Chapter 3
Shooter
The way her face looked haunted me throughout the rest of the day. I tried to take my mind off of her, the only way was to move from one trouble to a whole bunch of them.
Hank and Stray had asked me to stop by Swing Low, one of the many establishments under the Saints’ name.
Swing Low was a well-known boxing and MMA gym in the region. A place where our boxers came to teach, spar, work on their craft, but at night we venture out to one of the warehouses where grunge matches tested every person that walked into that place.
Swing Low was a place where people could also leave the outside world where it belonged and could find a place where they belonged. Hank and Stray mostly ran the operations; I sat back and helped where it was needed.
I already had enough on my plate as the club’s enforcer but also the club’s main medic. Call me sentimental, but helping young fighters gave me a sense of other purpose. A man of many talents, if I do say so myself.
Stepping into the gym was more welcoming than returning home for the holidays.
There was nothing but the sounds of controlled breathing from each strike and blocks, the striking of gloves, the boards under the ring bending to their wills, and mostly people shouting from the corners encouraging their fighters to hang in there and watch their openings.
“Well, well. If it ain’t the old man himself finally stepping back out of the shadows,” one of the younger fighters, Dillon, said. He liked to spar with me when he felt cocky enough and needed to learn a humbling lesson.
Dillon hung over one of the rope walls, he had this charm that had women fawning over him. Sort of made the brothers jealous on occasion.
“Oh princess, did you miss me? Couldn’t settle for one of the trolls here?” I smirked.
Stray stepped away from one of the fighters that was at one of the bags; and turned toward me with a quick embrace. The man reeked of sweat, like he had been there for way too long.
“Nope, waiting for a prince charming.” He laughed, pushing back from the ropes.
“Good thing I’m no prince charming.” I stepped up to the edge. “What are you doing here, Dillon? Don’t you have a semester that just started a couple weeks ago?”
Dillon groaned, starting to bounce on his feet. As much as the boy had talent, he didn’t belong in the underground world. He was too bright, with a future to match. I won’t lie, I got attached to the boy, and was quite protective of him.
“Don’t start this shit again, Shooter. You know that I barely keep up.” He tried to pivot.
I shook my head, I knew some of his story, but the parts I knew told me that the boy was going places and it wasn’t slumming it with the club or the underground. He would make something of himself and live a life without worry.
“I think passing all your classes and preparing for your student teaching is great work.” I tried to encourage him.
He explained he wanted to become a physical education teacher, wanting to mentor younger people giving them the tools they needed to survive, especially those that may not have gotten what they need from their own blood.
He was a good man.
“Try telling that to the school.”
“Stop psyching yourself out.”
“It’s not about that, man.” He grunted, barely looking at me.
“What is it about then?”
He paused for a second before answering, probably thinking which would be better, the truth or a lie. “I got behind on making a payment for student housing and now I’m barely scraping by.”
I knew he was doing it on his own, paying for everything and barely surviving.
“What’s left in the account for the rest of the year?” I asked, taking a glance at Stray, who was just standing by shaking his head.
Dillon muttered something.
“Speak up there, princess.” I leaned forward.
“Two thousand dollars,” he said, practically shouting.
It was hard to make the gym stop and turn their heads, but somehow he did it. After the awkward silence, everyone turned back to their drills. I rubbed my chin through my beard, which desperately needed a trim.
I brought him over to the corner away from prying eyes. “College costs that much now? Jesus, bud. I thought you had the work study placement that was adding a little something.”
He shook his head. “They went with someone else, someone that could be at their beck and call.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll make do. But I’m telling you, I need to get into one fight. At least one. Shooter, you know I’m good for it.”
“You know what happened the last time you said that? You could barely walk for a month because you had pushed yourself too far to prove that you were something. Dillon, I can’t do that to you.” My hand plopped on his shoulder, giving him a good squeeze. “Not again.”
His shoulders slumped, and the look he gave me was pure disappointment and utter rejection.
I’d seen it a time or two when men wanted to fight in the desert but ultimately were told to sit their asses down.
Those men wanted to fight, to take up arms. But Dillon had more heart and good intentions.
Not the pure greed that flooded that underground.
Stray stepped closer to us, giving me the look of “you sure about this?” and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had more faith in Dillon than I did. I racked my brain, not trying to go back on my word.
Maybe I had a soft spot for the kid, a gentle reminder of myself being like that before joining the military.
