Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LEON - PRESENT DAY
Between completing long overdue house chores for Mum, running searches on my father, which I haven’t done in years, and messaging a few contacts, day somehow turned to night. I order takeaway curry from the place around the corner, a special treat for Mum.
She tries to hide it behind oversized cardigans and loose-fitted pants, but I see how thin she’s gotten.
The divot in her collarbones is deep enough to cup water.
Since Nana and Pop died, and I left, who has she got to cook for?
I can’t let that chip away at me along with everything else though.
While I’m here, I’ll make sure she eats well and often.
As we eat, I give her the news that Damon and Jasper are coming in a few days, leaving out the possibility of Blake, Falin, and two unruly kittens.
Of course, she declares that they must stay with us, that we’d be terrible people if we allowed them to pay for accommodations.
When I remind her that the house isn’t much bigger than a shoebox, she tuts, saying, “We’ll manage. ” I’ll leave that to her to figure out.
My phone beeps with a message as Mum clears away our containers.
Cruz: Call me
“Mum, I’m going to get some air. Be back a bit later.”
She turns from the sink, hands on her hips. “Pick up some milk while you’re out.”
I wave her off, grab my helmet, and head outside. Once I’m through the garden and onto the sidewalk, I lean on my bike and dial Cruz.
“Colter,” Cruz answers in one ring.
“Alright?” I ask, while I keep an eye on my surroundings for nosey neighbors.
“About your inquiry.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You know… the hardware?”
I sigh and tilt my head up to look at the darkening sky. “Yes, I understand what you mean. You found someone?”
“Maybe.”
Cursing under my breath, I ask, “Why are you asking me to call you if it’s a maybe, Cruz? I need a positive.”
“It’s just… this isn’t like popping into the supermarket for a loaf of bread. What you’re looking for takes a bit of finesse.”
“Alright, go on. Tell me what you know.”
I can picture him fidgeting with that bloody cap of his as he takes his time to reply. “He’ll be at The Irons tonight. Big bloke named Knapp. He’s new to the game. Usually has a few buddies surrounding him.”
“Alright, so we go to The Irons, show him how much I’m willing to spend,” I say, already working through a plan.
“It’s not that easy,” Cruz says with a nervous laugh. “He doesn’t just sell to anyone with cash.”
“Get on with it,” I groan, ready to kick something.
“You’ll have to prove yourself. Show him you’re not some wannabe who’ll get himself nicked five minutes after walking away with his merchandise.” He sucks in air, probably a cigarette. “You want guns, you’ll have to work for it.”
“He wants me to fight?” I don’t know why I didn’t realize what he was saying sooner.
Another drag on his cigarette. “Exactly. Not only fight, but you’ve gotta win.”
I close my eyes, remembering the last time I was in that basement. The bitter scent of sweat and blood, the ferocity of the crowd, sometimes more violent than the fighters, how my knuckles and jaw ached for days, and that was only after I came to. “It’s been years, Cruz.”
He chuckles. “You’ve got this. It’s like riding a bike. A massive bike that fights back.”
“Thanks for that image.”
“Listen, I saw you. You’ve filled out. You’re not the same kid that got his ass kicked week after week trying to earn an extra buck. You can do this.”
A part of me has been considering going back to blow off steam anyway. I think I’ve been talking myself out of it, trying to keep my composure, but now, with this new development… it’s the perfect opportunity to get what I need, maybe some intel too, and work out some anger in the process.
I think about Bailey, somewhere out there in the darkness. About how I’ll stop at nothing to find her. “I’ll do it.”
“Alright then. I’ll let them know. Starts at eleven. Side entrance on Magnolia Street, same as always. And Leon?”
“Yeah?”
“Be smart. You’ve got nothing to prove to these blokes. Talk to Knapp, get your opponent, and win. Wife’s going to rip my balls off… but I’ll be there. I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks, Cruz. I mean it.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Save that for after you’ve still got all your teeth.
” He blows out a stream of smoke, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter.
“Leon... whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into, just promise me you’ll come back in one piece, yeah?
