CHAPTER 30 IRON JACK
IRON JACK
Four of the fighters leave the gym at once, three piling into one car, one solo. That leaves five cars. I can only see one welterweight, the trainer, the medic, and Grey Beast inside at my next pass by the windows. That means there’s at least one more person somewhere.
If he’s in the back, he’s not a fighter. Any fighter I know would have been out there to watch a sparring match.
He’s either a manager or a guard with a gun. Or two. I don’t know.
I try to picture what I’ll do once I storm inside. I’m more of an action guy than a planner. But for some reason, when I imagine what I might say to Grey Beast, the only thing that pops into my head is My name is Iron Jack Everett. You killed my parents. Prepare to die.
I cannot laugh in this situation. It’s all wrong. This is the least funny moment of my life, second to presiding over my parents’ funeral.
And yet…it keeps coming back. My name is Iron Jack Everett.
What is happening to me? I’m always focused. Lethal.
But I know.
It’s Greta. I’ve let lightness in.
Now I have to snuff it.
The door to the gym opens. The fifth fighter emerges with the medic. I see the resemblance. This is his kid.
They both get in one car. Four cars left. Damn, that means there are two more hidden people plus Grey Beast and his trainer.
Still, I’m tired of waiting. I’m ready for action.
I curl my hand around the hilt of my knife and take only one step when the door opens again.
Two smarmy-looking men come out, one in a silver suit. That’s a manager. I recognize him from my time in L.A. He’s got California written all over him, with his sunglasses and a gold grill in his smile.
The other man is laughing, like silver boy said something funny. He’s wearing a long coat, more East Coast styled, but takes it off before he opens the door to the shiny black Cadillac SUV.
And he’s got a gun strapped to his back.
The bodyguard.
The silver-suit manager takes a gold Volvo.
Things are looking up. This leaves only two cars and two people. The trainer. And Grey Beast.
It’s time to move.
As soon as the Cadillac and the Volvo have disappeared down the block, I dart across the parking lot and look in the window.
Grey Beast and his trainer are in the cage, the trainer geared up with chest and head pads so Grey Beast can work on his moves.
Good, good.
I draw in a deep breath and try to picture my parents in my mind. This is for them.
But an entirely different face fills my vision. Greta, sitting in the chair, laughing as her uncle tells pickle jokes. Kissing the baby on the head. Pulling off Caden’s shoes when we put the boy in his room.
Not now.
I shove the thoughts away and open the door.
For a moment, Grey Beast doesn’t notice me. He’s focused on his roundhouse kicks, one after the other, all landing square on the trainer’s black pad.
But then something catches his eye and he pauses, turning to the door.
And we lock gazes.
He lowers his fists in their MMA gloves. I can take blows from those all day. He won’t easily be able to remove them with the tape.
“Jack?” he says. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” His tone is brighter than I expected. I guess he’s been looking forward to this confrontation.
Now is the time to act decisively.
I move forward in long, deliberate steps.
The trainer shoves the head gear up so he can see me better. He only gets in the words “Is this—” before I shove him aside.
“This isn’t about you,” I tell him. “So I recommend you stay out of it.” And I square off with Grey Beast.
“This is payback,” Grey Beast says.
“You practically asked me to come,” I say before throwing the first punch.
He blocks it, lowering his stance, moving his feet like we were trained to do for a cage match. I do the same, as well as I can in boots.
“He’s going to fuck up the floor,” the trainer hisses.
That’s what he’s worried about?
“Get out of the cage,” I tell him. “Or I’m happy to take you both on.”
“This is how you want to do it?” Grey Beast says, still low, hands in the guard position. “You’re not geared up. Have you even been training?”
We circle the octagon. The trainer doesn’t leave the cage, but he steps into the gap where the stairs are, staying out of our way.
“What do you want out of this?” Grey Beast asks. “What’s your game?”
“Revenge,” I say, and lunge forward to sweep his legs.
It’s a lot more effective in boots, given Grey Beast wears only regulation shorts. He goes down but leaps back to his feet before I can get him in a grappling hold.
“All right, Jack,” he says. “You do what you have to do. I’m fine with settling this like fighters.”
“Like you did three years ago?” I say. “Like a total chicken shit?”
His expression hardens. Good. We can meet each other in that red-hot zone of rage.
“I deserved that spot, Jack. Fuck you.” He comes at me with a punishing combination of uppercut and right hook.
I dodge the uppercut, but the hook lands on my temple.
It’s nothing. I shake it off and sweep his legs again.
He goes down a second time but recovers. “Take those boots off and fight me like a pro, motherfucker.”
I’m not interested in his rules. Not for this. Not today. My parents didn’t have the opportunity for a fair fight.
I rush him full bore, crashing into his chest and bringing him down. I haven’t watched a match of his since I left the circuit, but back in the day, his floor work was shit, and mine was my strength.
We wrestle, each trying to get the strongest position. He smashes his glove into my face, but I have the benefit of exposed knuckles, so when I return the blow, his face immediately bleeds above his eye.
“Let me treat that,” the trainer says, apparently willing to let us have our blows. Maybe he even knows what Grey Beast did. Fuck him, too.
I bloody Grey Beast’s other eye. He grunts and wraps his arm around my neck and a leg around one of mine. He’s trying to move me into a hold.
I roll us over, punching his chin until he’s forced to let go. When we separate, he pops into a standing fight position like a damn bounce-back bag.
“I belong in the pros,” he says. “You were always a shitty nobody from the marsh.”
Fury blinds me. I let out a roar and jump him again, flattening him onto the smooth, flexible floor of the cage. My fists fly, smashing into his face until I’m not sure whose blood is whose.
Then I hear a sound I don’t expect. A voice.
“Jack!” it says, the sound of it drawing all of my attention. “For God’s sake, Jack, stop!”
Grey Beast rolls away.
I turn around.
Fuck. It’s Greta.
“What are you doing here?” I roar.
“Stopping you from being a bloody idiot.” She pushes past the trainer and walks awkwardly across the cage floor. “You’re attacking the wrong man. Come on.” She grabs my arm. “Come with me.”
We get down the stairs before I pull away from her. “This is what I came for. To avenge my parents.”
Grey Beast leaps down the stairs and takes a towel from the trainer to press to his face. “What do you mean, to avenge your parents?”
I’m about to punch him again when a man in a suit steps between us. He holds up a long black device with round ends.
“That your dildo?” I ask him.
“Nice one,” he says. “It’s a type of stun gun. It will knock you back if you don’t listen to the lady.”
I dig in, refusing to go any farther. “What are you doing here, Greta?”
“Getting you to the correct fight. It’s not here.”
“I’m fucking lost,” Grey Beast says. “I went to your parents’ funeral. It was a horrible day. Shitty way for a fighter to go out, losing family.”
I turn back to him. “Funny thing to say from the person who had them killed.”
Grey Beast lowers the towel slowly, his bloodshot eyes boring into me. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
And that’s when I start to wonder about the receipt, the arrival of that Kin member, and all the steps that led me here.
“We need to go,” the man in the suit says. “Because while you are here on this fool’s errand, the Wild Hair are heading to the real fight. We must make haste if you want to have any impact on that confrontation.”
I look from Greta to the man.
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
I guess I do. When she and the man head for the exit, I follow.