Chapter 9
I have a short day today. I hate it when I’m not busy, especially now, because I can’t get that snake out of my head. I don’t like how Derren treats Scott. I can’t get this awful feeling that’s niggling me to subside. This isn’t going to end well. It’s crawling in my bones, and I can’t settle.
Scott’s so sweet but na?ve. I don’t want to see him taken advantage of.
I know guys like Derren. I am guys like Derren.
The only difference is the people I fuck know that I’m not interested in anything long-term.
I don’t claim to be anything I’m not. I’m a fuckboy, plain and simple. I fuck. I don’t feel, and I move on.
My mind won’t quieten, constantly racing, wondering how I can save Scott before he gets his heart or his face broken.
Part of me wants to swoop in and save him, but I also know if I push too hard on this, it could shove him into Dickhead’s arms, and I could lose him.
I’m too hot for prison, but for Scott, I would do time.
I need to hit something, and if I don’t do it in a controlled environment, that something could be Derren’s face, and then anything could happen.
I snatch my duffel bag out of my car and head into the gym to spar. It’s an MMA gym, grimy, dingy, and weathered, not some corporate shiny gym with a million different machines. Impact gym is held together with duct tape, spit and sheer grit and determination.
Jerry has been my male role model since I was a kid.
He took me under his wing when I was getting into trouble.
When I was bullied for not having a dad, for not having what everyone else had.
Trouble just seemed to follow me. I didn’t feel like I missed out, though.
Mum has always been everything I’ve ever needed.
One day after school, I was being chased and ended up running in here, looking for somewhere to hide.
The door opened as someone left, and I darted in, crashing straight into Jerry and falling on my skinny ass.
The other kids skidded in behind me. He just stood there.
They scrambled to get outside and then waited for hours.
Jerry said if I wanted to hide in here, I could, but it would cost me, and I could clean the mats and keep the gym tidy.
I thought that was great until I was cleaning blood, puke, and teeth. I put in the hours, and he eventually decided to train me. I had no friends, no one other than Mum, until I went to secondary school and met Steven. Things started to ease off after that. But Jerry still let me carry on.
I occasionally do fights for him to raise money for the gym.
He will never tell me I owe him, but I do.
I don’t know where I’d be without him. I’ve got a fight coming up.
It’s my way of giving back. I can raise a shit-ton of money in one night.
I have to be more careful now that I own the shop.
I can’t afford to get injured and lose out, but the money is too good to pass up.
“Killer!” Jerry yells from the back as I push through the doors. I chuckle. It was Jerry who gave me that name when I fell at his feet. All those years ago, he crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. “Where you going in a hurry, Killer?” It stuck, although I’m not a scrawny kid anymore.
“Good to see you, Jerry. You make out like it’s been ages, but you see me most days.” I laugh and toss my bag down as he comes over, arms outstretched. I reach him in a few strides, hugging him tight. “It’s really good to see you, Jerry.”
“So, what are you doing here today? Training? Blowing off steam? Pent-up sexual tension?” He waggles his eyebrows at me, giving me a suggestive smirk.
I bark out a laugh. “All of the above, mate.” He grins, clapping me on the back.
“Don’t you think you should start to settle down. You ain’t getting any younger.”
I glare at him before shaking my head. “Fuck off, I’ll settle down when you do.”
The laughter erupts from him. I’ve never seen him with a lady friend.
I’ve seen women try, especially back in the day, and even now, he looks fucking good for his age, that whole silver-fox thing—beard and a few tattoos done by me over the years.
He let me practise on him when I started my apprenticeship.
Jerry believed in me even back then. He kept me out of trouble.
In return, I fight to keep the gym funded and the doors open to kids like me.
The no-ones and the underdogs. Those who, without Jerry, would end up in jail or dead.
Now I’m more than motivated. I need to get some of this tension out before I beat Derren to a pulp.
I mean, I thought Scott had more sense than that; he’s the smartest guy I know.
He could really go somewhere and do something special with his life.
He’s so fucking intelligent, and he’s just gonna end up wasted if he stays here, especially if he stays here with him.
When it comes to this fucking dickhead, he seems to be the worst judge of character.
He’s the dumbest smart person I know, and I don’t know how to stop the car crash from happening.
