24. Chapter 24
twenty-four
C onnor Carson was worried. Not for himself, but for his soccer teammates.
Brad Norris wasn’t one of his buddies, but he was an okay guy. Or at least, he had been, prior to using whatever he was on. And, he was one of their team’s best forwards, which meant that if he screwed himself, he screwed the team.
Not only that, the dumbass was, at this very moment, busy trying to talk one of the other guys into copying him, and thus screwing himself too.
Neither of them knew Con was behind the locker room door, while they stood right outside it. He’d come back in to get his wet towel from the showers, because his mom had assured him he was going to start paying for any he lost.
“I’m telling ya,” Brad was saying, his voice hushed but excited. “This shit is ah-mazing. I have so much stamina and power, I feel like the frickin’ Hulk out there. Did you see the way I took the ball away from Carson?”
‘Yeah, because you were ready to body-slam me if I hadn’t gotten out of the way,’ Con thought sourly. Coach had yelled at Brad for a solid minute, too. Guess the fool didn’t remember that part.
“It ain’t some nasty powder, or horse-pills like them natural vitamins my ma’s always tryin’ to get me to take, is it?” the other kid asked. Hicks Parson, Con knew that hint of a Texas drawl.
“That’s the best part. It’s just fruit chews–like candy, man.”
“So how do I get some?” Hicks asked. “I hope it don’t cost too much, ‘cause I’m savin’ to take Cynda to prom.”
“Nah, it’s crazy cheap.”
Con scowled to himself. That didn’t sound right. Wasn’t what his dad had told him, and his dad knew that shit, ‘cause the Flyers were hooked in to intel.
Anyway, didn’t matter, his teammates could not be doing illegals.
He had to do something.
"Marcus." At the sound of his name, Heavy looked up from his office computer, a frown already forming on his face. Britt, because no one else called him by his given name around here, especially not in that sharp tone, as if he should instantly focus all his attention on her, ready to hop to.
Once, she'd said his name in an entirely different tone. 'Cause then, she'd wanted something from him all right, but it had been something he was happy to give--sex. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard that low purr in her voice, or seen the come-hither gleam in her eyes.
But he no longer cared. Even the sight of her, her long lean body showcased in a tight, sleeveless, black dress, her perfectly round tits nearly busting out of the neckline, and her bare legs on display in high-heeled sandals, hair perfect, makeup perfect... she left him cold.
And wishing she was a feisty little blonde with flashing eyes and an ass that would not quit.
"Britt," he said, knowing his voice revealed his lack of enthusiasm, and not caring one damn bit.
She strode into his office, and closed the door behind her. Heavy glanced across the gym and saw a couple working out on the mats, and a couple of high-school boys doing dead-lifts. The ginger kid needed to correct his form. Heavy would get rid of Britt and go help him with that.
"Marcus," Britt said again, in a way that said she couldn't believe his attention wasn't on her.
He looked back at her, and hit a button to lock his laptop. Then he sat back and crossed his arms. "Yeah? What do you want, Britt?"
She tipped her head, giving him a look that said he should know why she was here, and should be begging to help her with that. "Marcus, you look so tired. Running this place by yourself, no wonder."
He smirked. "If I look tired, it's because I was up late last night at the clubhouse. And I'm not running this place by myself."
He thought of Cassie, bustling around the gym, tidying up dropped towels and wiping fingerprint smudges off the windows, looking sexy in her black workout tights and logo-ed tee, and his smile widened.
Britt batted her fake lashes at him, and moved closer, so he got a whiff of her perfume. Christ, that shit was strong.
Then she put her hand on his arm and stroked it, her burgundy nails sparkling against his skin. Her hand felt clammy, as if she were nervous about something.
"Right,” she said. "You need good help in here. Someone who --"
He gave her a sardonic look. "Someone who thinks it's okay to bone you on my desk?"
She flinched and her eyes widened.
‘Yeah, Jason didn't tell you I knew about that, did he?’ he thought. Maybe now that she knew he knew, she’d give up on whatever mission she was on here, and go away so he could finish checking his figures.
