Chapter 15
Yes, I’ve earned a decent amount of money, and I could probably survive on my bank balance for the rest of my life.
But only because I’m so cautious with it.
I know what it’s like to have nothing, to be cold and hungry so as not let the noughts on the end of your bank statement be everything to you.
I’ve found somewhere to settle down. It’s a great house and one that I’ve paid for.
I’ve found a house in a suburb of a town not too far from the city, but it’s a million miles away from any gang culture.
I never want to be without anything again, but I still feel like a fake, a fraud, because I was given a chance to start over again.
Not many people from my background and upbringing get that, which I guess is why gang life exists: the desperate see it as a way to be someone, to earn something.
But it’s also why so many end up in jail, or more commonly, dead.
I still think about Ellis, and I hope and pray the family he so eagerly told me about have done the right thing by him.
That he has grown up to reach his full potential, without having to do it the way I did.
The desire to search for him after everything that happened to me has been huge, a need that has grown and grown, like a nettle sting that you think has gone away until you scratch it again, only to hurt more.
I was told that I wasn’t allowed to contact, search, meet up with anyone from my previous life; it wasn’t up for debate.
Which is why I don’t accept any endorsements from clothing to drink sponsorships.
I’ve said no to companies that would have made me seven figure salaries just through those endorsements.
Any kind of publicity that would have my face on posters anywhere could open me up to danger, hence fighting in Europe.
The obscure YouTube channels have to be searched for; they’re not going to simply pop up in your feed.
It may have been over a decade ago, but gangs don’t forget, especially after the gang leader was sent down because of the information I had passed on.
I don’t even give any interviews; it all comes from Dougie.
Has that made me more interesting, given sports journalists a chance to make things up or search deeper into my background?
Probably. Not that they would find anything, all traces of my former self show I’m dead.
The worst part of it is that I’m ready to settle down, to find someone that isn’t just a fuck-buddy like Jimmy and Cole or a sub at a club.
I want easy companionship, someone I can talk to for hours, to laugh with.
Escorts are discreet for a reason, and they have been my chance to release some sexual tension.
It’s not enough, and my long-term goal is to stop fighting and meet someone that I can have a private life with.
I don’t think that’s something that’s going to happen anytime soon.
Plus, the fact that I want that person to be a man is another reason to stay quiet in this profession.
My stomach growls, reminding me to eat. I grab the premade meal with the correct balance of carbs, proteins, and all the other healthy crap I eat.
It varies, depending on the stage of training, but I leave it to the nutritionist to get it right.
When the microwave pings, I take the food out.
It’s some kind of salmon and sweet potato bake.
My phone chimes as I eat, some reminder for something I have actually forgotten.
When I read the message, I smile. Tomorrow is tattoo day.
I couldn’t believe it that when I made the appointment ten months ago, yeah, he’s that good.
It’s not my first, not by any means. Both my arms are full sleeves, my back, too, with a tiger pacing through trees.
The ones on my legs cover the surgery scars.
There’s only one space big enough for what I want and that’s across my abs, where the champion belt sits.
I swore I’d fill it when I won the championship, but life and the waiting time pushed it back.
As I push the door open, it chimes, and two heads look up from workstations behind a long counter, both smiling. “Hi, I’ve got an appointment with Saint.”
The bigger guy nods at me. “It’s Maddox, right? Can you give me a minute? I’m just finishing this one. Have a seat. There are drinks in the fridge, and there’s a coffee machine.”
“Yeah, no problem. Take your time.” I look at some of the artwork on the walls.
There are photographs of some of the most incredible, intricate work.
It’s obvious how talented he is, and why I had to wait so long for an appointment.
There’s another set of work by Noah, his employee.
And I can see that his work is as good as Saint’s, and maybe I’d like some of his.
There’s one picture that I keep coming back to.
A man about my age, with the most intricate image of tribal armour flowing over his shoulders and covering his pecs where a wolf emerges, its teeth bared, ready to attack.
While the tattoo is a work of art, it’s the owner of it that has me looking closer.
He’s familiar, not recently, but he’s definitely familiar.
Probably from a fight or a training session, because his muscles and physique are impressive.
“That’s one of my favourites,” says a voice that has me startled. “It’s on my brother, and he did it in one sitting. It took the whole day; the guy’s got stamina. Oh, congrats on winning the championship; what’s that, two in a row now? Are you ready to start?”
“Cheers, and yeah, two now. I’ve been looking forward to this. You have a long waiting list.”
“Yeah, it’s better since Noah joined; he took some of the pressure off me,” Saint says as he looks proudly at Noah.
The kid blushes, but he’s smiling. There’s something more between them than just the job.
As Noah turns back, I notice the collar around his neck.
Interesting. A favourite past time of mine: spending time with a pliant, eager sub.
I wonder where they go and what clubs are around?
I pull my T-shirt over my head and fold it up before placing it on a chair, then I take my place on the large reclining chair. We talk through the design and when we’re agreed, I lie back and let him place the stencil.
The buzz of the needles has always been relaxing, sending the happy endorphins through my body. I sink back and let him start.
“Yeah,” Saint starts to talk again. “Knox has nearly as much ink as me. He was a skinny kid when he first came to the house, permanently hungry.”
The breath is knocked out of my lungs. Is he talking about Ellis?