I shake my head and wrap my knuckles. I step up to the bag that’s got more tape on it than leather right now. It’s been here longer than I’ve been coming, and I start to warm up. I pass the hours, sweating and beating the bag, sparring with a few of the regulars who want a taste of Killer.
I shake my head, and then when I think I’m done, Jerry brings me the mop. Fucker. I mop the floors and tidy up, picking up the towels and tossing them into the crate. I pick up all the tape remnants from the floor and trim the loose bits from the bags before re-stacking the weights.
In the middle of the gym, I stand and turn slowly, checking to make sure there’s nothing out of place before heading up to the office, which sits on a mezzanine above the gym.
“Hey, Jerry, I’m heading out.”
“Feel better?” He tosses the paperwork in his hands on the desk and stares at me.
“Not really.”
“You wanna talk?”
“Nah, it’s not my issue, just Scott. He’s kinda getting swept in with the wrong type of guy.”
“What type is the wrong type?” He eyes me curiously.
“Horny douchebag. I think he’s the type who will get a little handsy if you know what I mean?”
“You need anything, let me know.” I nod and turn to leave.
“Killer.” My gaze snaps back to his, “Don’t do anything stupid. If you wanted him for yourself, you could have had him. Don’t ruin this for him if it’s just jealousy.”
I turn back. “What the fuck, Jerry? Scott’s like my little brother. That is fucking gross. He’s a kid.”
“But he isn’t, is he? He’s always had a crush on you. This guy wouldn’t happen to look like a cheap imitation of you, would he?” He smirks at me, and I grimace.
“No.” I spit, but then I think. “No, he doesn’t, and Scott has never. We’re family, Jerry. I’m just looking out for him. He’s like my kid brother.”
He holds his hands up. “If you say so.”
“I do. Night, Jerry.” I turn and head downstairs. The tension I’ve just released is now back in full force. Me, jealous? Fuck off. It’s definitely not like that, not one little bit.
I storm out, tossing my bag into the boot of the car and slamming the driver’s door.
I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, staring across the street, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the thought of Scott having a crush on me.
I would have known. It’s never been like that.
I resign myself to the fact Jerry must be suffering from some mental illness before I drive out of the car park and head back home.
I need food and a shower. And I need a good fuck to clear my head.
A few hours later, I’m fed and clean, heading into the city. There are a few great bars that cater to my needs: alcohol, men, women, and sex. I need a blowout or at least a blow job.
I step out of the Uber and head to the front of the queue.
The bouncer nods and removes the chain, letting me straight through.
“Dude, it’s fucking good to see you, man.
” He grins as he shakes my hand, and we bump shoulders in a half-hug.
They all know me. Most of them have won big, betting on me. I walk past them and into the venue.
The bar is loud and dark, with sprays of bright lights flying around the dancefloor, lighting up faces before flicking to another area.
It’s a whole vibe, and I head straight for the bar.
The cage dancers are suspended above the stage, gyrating and putting on a show.
And fuck, they’re hot. I stand and stare, mesmerised for a while before I make my way to the bar. I grab a beer and a tequila.
After tossing back the shot, I turn, rest my elbows on the bar and stare out at the crowd.
Watching, waiting, looking for someone to scratch an itch.
The great part about having no label for my sexuality is that literally anyone will do.
I don’t do relationships. I’m a free spirit.
I like to play the field, to have fun. I don’t like the confines of labels, preferring the vibe I get when I see someone or just feel a spark, just a small flicker of something.
I stare out into the abyss and move a little to the beat, locking eyes with a group of women on the dancefloor: loud, obnoxious and perfect for snacking on.
They draw me in. I smile, and one of them notices me, but before I get to them, one of the dancers climbs down from the cage.
He’s slim, with dark hair, petite, and I change my course because he looks like a whole damned meal.
“Hey, beautiful,” he gasps and spins around to face me. His dark hair flops into his face, and he tucks it behind his ear.
“Hi,” he whispers. Giving me a tentative smile, the confidence he exuded while in the cage is long gone, and he seems shy, but fuck, he is cute.
“You on a break?” I smile at him.
He shakes his head. “I, erm, I’ve just finished for the night.”