I don’t want to be the one explaining to your mum why her boy didn’t make it home. ”
My throat tightens, but I manage to thank him.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he says. “And don’t forget to wear something you don’t mind getting bloodied up.”
The line goes dead, leaving me leaning against my bike on the quiet street, already feeling the familiar pang of anticipation mixed with dread.
I pocket the phone and look up at the full moon, peeking out behind a cloud.
Maybe Bailey’s looking out at the same moon nearby.
I silently send a message. I’m coming for you.
Mum’s silhouette crosses the window as she tidies the living room, no doubt in anticipation of our soon to be guests. I should go get that milk she asked for, and maybe pick up some ice while I’m at it. I’m going to need it tomorrow morning.
The side entrance on Magnolia Street hasn’t changed in the three years since I’ve been.
Still just a nondescript black door situated between a run down newsagent and a gyro shop that’s seen better days.
No sign, no hint of what lies beneath except the slight vibration of bass coming from underground.
I park my bike around the corner, attaching my helmet to the lock on my handlebars before checking that everything’s secure. It gives me a moment to find my center, to push down the nerves that are trying to force their way to the surface.
A heavy mix of nervous excitement and fear has every step toward the entrance feeling like an out of body experience.
It’s a familiar feeling from my teenage years.
Back then, I’d been driven by anger and the desperate need to prove myself, to release the rage and the hurt and the abandonment.
Tonight, it’s different. Tonight, I have purpose.
The bouncer is new, a beast of a man with arms like tree trunks and a callous, scarred face. His eyes rake over me, taking in my leather jacket, the way I carry myself. I’m not the scrawny, desperate kid who used to stumble down these steps anymore.
“Knapp sent me,” I say, meeting his stare.
He nods once and steps aside, revealing the dimly lit staircase that descends into the belly of the beast. The air grows thicker with each step, the scent of sweat and smoke heavy in the air.
I’ve never liked this part. The before. It’s not that I’m usually an anxious person.
I haven’t felt this way while working with the guys, but here…
waiting for my name to be called, for the violence and pain that follows, it’s like holding your breath underwater.
The door at the end of the stairs opens up into a massive space lit by rows of fluorescent lights, some of them flickering, in need of a new bulb.
Concrete pillars covered in graffiti tags and stickers support the low ceiling, and old metal bleachers rise in tiers around a central ring marked out in yellow tape on the concrete floor.
Rusted iron beams stretch across the ceiling like skeletal remains of the old ironworks this place used to be, back when honest men earned honest wages forging steel instead of spilling blood for entertainment.
One look at the crowd and I can see what Cruz meant.
The place looks exactly the same, yet completely different.
There’s still the mix of desperate kids looking to earn a few pounds, but now they’re surrounded by men in gang colors, businessmen in expensive suits, and a handful of average looking blokes.
They have one thing in common, money riding on the fights in one way or another.
I spot Cruz near the back wall, cap pulled low, clutching a pint close to his chest. He’s the picture of uncomfortable. Our eyes meet and he gestures with his chin toward the betting table where a small group of men have their wallets out and eyes sharp.
For Bailey.
I straighten my spine and walk right up to the biggest one. From Cruz’s description, this must be Knapp. Middle-aged, six-foot-five easily, solid muscle, with slicked back hair and a bushy mustache. He narrows his gaze.
“You the American?” he asks, staring me up and down.
I can’t help but smirk. “Hardly,” I reply, raising my voice to be heard over the bellowing in the room. “You Knapp?”
The rest of his crew steps closer. Three guys almost as big as him with equally harsh faces. I’m surprised they don’t fight in the ring… they’d be shoe-ins. Knapp nods. “Heard you’re looking for some specialized equipment.”
“Depends on what you’ve got.”
His laugh is cold, and makes my insides twist. “And that depends on what you show me tonight.” He gestures toward the ring where two men are already circling each other, trading jabs that sound wet and meaty. “I don’t sell to just anyone. Too many rats out there. Prove yourself and we’ll talk.”
Voices roar as the current fight ends. One man’s flat on his back, barely conscious and the other’s standing over him, knuckles split and wearing a grin. The crowd is a frenzy of cheers and curses as money changes hands.
