm. “Let’s sit down and talk. I’ll make some more tea.”
“Mum,” I seethe. “Step aside.”
“Please,” James says, his hands up. “I don’t want trouble. I came to apologize for what I said last night. How I acted.”
I scoff. “Fuck right off.”
“Language!” Mum scolds.
I’m too angry to acknowledge her.
“Five minutes,” I growl, pointing toward the front door. “Outside. Then you fuck off and never come back.”
Mum opens her mouth to protest, but I’m already stalking toward the garden, naked except for my boxers. I don’t give a shit if the neighbors see, my only concern is getting this piece of shit out of here.
James follows, looking somewhat stunned.
Once we’re outside, I cross my arms and glare at him. “Start talking.”
James runs a hand through his dark hair which is perfectly coiffed again despite the rest of him looking like absolute shit. “Look, what I said last night... about you being mixed. That was out of line.”
“Out of line?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You fucking think?”
“It was racist. And wrong.” He casts his gaze downward. “I was angry and I wanted to hit you where it hurts. But that’s no excuse.”
I stay quiet, refusing to make this easy for him.
“The thing is,” James continues, “if it makes you feel any better, our prick of a dad’s never home anymore anyway.
My parents refuse to get divorced because of money and status, but Mum’s fucking her therapist, basically living with a new family, and God knows what he’s doing up at the country estate.
He’s there all the time now… I can barely get a meeting with him. ”
Cry me a river, I want to say. But I stay quiet, shifting on my bare feet, which are getting cold in the damp grass.
“He’s cut me off completely,” James says, his voice turning bitter like it was last night.
“Why do you think I fight in that piece of shit basement? The controlling bastard’s even cutting off Mum’s spending too.
Keeping us both on a leash. And then to hear him go on and on about you… how you’re everything I’m not, well…”
“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”
He drags his hand through his hair again and meets my gaze. “No… that’s not why I came. I’m just—I don’t know. I’m sorry, alright?”
A noise comes from the entrance—Mum being nosey.
I wonder briefly if she knew who James was before letting him into her home.
I turn back to him—my brother. The word feels all wrong to describe him.
Damon and Jasper—they’re my brothers. In everything but blood.
This piece of rubbish can crawl back to whatever Mayfair penthouse he came from.
“Your time is up.” I gesture to the street where his shiny BMW sits parked along the curb, my gaze cold and unforgiving.
He walks toward his car then pauses at the gate. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I got to meet you. It’s him we should hate, not each other.”
I have enough hate for both of you.
When I look up he’s already pulling away.
I head inside, where Mum’s standing by the stove, pretending she’s been there the whole time. Without a word, I grab a bag of peas from the freezer, and sit at the table with a groan. Mum places a hot cuppa in front of me without me having to ask.
“Thanks.”
“Extra strong. You look like you need it.”
I sip, letting the hot liquid slide down my throat, waking me up, while holding the peas on my head with my free hand. She drops two paracetamol next to my mug and takes a seat across from me.
“Do you know who that was?” I ask. She mulls it over for a moment, sipping her tea, avoiding my gaze. “Mum?”
“Yes,” she admits. “I’ve never met the young man, but of course I knew who he was. Alfred’s shown me plenty of photographs over the years.”
I struggle to keep my jaw closed. “What is this relationship you have with the man that abandoned us? That barely helped support me until I turned eighteen?”
“Leon, I—”
“Nevermind, Mum. I have work to do,” I say, getting up from the table. “Thanks for the tea and the meds.”
She scrambles up, wrapping her hand around my wrist. “Son, wait.”
I sigh, not in the mood for this shit right now, but face her anyway. “What is it?”
“James—he came here to warn you. Last night—whatever it was that had both you boys looking like you’d been through hell, well... he overheard something.”
I set the bag of peas down and give her my full attention. “What kind of something?”
“After the fight, he was getting patched up when he overheard a few associates of your father. They were talking about you. I don’t know what they said, but James wanted to tell you to be careful.”
I shrug and pick up the peas again, pressing them against my temple. “I can handle myself, Mum.”
“Leon—”
“I’m fine. Really.” I turn, taking my tea with me. “I’m going to get some work done upstairs.”
Once I’m behind my closed door, the guilt hits me. I feel like shit for treating Mum badly, but what does she expect? I can’t deal with that right now. Especially not while my head is still pounding.
I pull out my phone and read through my texts with Bailey. They help me feel better, more centered. I stop before the messages from that night. Reading those right now would only make things worse.
Before I can go back to sleep for a few hours, something that James said bugs me. I pull up my search engines and type in his name, along with all the other details I know offhand about him.
There’s the usual hits. Private school photos where he’s posing with rowing teams and debate clubs. University announcements about academic achievements. A few society page mentions at charity galas, always photographed next to Alfred, looking like the perfect father-son duo.
But then I find the more interesting stuff.
An article from two years ago about a gambling ring bust at his university. I have to scan a few paragraphs to find his name. He’s listed as a student who was questioned but not charged. Then further down, another article about him being asked to leave Cambridge after an undisclosed incident.
Wonder what that could have been?
The most recent hit is from six months ago.
I open it, blinking against the brightness on my screen.
There’s a brief mention in a financial gossip column about young Colter and his mounting gambling debts at several London clubs.
Looks like they’ve been enjoying speculating about whether Alfred would continue bailing him out.
I shut my computer down and flop into bed.
I’m not surprised Alfred cut him off. And no wonder James looked so desperate last night when he was talking about fighting for money. The bigger they are, the harder they fall and all that.
At least now I finally understand why my half brother ended up in that basement. We’re both trying to escape Alfred’s shadow. I just chose a different way to do it.