Young, innocent. And now look at me, brutal, blood thirsty, someone that would snap your neck at the drop of a hat.
A true darkness that sucked me in further, creeping closer to the surface.
Waiting for a light to brighten my days.
I sighed, hanging my head before snapping it back to meet Dillon’s eyes. I pointed to him. “One fucking fight, bud. Just one and then you’re back to teaching the newbies on the weekend for community service.”
Dillon’s face brightened up, giddy with excitement. I swear if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. Like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Don’t get too excited, that means more gym time and then in a few weeks we could look at getting you a fight. But I’m serious.”
He threw his hands up, “One fight. That’s all I need, Shooter.” One fight, and a decent pay out.
I had hoped I wasn’t wrong in my decision. Before I could grumble, Stray threw some gloves in my direction. “Get to it, coach.” There was a smug look on his face. It took me a second.
I leaned over the ropes, as Dillon started to bounce in the other corner, warming up. I leaned closer to Stray, the grizzly man himself. “You fucking knew he was going to ask me, didn’t you?”
“He may have said something about needing money to another fighter and I may or may not have given him some inspiration.” He shrugged.
“Bastard. That was some inspiration.”
“What can I say? I’m a muse.”
“You’re something alright.”
“Come on, brother, seriously he needs this and he’s a damn good fighter. He made one mistake.”
My blood started to boil; in a flash I reached for Stray’s shirt, coming face to face with him. I growled, “One mistake that could have cost him his livelihood. He’s not like us.”
Stray gripped my wrists, meeting my anger. “You think I don’t know that? Doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a leg up, a chance to better himself.”
I shoved Stray away, knowing that if we had argued anymore about the subject, something would have awakened in me.
I strapped some gloves on, knowing Dillon wasn’t going to be doing any serious damage, he needed more support on defensive moves.
He was a powerhouse once he struck. Part of me knew that I wasn’t going to hit hard, this wasn’t life or death.
He liked fighting combination style, unlike myself, who liked traditional boxing.
“Alright, princess, you think you can keep that face pretty,” I snarked.
“Aw, you think I’m pretty. You’re so cute.” Dillon walked toward me. I rolled my eyes.
“You keep it up with your mouth and you won’t have to worry about entering a fight,” I teased, steadying my hands to start some combos.
Like clockwork, he started to block a few of the shots, though missing a couple, landing him a few throws to the gut and the chin. He shook it off like a champ, though I wasn’t giving much behind the punches. Once he realized his mistakes, he fixed them, determined to settle on his strengths.
“Block. You know your opponent's patterns, what their preferred combos are, then you’ll get in their heads. That’s when you can counter.
Again.” I got into position, sweat beading down pooling around my body.
Dillon had captured the attention of the rest of the fighters as they circled around the ring.
“See what happens when you listen to me? Giving people something to look at. Keep going,” I commanded.
Stray stood by the side barking advice, watching his openings.
Dillon needed to know more about his weaknesses than his strengths, because that’s when the demons come for you.
With a growl of aggression, Dillon finally fixed his mistakes.
A sense of pride sprouted across my face.
But what I didn’t see was that he took my advice too well and swept his leg to the back of mine.
I knew what was going to happen and I didn’t prepare myself; I got too cocky.
My legs twisted under me, causing me to land, crashing to the side of my left leg. It wasn’t the move that had me, it was the rush of pain. I’ve taken bullets, I’ve taken some blows, always stitched myself back up. But this pain had me almost feeling sorry for the fuckers that we’d hurt.
“Shit, fuck, Shooter, man I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Dillon’s voice came out in a stutter.
“Oh Jesus, man, Hound Dog is going to murder me,” Stray groaned, standing over me, raking his hand through his hair nervously.
I couldn’t move. I had a good idea what happened to me and it was going to be a bitch to heal. I knew one thing, if I played it off, Hound Dog would murder me even more. I was the club’s medic. What signal does it send if I couldn’t even take care of myself?
“What do you want to do?” Stray asked, trying to roll me over to my back, but it just made it worse.
What choice did I have? I needed to get it x-rayed and possibly a boot. I needed the emergency room. The light bulb went off in my head, and a wicked smile plastered on my face.
I needed the emergency room.
What a poor fucking excuse to go to the emergency room, but maybe I’d be a good boy and get a lollipop to lick on… or maybe something else.
“Tell Hound we’re going to Baptist.”
There was a slight groan from Stray, because even late at night, the wait was going to be brutal.
But worth it in the end.