But unbelievably, Britt did not give up. In fact, she leaned in even closer, her tits inches from his face, her grip tightening on his arm.
"Marcus, that didn't mean anything," she chided, giving him a sultry smile. "You know you're twice the lover he is."
Heavy did not give a single fuck about whether he or some other guy got her off better. That had never been what they were about.
He opened his mouth to tell her this, and of course, that was when the bell on the wall chimed, to let him know someone had entered the front doors. He caught a flash of blonde hair and a lime green top whisking around the end of the reception desk, and sighed to himself. Two more minutes, and he'd have had Britt on her way and gone.
But no, Cassie had to walk in when Britt was draped over him like a damn blanket.
The door of his office opened, and Cassie stopped in the opening, hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.
"There a good reason why this bitch is almost in your lap?" she demanded. "She take up stripping, and wants to show you how she does a lap dance?"
He could not help it--he grinned at her, even as he held up in hands to show he wasn't the one hanging on to Britt. "No, baby. She had some other reason for stopping by. But I don't wanna hear it, so she was just leaving."
Britt straightened, tossing her hair. "Tell your little club groupie she needs to watch who she's calling names," she snapped.
Cassie returned the look with a disdain that made Heavy's grin widen. Damn, she looked like a little biker queen, facing down a club hang-around.
"All I need to watch is your skinny ass going out the front door," she told Britt, gesturing with a thumb toward the front of the gym. "Seeing as how Jason no longer works here. And you're with him now, right? You must be, since you rode him like a cowgirl on Heavy's desk."
"Marcus sells my product," Britt said haughtily, although if he was judging—which hell, he totally was—she didn't pull it off nearly as well as Cassie. "And this happens to be a private conversation. So why don’t you clean the restrooms, or whatever it is you do here."
Heavy winced, ready to leap to his feet in case Cassie took this insult-fest to the physical level, which Flyer old ladies were known to do when provoked enough.
But Cassie merely rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I clean an occasional restroom here," she said, her voice patient as if she were speaking to a small child. "Because unlike your fuck-buddy Jason, I'm not a complete waste of my Heavy Iron tee-shirt. I believe in this gym. So like Heavy does, I do whatever is necessary to make this place run well."
Heavy wanted to haul her into his arms, and kiss her until they were both panting. Then he wanted to drape her over this desk and fuck her till she screamed his name.
Unfortunately, Britt wasn't done. She laid her hand on Heavy's arm again and sidled closer to him. "And I give Marcus what he needs in more intimate ways," she hissed. "So he doesn't need you for that. Not that he would, anyway. You want a man like him to look at you, maybe try eating a salad instead of all those extra French fries."
Twin flags of color flamed in Cassie's cheeks, but she kept her cool. Pride filled Heavy's chest as she calmly raised her brows and smirked at Britt.
"Really? You think I want to be a skinny-ass skank like you? Think hard, bitch. When was the last time 'Marcus' asked you to give him any of that, hmm? Been a while, right? It would be, seeing as how he's with me now. And the things he says about my ass when he's inside me... you'll never hear from him."
Britt sucked in a hiss of shock and rage.
Heavy wanted to throw back his head and give a shout of laughter at the way Cassie had read the woman her rights. But he needed to end this before his clients got free ringside seats to an all out catfight.
"All right, ladies, we're done here," Heavy said. Shrugging Britt off, he rose. He planted his hand on her skinny back and urged her toward the office door. "Britt, I'm not hiring Jason back, now or ever. And if he's askin' you to speak for him, he needs to man up--pronto."
Her brows shot together, and her frown turned almost fearful. She put her hand on his chest, and he removed it. She hardly seemed to notice. "But, Marcus--"
"No," he repeated. "We’re done."
"I meant, I need to deliver your product," she snapped.
"Fine," he gritted. "Do that."
She stomped out of the gym to her car, parked at the curb. Heavy turned to Cassie, still standing in the door of his office. She eyed him like she’d changed her mind and was about to bolt.
