21. Colson
TWENTY-ONE
COLSON
Aunt Bess: Just checking in.
Aunt Bess: I know you’re mad at me.
Aunt Bess: I never wanted you to find out like this.
I push through Gulliver’s entrance and catch Kelsie’s greeting out of the corner of my eye. I don’t let myself feel bad for being a prick and ignoring her. I’m not here to play nice with Llewellyn’s new employee. I’m here for Eli.
His words from weeks ago popped up in my head—yet again—after confirming my thoughts on Clyde as my biological father and Finn as my half brother. Both drove the last nail in the coffin.
I have to do something besides drink it away. I don’t want to carry on the Moore addiction lineage, but I also can’t sit still and just work my shifts at Gulliver’s.
The gym is bustling. A couple of guys and a few women are on the ellipticals. Two people are in the ring and a few dudes are around it, training with different boxing equipment. I make my way around, adrenaline pumping through me as if I’m about to jump out of an airplane. And hell, maybe I am, in a figurative sense.
Life certainly has felt that way lately, but I’m almost certain that what I’m about to do is going to help with that. It’ll calm the commotion in my head, giving me the intermittent reprieves I’m so desperate for.
I find Eli in the back corner with his trainer. He’s focused on the bag in front of him, his gloved hands protecting his face. His stance is stellar, and his gaze holds enough weight to set the leather on fire. I get close and nod a chin at him. He lowers his hand and tells his trainer he’s taking five minutes.
“This is a new development,” he comments, tugging his gloves off his meaty hands. Christ, the dude is all muscle. I remember back to what it was like watching him on Gauntlet Sundays. I haven’t been back to one since I paid off Finn. I never planned on needing cash that badly again. Now, it’s not about money but something much harder to attain. Peace.
“I want to take you up on your offer,” I tell him, ignoring the nerves gnawing at me. “I want in the ring.”
He glances over his shoulder at the one in the center of Gulliver’s where the sound of one of the guys taking the other down on his back ricochets through the gym. Eli tucks his gloves under his armpit and crosses his arms. “You want in the ring?”
“Don’t think I stuttered.”
He cracks a grin and levels with me. “You sure about this?”
“Would I be here if I wasn’t?”
“You want in that ring?” he questions, gesturing back at it. “Or any ring?”
“Don’t care where the ring is as long as I can get inside of it and get my hands dirty.”
“I train here,” he tells me as if I don’t already know that. “I get my hands dirty somewhere else.”
“Okay, care to share?” I rest my hands on my hips. So much adrenaline is coursing through my legs it’s like I’m going through a bout of restless leg syndrome as I stand in front of him.
He openly sizes me up, eyes scanning me head to toe. “Not sure if I should.”
“Why?”
“Still trying to get a read on if you can be trusted.”
You know what? I don’t need this shit. Why the hell walk up to me and offer just to let me down by expressing his lack of trust in me when I’m finally ready?
“Forget it.” I twist on my heel, ready to weave my way back outside and leave. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll show for my shifts and stay after to work out every goddamn day if it’s what helps.
“Wait up,” Eli calls out when I make it two boxing bags down. He stares me down as he catches up to me. “All I’m saying is I don’t know you that well.”
“We went to school together,” I remind him, calling him on his bullshit.
“That don’t mean shit.”
“Cool,” I twist on my heel again. If he can’t give me what I want, there’s no point in sticking around. “See you around.”
“Jesus fuck, would you just wait ? ” He huffs out an annoyed breath. Welcome to the fucking club. I’m annoyed, too. “I got something I think you might be interested in, but it’s exclusive. Can’t go telling your girlfriend what you’re doing.”
That’s easy. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“You got your phone on you?”
I pull it out of my pocket to show him.
“Add my number.” He reads off his digits. “I’m almost done. Wait for me out in the parking lot, and I’ll tell you more about it.”
I make sure to save his contact and double check that it’s there. Whatever I’m about to get into can’t be any worse than what I’m currently enduring.
I don’t know what I was expecting when Eli dropped me the location ping to meet him where we are now. It’s like Gauntlet Sundays but more stripped. Like street fighting but also not. He refers to it as The Battleground where dudes go up against each other and the crowds bet on them.
I watch two men fight until their faces turn bloody, and the crowd cheers, albeit some of them boo. The losers, I assume. Three more matches occur, the last one being Eli, who goes up against a guy who never had a fucking chance.
Eli is a force to be reckoned with far behind what he showcased during Gauntlet Sundays. He’s meaner, strikes harder, and draws blood every instance he can. He’s a madman, light on his feet but heavy with his fists. His opponent wails until he’s a writhing mess on the ground.
We’re in a shut-down gym, mirrors lining the walls. Only there isn’t a ring here like there is at Gulliver’s. It’s just a solid slab of concrete. I catch all the drippings of blood on it as Eli stalks off, taking his place next to a group of guys who look like they’re banded together.