This is it. Can’t back out now.
I nod, and make my way toward the booking table where Tank still runs the show. She’s built exactly like her nickname with broad shoulders, thick arms, and muscles that rival most body builders. Her dark hair is buzzed short, and she’s wearing the same scowl she had last time I saw her.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” she mutters, pounding her fist on the rickety table. “Leon Colter. Thought you’d left this shithole and moved to America.”
I reach out and shake her hand, noticing some new ink snaking up her arms. “Tank, nice to see you.”
“Almost didn’t recognize yeh,” she says. “All that ink, and fuck me, are those muscles under there?”
I laugh, probably for the first time tonight. “I’ve grown quite a bit.”
“I see that.” Someone knocks into the table, causing Tank to holler some choice words. “Sorry, it’s getting unruly already. Something’s in the air tonight… gotta be the fucking full moon.”
“You’re probably right.” Even if she wasn’t I’d never say otherwise. Everyone knows not to disagree with Tank if you want to keep all your fingers intact. I shrug out of my jacket, and her eyes widen.
“Don’t tell me… you wanna fight tonight?”
“I do.”
“Wasn’t last time bad enough? You nearly died that night.”
Another fight starts and with the sound of flesh hitting flesh, that unpleasant memory surfaces. I force myself to look away.
“Guess you can say I’m my own worst enemy.” She pulls out an iPad, sliding her finger over the screen. “Look who’s gotten high tech in my time away.”
She waves me off. “This way it’s random. Can’t have a repeat of New Years Eve ‘22. What a clusterfuck.”
“Sorry to have missed it.”
“Cheeky bastard,” she says, tapping away on the screen. “I take it you remember the Iron Code?”
I nod. How could I forget? “Iron doesn’t bend. Iron doesn’t break.”
Meaning, you step foot in that ring and you don’t walk away until one of you can’t get back up. And whatever happens here never sees daylight.
“Alright, you’re up next. You better take out that lip ring… don’t need to see that get yanked out.”
“Thanks, Tank. Nice to see you.” I knock my fist on the table, and head back to Cruz.
“All set?” he asks, still looking around nervously. I nod, and he passes me his pint. “You’ll need this… for the nerves.”
He’s not wrong. I take a long swig. “Wish it was stronger.”
He pats my shoulder. “Tell ya what, shots on me when you win this thing.”
“Get your money ready, then.”
I flash a grin that’s mostly bravado and start preparing—removing my lip and eyebrow rings and stripping down to just my gym shorts. I stretch out my tight shoulders and do a few jumping jacks to get my heart pumping.
By the time Tank calls my name, I’m ready. Damon and Jasper never take it easy on me during fight club, and Falin’s landed more hits than I care to admit. I haven’t been idle these past few years. I can win this.
I step toward the ring with Cruz close behind. My eyes find Knapp in the crowd. He gives me a slight nod, a silent command to get the job done. I blow out a breath and let my mind clear.
“You’ve got this, Colter!” Cruz shouts behind me. A few voices join in, though I can’t tell if they’re cheering for me or just hungry for blood. I shake hands with the ref, a grizzled ex-boxer whose job is to make sure we don’t actually kill each other.
Tank’s voice booms again. “Place your bets! You’ve got two minutes!”
Money changes hands, people crowd the betting table, everyone buzzing with anticipation. I bounce on the balls of my feet, keeping loose, trying not to think about who might be betting against me.
“Bring out the challenger!” Tank calls.
The crowd cleaves in two, creating a path from the opposite side of the basement. That’s when I catch the first glimpse of my opponent as he strides forward, his steps almost cocky.
He’s about my height, lean but muscled. Not the kind you get from real work. These muscles scream personal trainers and country clubs. His dark hair is perfectly styled despite being in a humid basement. The way he smirks, chest puffed out, swaggering like he owns the place. Privileged prick.
And I know this for a fact.
He gets closer and with one look at his eyes—the same eyes I see in the mirror everyday. The same shape. The same shade of hazel with flecks of gold and green. Alfred’s eyes.
James Colter. My half brother.
What the fuck is he doing here?