"So," he drawled. "We're together now, huh? Thought you were the one wanted to keep it on the down-low."
She wrinkled her nose and shifted, but instead of bolting, she moved closer to him, putting a hand on his chest. And unlike when Britt had touched him, Cassie's touch felt good, really good. She looked up at him, her expression almost shy. "I know, I did. But now... maybe it's time we changed that."
He put his hands on her hips, and squeezed gently. "Fine with me, pixie."
Her gaze moved past his shoulder, and she wrinkled her nose. "Here she comes again. We'll talk later."
"Oh, we'll do that, and a lot more," he promised, anticipation igniting deep in his groin. From the way her pupils dilated, she felt it too.
Britt dropped the logoed box of supplements on the counter with a thud, and gave him a sour look. "Here."
"Thanks," Heavy said. He opened his mouth to tell her this would be the last delivery he'd need from her or her company. But she surprised him by walking around the end of the counter, toward his office. "I left my purse," she explained with a wave of her hand.
"Okay, grab it and go," he said. The heavy thud of a big weight hitting a mat caught his attention, and his head snapped around as he scowled across the gym. One of the teen boys had dropped the dead-lift bar, laden with heavy weights. Absolutely not okay in his gym. "'Scuse me," he muttered to Cassie. "Gotta go take care of this."
“Sure, go.” She was already smiling at a couple approaching the desk. As Heavy walked away, they began to chat with Cassie. She was great with gym clients of all ages, so he didn't hesitate to leave her to them.
He worked with the two teens for a few moments, demonstrating how to position for a dead lift, and which muscles to concentrate on. They hung on his words, nodding eagerly, and then he had them each try a couple. He nodded his approval. "All right, guys. You got it. Oh, and try not to drop the weights, yeah? It rattles the older clients." He shared a chuckle with them, and headed back to the desk, where Cassie was waiting.
He'd noted out of the corner of his eye as Britt’s flashy red Lexus pulled away from in front of the gym.
Stopping at the reception desk, he looked to Cassie. "Did Britt get her purse?"
"No," she said. "She said she must've left it in her car after all. But if I were you, I'd check your office for spy cameras. Wouldn't put it past her to plant one so she can keep an eye on you. She seems to be having a leetle trouble letting go."
"That was just her claws coming out," he said. "She already knew damn well we were done. Besides, I'm done caring what that bitch says. You, on the other hand--" he grinned at her. "You were fierce. 'It's been a while, right? Seein' as how he's with me now,'" he mimicked.
She clapped a hand over his mouth. "Stop," she breathed, her cheeks pink again as she looked around them. "Someone will hear you."
He chuckled against her fingers. "Oh, you mean if I repeat your filthy talk, huh? My dirty little pixie."
“That was not filthy talk,” she immediately retorted.
“Sure it was. ‘Cause we both know what you meant, don’t we?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes drooping, and he pulled her hand to one side and bent to give her a quick, soft kiss.
“Yeah, we do,” he growled. “Later, pixie.”
Stick called church on Saturday morning, a time when all the Flyers could be there.
“We got problems,” Cooler told them. “Con overheard a couple of his soccer teammates. Star players, good kids. One was offering the other some of this drug the athletes are gettin’ into. He says they’re putin’ it in fruit chews, like candy, so it even tastes good. And now we got a name,” he added sourly. “They’re callin’ it ‘hero’.”
“The hell you say,” Pete muttered in disgust. “That’s twisted.”
“Agree,” Cooler snarled. “About the most twisted moniker anyone coulda come up with. But the point is, it’s here, and how in the fuck is it gettin’ out?” He smacked his fists on the table so hard that Stick’s gavel and plate rattled, along with the empty plate and fork from T’s breakfast.
Snake rubbed his hands over his face, bleary-eyed as if simply he’d rolled out of bed and headed to the clubhouse, which Heavy figured was about right. “Heavy, you sure you ain’t handin’ out happy chews at the front desk o’ your gym, or somethin’?” he rasped.
