Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rage
True to my word, I get cranky over the next few days.
I don’t care about alcohol or sugar. I’m not big on sweets anyway.
They’re nothing but an occasional treat for me, but I do like food.
Steak and baked potatoes with all the fixings.
Bacon on anything I can possibly put it on.
Even when I eat a salad—with sunflower seeds and other healthy items—I drown it in ranch dressing and add avocado and all kinds of shit to make it taste good.
Broiled fish and oil and vinegar don’t do shit for me.
Grilled veggies are boring as fuck.
And of course, now that I can’t have one, all I can think about is a double cheeseburger with BBQ sauce and bacon.
When I was fighting professionally, having to watch what I ate was just another part of the job. The paycheck. The lifestyle.
The problem is that it’s not my life anymore.
Don’t get it twisted—I stay in excellent shape. I work out hard five days a week, I run and lift and make sure I’m in top form.
For a bodyguard.
Not for a professional fighter.
And this guy I’m fighting? He’s hardcore.
Bronco is two years older than me and he’s the guy I beat the first year I won the championship.
Then he moved up to the next weight class, so we didn’t fight again.
But I hurt for days after that fight. And I was a lot younger then.
I also know for a fact he was using illegal steroids to bulk up.
He’d just started using synthetic steroids when we fought—he should have been the weight class below mine—and in following his career afterward, he kept getting bigger.
He’s got the shortest average fight time in all of the UFC—two minutes, fifteen seconds. Most of his wins are stoppages with quick knockouts. He’s something of a legend, so though I’m not afraid of him, I still need to be cautious.
And prepared.
I turn to Eric and throw a few punches, bouncing on my toes as I try to get into the groove.
It’s tough to spar with my friends because they’re tough but they’re not professional fighters.
It’s different. I don’t want to hurt anyone, so I hold back and that’s not going to help me prep for the fight.
As much as it pains me, I’m going to have to find someone to train with who’s at another level than my colleagues. Someone who’ll give me a run for my money. I don’t think Garth is the right guy, but there are others who might. Like the two guys fighting in the weight class just below mine.
Toby Shaw and Darren Tyler are the ones fighting in that weight class, and tomorrow I’m going to see if I can get in touch with Toby.
He lives in L.A. and might be willing to throw some punches with me.
He probably needs someone to spar with as well, since he’s been retired for a little longer than I have.
I’m kind of surprised he’s still as big as he is, but some guys are born that way while others have to take drugs to get there.
First thing tomorrow, I’m reaching out to Garth to see if he’ll give me a way to reach Toby.
It’s time to get serious about training.
Everything else will have to wait.
We roll into L.A. just before lunch on Wednesday.
Grim and Allora drove in her convertible while Luna and I rode in my SUV, but now we’re going to split up.
The ladies are going to catch up with Candy, and Grim and I are meeting Toby at the gym he owns.
Tonight is the press conference and we’re going to do some promotional videos at the gym that will highlight us in training.
It’s supposed to be low-key but I don’t know what to expect.
I met Toby a couple of times back in the day but we weren’t friends or anything.
“Hey, man.” He greets me when we walk in with his hand extended.
“Good to see you.” I shake his hand. “Thank you for the invite.”
“Absolutely. I lost my mom to cervical cancer so I’m happy to do something for the cause.”
I nod. “Cool.”
“All right, you can change back there.” He motions with his hand. “We’re keeping this totally chill. It’s just one guy with a camera, no press or anything. Obviously, this will be somewhat staged for the videos but we can certainly get a real workout in.”
“I’d like that.”
“Nothing too strenuous since we have to be at the presser by six-thirty.”
I nod.
Grim and I move to the back, and I get changed. He seems distracted, checking his phone, and I glance at him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods but doesn’t look up as he types something.
“Just some stuff going on with Metal. He’s been out of control, according to Silver.
Allora has been meaning to check on him, but she’s been busy with work too.
” Allora’s a former model and actress who’s a successful photographer now and she travels a lot for her job.
I haven’t been doing much of anything, though, and I feel a twinge of guilt.
I haven’t thought about Metal or the sex workers all week.
I know the club has been diligent in being out on the street with the girls but they can’t do that indefinitely.
It’s not my problem, but I’m a human being who doesn’t think those poor women deserve to be murdered.
“Is there anything we can do?” I ask, pulling on my fingerless gloves.
“You just think about the fight. I’m talking with Daniil now, getting updates.”
It annoys me that I can’t do both.
Shadow Security isn’t just a job—I’m a part-owner—and the club isn’t just a group of people that don’t mean anything to us.
Allora keeps her distance but that’s still part of her history, as well as the biggest part of her father’s life.
We now have a relationship with the club and with Metal in particular, so I feel bad that I haven’t checked on him.
“Six weeks,” Grim says quietly, reading my mind like he usually does. “Then you’ll be done with this and back in the thick of things.”
I nod. “Right.”
I walk back into the gym, and Toby’s waiting for me.
He’s changed as well, ready to work out, and I feel a familiar surge of adrenaline.
There was a time when I lived for this—the charge I got from using my fists.
I have no doubt it was part of the way I dealt with the trauma of the things I saw in the military when I was in the Middle East, and all the lives that were lost, but that wasn’t all of it.
I used to get off on how it felt to have that kind of control, both over myself and the people I fought with.
These days, I get my kicks by going after bad guys.
Like whoever it is that’s hurting the club girls.
Short-term, I’m putting that on the back burner.
“You stayed in touch with Gargoyle all these years?” Toby asks me, referring to Garth.
I shrug. “Not really. We lost touch. You?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. When I walked away, my focus was on getting healthy and opening my gym. I just wondered if…” He stops talking and looks away. “Look, I don’t want to talk shit about anyone. This exhibition is for a good cause, so I’m not trying to be a dick. I just—there’s a lot of talk.”
“About Garth?”
“He’s had money problems since his wife died. And there’s talk about…women.”
“What kind of talk?”
“I dunno.” He looks uncomfortable suddenly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.” I watch him. “Tell me.”
“You’re fighting Bronco. He and G used to be thick as thieves. And everything you’ve ever heard about him? Multiply it by ten.”
“What are you trying to say?”
He sets his jaw. “Just…be careful. I know you can handle yourself in a fight. I’m talking about everything else. The parties and the pressers and all of it. Bronco doesn’t play nice. Not when he was a pro, and not now.”
“Anything in particular I should look out for?”
“Be sure no one from his team gets near your towels, your water bottles, any of it.”
I frown, trying to read between the lines. “Seriously?”
“Look, maybe I’m being paranoid, but just…be careful. I’ve already said too much.”
“Then why do I feel like you’ve left out everything important?”
“No, I told you the important stuff.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s no doubt this conversation is over.
“All right. Thanks.” I make a mental note to have Luna dig up everything there is to find on Bronco.
“You ready to do this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He grins and bumps his fist against mine.