After the crowd winds down, Eli finds me. I follow him as winnings are doled out. All I’m interested in is figuring out how I can find my place in a fight. Even if it’s just one, it’ll help a hell of a lot more than anything else.
I need to get rid of this clawing sensation in my gut and the way it hangs around like a kid brother. The heat of alcohol didn’t drown it out as much as I wanted and left me feeling like literal crap the next day.
This has to be the next best form of physical pain.
It’s easy to see that most of the guys Eli stands near are stoked. They get cash slapped into their hands and their eyes go heart-shaped. Like they’re at the end of the rainbow and just got a brick of gold placed in their palm.
“Give me a sec,” Eli mouths to me when he makes eye contact and holds up a finger. I wait on the sidelines, taking it all in. After long, he comes over and motions us toward the back of the gym. It’s dark, illuminated with just enough light to see the fights. The front windows are barricaded with oversized curtains but it’s night, so even if the sun was out, it’d have no way to stream in.
We find a separate room that looks like it was used for extra stock. It houses a washer and dryer along with empty shelves.
“Tommy is going to meet us here in a minute. It’s not exactly a professional setting, but this is how it goes. Locations are only used for so long. Either until a better one is found or someone snitches.”
I nod. “Who’s Tommy?” I cross my arms and lean against the washing machine, my eyes facing the door, because I’m not about to turn my back on a situation I’m not one hundred percent comfortable with.
“He’s our boss. He brings guys in and sets up fights with the other leaders in The Battleground.”
I quirk a brow. “So, he’s your pimp?”
Eli chuckles like he didn’t just get done beating the shit out of someone. My gaze drops to his knuckles. They’re split to shit with blood smeared down over his fingers. Fuck, he really has made fighting his entire life. It reminds me of how much I’ve been fighting, though most of my battles haven’t required my fists.
“That’s one way to put it, but don’t let him hear you say that.”
A moment later, the door creaks and in walks Tommy. He’s older than Eli and me with a dimpled chin and short black hair. His brows are permanently set in a scowl, the wrinkles there giving away his overall attitude. His nose comes down to a point, but the bone is slightly misshapen as if it’s been broken.
“Eli.” He says it like he’s giving Eli permission to speak. I ignore the red flag it raises.
“This is the good friend I was telling you about.”
Tommy sizes me up, sinking his hands into his coat pockets. “A good friend,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.
“A trustworthy friend,” Eli counters.
That seems to get Tommy’s attention more. He nods at me. “What do you want with The Battleground?”
I glance over at Eli then back. “I want to fight.”
“To fight,” he enunciates the words, ending with a harsh ‘t’ sound. “Not everyone has what it takes. Why should I take a chance on you? I don’t trust just anyone to mosey in and fight under my name.”
“You probably shouldn’t,” I answer honestly. I haven’t been myself and so perhaps it’d be a bad business move for Tommy to bring me in but… “If you don’t take the chance, I’ll make sure someone else does.”
I don’t know what I’m saying or even who that someone else would be. I don’t have connections in this scene, but it doesn’t matter because it sparks a glimmer in Tommy’s eyes.
“I run a tight ship, which means you always show up for your scheduled fights. Your job is to provide entertainment for the crowd and make me money. You decide to go against me any step of the way, and you’ll wish you never stepped foot into The Battleground.”
I ignore the fact he says me and not us.
“If business suddenly starts to go south, I’m going to link it all back to you, pretty boy,” Tommy continues. “You’ll be the one who pays hell for it, and if it just so happens that it turns out that it isn’t you.” He shrugs. “I’ll still enjoy breaking the legs off you and the other guy.”
“Nothing is going to go south,” I assure. Why the fuck would I rat him out when I’m desperate to find myself in a similar position as Eli was only a bit ago?
He bypasses my promise. “I care about two things. Money and loyalty. You fuck me out of either of those…”
And I’ll suffer the consequences .
Yeah, I get it. Loud and fucking clear.
“I can fight, and my loyalty is unmatched.” I mean, look at Mom. Despite her betraying me, I still showed up and paid her debts like a fool.
Tommy keeps his hands in his pockets and continues to stare at me. I feel the weight of his eyes but like hell if he thinks it’s going to break me. Besides, that’d almost be impossible since I’m already in pieces to begin with.
“Eli, what do you think?” Tommy inquires. “Should I give him an opportunity to prove himself? Should I let The Battleground swallow him up?”
Eli just smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. The hardness that took over in the ring melts off him. “I think Pretty Boy deserves a chance. I’ve seen him with a boxing bag, and it’s not a pretty sight.”
“You enter the mouth of the beast,” Tommy says to me. “He won’t spit you out, and if you’re one of the lucky few he doesn’t want, it still won’t matter. You won’t be whole by the end of it.”
An out isn’t something that’s on my mind. But even if it was, being mangled beyond anything I ever knew wouldn’t be new or scary for me. It’d just be another day in the long tumultuous life of Colson Moore.