“What?” Heavy nearly came out of his chair, hot fury blowing up through him so fast and hard he was surprised the top of his head didn’t come off. “You accusing me of passing this shit to vulnerable kids? That what you’re saying?”
Snake reared back in his chair, bleary eyes wide, mouth open. “Ahh …” the aging biker looked cagily from Heavy to Stick, who sat watching impassively, and back again. “Nah. ‘Course not. Just sayin’, be the easiest way, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure, except I’d rather hand in my cut than ever give that shit to vulnerable kids,” Heavy growled. “Grew up watchin’ my old man, older brother and my ma throw their lives away on everything they could drink, snort or otherwise get down. Got out, never looked back. And I would. Never. Do. That. To. Kids.”
When he was done, his words hung in the thick air, and he was shocked to realize that he was shaking with the force of his emotion.
“And your actions show that, brother,” Rocker said, his deep voice calm in the thick silence. “Never seen you touch anything but alcohol at the club.”
“And them kids at the gym worship your ass,” T-Bear put in, nodding emphatically at him across the big table.
“Also, pretty sure he considers even sugar an illicit substance,” Rav drawled. “Never seen him so much as sniff a dessert at club barbecues. Now that’s what I call self-discipline, turning down Sara’s chocolate cream pie.”
“Yeah,” Moke agreed solemnly. “’Cause that shit is good. And so are my Shelle’s peanut-butter bars, which he won’t touch.”
“Yeah, you’re all hilarious,” Cooler cut in. “But the point is, these kids are gettin’ this hero shit somewhere, and we gotta find where, stat.”
“Gotta find some way to shake down a kid we know is usin’. Get him to talk,” Bouncer put in.
“We can’t be puttin’ the hurt on a damn kid,” Rocker said.
Bouncer shrugged. “Never said nothin’ about hurt. Just scare him some. For his own good anyways, ain’t it?”
No one could argue with that.
“You get caught doing that, you’re going down hard,” advised Streak, the club attorney. “And it will blow back on the club, big time.”
“Then don’t get caught,” Bouncer retorted.
“Fine advice, as always, brother,” Stick said dryly. “All right, let’s vote. We move on this as a club, or no?”
A short time later, it was decided, and unanimously after all. The Devil’s Flyers would act together, on this as on other issues they deemed crucial to the good of their community and families.
They would do whatever it took to find who was pushing ‘hero’ in their territory, and take them down.
A few days later, Heavy was working with three young lifters.
Toby was working the desk. He was supposed to be folding clean gym towels in between checking clients in, but as far as Heavy could see, spent more time thumbing his phone than anything else. Damn, he’d looked good on paper, but was Heavy ever gonna find good, reliable help?
Sighing to himself, Heavy turned his attention back to his lifters, just in time to see one of them straining to lift the bar with nearly twice what it should hold. The other two were eying him, one shaking his head.
“Chaz,” he said sharply. “No way. You can hurt your back trying to lift that much weight at your age.”
To his shock, instead of grinning abashedly and nodding, the usual response when caught trying to overdo, the ginger glared at him, fists clenched and a mottled flush of anger rising up over his chest, throat and face. “I can do this,” the kid nearly shouted, his voice cracking. “I gotta get big!”
“Not all in a weekend, you don’t,” Heavy said firmly. “Chaz, you’ve made great progress,, you’re looking good. But we do this in easy steps, remember? Also, you don’t raise your voice that way in here. Now take five, go get a drink of water, walk it off.”
The kid faced off with him for a few tense seconds, and then with a growl, turned and stalked off to the locker rooms.
“What an a-hole,” muttered the tallest of the three, Miko Lee.
“He been acting like this at school?” Heavy asked him.
Miko nodded, but the other kid’s gaze shifted away.
“Seth?” Heavy prompted the chunky blond kid. Seth flushed, and shrugged uneasily. “I dunno.”
“You know he has,” Miko said quietly. Seth glared at him, and Miko screwed his mouth to one side, but he shut up.
The short hairs on the back of Heavy’s neck stood up. Something was up with Chaz, and these two knew what it was. Miko might talk, if Heavy could get him alone. But Heavy knew better than to push—they’d shut down, kids against a nosy adult.
“All right, guys,” he said quietly. “Let’s do a couple more reps, and then call it good for today.”
Twenty minutes later, he sent the two off to the locker rooms to shower, and took out his own phone, opening a text to Cooler and Rocker.
HeavyIron:‘Cn we meet? 1 my liftrs may b hero’
RockStarBro: ‘Sure. @ gym?’
UnCoolBro: ‘Symptms??’
HeavyIron: ‘@ gym. Trid 2 lift 2 much then raged out. Not lik ths kid. His buds kno smthn but wnt tlk.’
His phone buzzed with two incoming messages, but Heavy looked up, all senses alert as footsteps pounded in the hallway.
Miko emerged at a dead run, arms wheeling, eyes wide with panic.
“Coach! Coach!” he screamed hoarsely. “It’s Chaz—he’s down, he’s down! Some kinda seizure or something!”
Heavy stiffened. “I got this,” he said. He twisted and called over his shoulder. “Toby, call 911. Medical emergency, possible overdose, give ‘em our address. Then bring me the Narcan kit on the wall in my office. You got it?”
“Uh, uh yeah,” the slender kid, now pale and wide-eyed, stuttered, and bent over his phone. The rest of the people in the gym stopped what they were doing to watch, some at once, some gradually as they noticed the unusual activity, and pulled off their headphones.
Heavy was already on the move, running toward the locker room. “Miko,” he said, grabbing the kid by the arm and hauling him bodily along. “You did good. Now tell me what he’s on.”
In tears, Miko told him.
Heavy had been right–Chaz was on ‘hero’. And as he dropped to his knees beside the kid now lying on the floor of his locker room, rigid but shaking, groaning and choking on his own drool, Heavy wished with all his heart he’d been wrong.
He turned the kid onto his side so he hopefully wouldn’t aspirate saliva or anything else, and shoved a towel under his head. “Chaz, I’ve got you,” he said, unsure the kid could even hear him. “Help is on the way.”
He took the kit Toby handed him, administered the nasal spray, but could see no visible effects from it. Well, nothing to do but wait for medical help. And search Chaz’ bag, see what was in it.
He had Miko go and grab the bag, and go through it as Heavy watched over Chaz and what Miko found. But Miko shook his head. “There’s nothing,” he said, shaking the empty duffle out. “Just socks and underwear, and a towel. Oh, and his phone.”
Heavy nodded. “Thanks, bud.”
It was only after the EMS arrived, and took over, slapping oxygen on Chaz’ face and getting him ready to transport, that Heavy had time to realize Miko was the only one left of the trio.
“Where’s Seth?” he asked.
“He took off,” Miko mumbled, sniffling. “Got scared when Chaz–you know.”
“Great,” Heavy muttered. “Listen, Miko, you did good today. Real good. You kept your head, you told the truth so the EMS guys could help Chaz. I got one more question for you, and look me in the eyes. You’re not taking this shit, are you?”
Eyes still wet, but meeting Heavy’s, Miko shook his head quickly. “No way, coach. My folks would ground me for life, take away my phone and p-probably send me to one of those military schools—the scary ones.”
Heavy snorted, because this kid. “Okay … that’s good news. How about Seth? I will not repeat this to anyone, but do you think he’s using it?”
“Nah,” Miko said. “Not yet, anyway. But, he thinks Chaz is the shit, so…”
“So Seth might be tempted to follow his example,” Heavy finished for him. “Well, hope today helped out with that.” Chaz’ seizure must have scared the living hell out of Seth, for the kid to cut and run like that.
Miko drew a sobbing breath and nodded. “Yeah.”
Heavy patted him on the back. “Rough day, huh, kid?”
And he had an uneasy feeling, as he watched a pair of police cars pull up outside the gym, that this wasn’t the end of this mess, for him or for Heavy Iron.
He was right.