Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) (8 page)

"Fights?" I asked, looking around the old building behind the clubhouse.  It was a small building, decrepit the last time I saw it and just about the same now, with a concrete floor and metal walls like any other warehouse.  Except this looked like a fucking training facility, nothing fancy, but the type of thing you'd find in one of those old school boxing gyms - a makeshift ring in the center, some heavy bags hanging in the corners, and weights over in the side.  Two of the brothers were inside, their hands wrapped, punching at the bags.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, turning toward Blaze.
 "You guys starting a boxing gym or something?"

Blaze smiled.
 "Benicio's doing some underground stuff."  He shrugged.  "Don't knock it.  We get paid good for providing the muscle during the fights, running the books, and keeping the bullshit to a minimum."

"What's with the set up here then?"

Blaze shrugged.  "A couple of the brothers have gotten in on the action.  They're legit pretty good, unlike Big Mike and his shit talking."

I remembered Big Mike
, and couldn't help but laugh.  Big Mike could barely walk a hundred yards without breaking a sweat, his gut hanging over his jeans.  He was a walking fucking heart attack.  He wasn't going to be doing any underground fighting any time soon, and we all knew it. But I had no doubt he would be talking himself up big time as the next big thing. Dumbass would get himself killed one of these days when someone called him out on his bullshit.

I watched one of the brothers go at the heavy bag, throwing jab after jab, his fist making contact with the bag over and over.
 It brought back memories of high school, of all the fighting I had done while I was growing up.  That's what happened when you were white trash like I was.  I'd been smart though, good with computers and figures- it's how I got away from all that shit.

But now, surrounded by the sounds of fists making contact with a heavy bag, the stale smell of sweat in the air...I clenched my fists at my sides, unfurled my hands and then closed t
hem again.  I could feel myself getting the itch to fight, and I told myself to shut it down.

But shit, on the other hand, all the working out I was doing now, the weight lifting, wasn't doing me any fucking good.
 Letting my fist connect with something might be what I needed.

It might even be goddamned therapeutic,
I thought, smiling wryly at the thought of what MacKenzie's therapist might think.  Somehow I thought beating the ever living shit out of someone else wouldn't exactly fit the bill.

"You
want to give it a try?" Blaze asked.  "Get in the ring with one of those guys, spar a little?"

My muscles tensed up at the thought of it, twitched at the idea of getting in there with one of them.
 It was like my whole fucking body was on high alert, every fiber tensed up and coiled.

Motherfucking right I
wanted to get in there.  But there was a rational part of me, a small part of me, that said it would be a bad idea, that I didn't want to cross that line, that I couldn't control myself, once I started.  Just like it was with Tink.

For a minute, the image of Tink, broken and bloody, flashed through my mind's eye.
 I thought about how it had felt, smashing the sledgehammer through his body over and over again, first hearing the sound of bones crunching, then everything just going...softer...as there was nothing left to bludgeon into oblivion.  The rage that coursed through my veins at the idea of what he'd done to my wife.

And the feeling of power.
 Omnipotence.

Did I want that feeling again?
 I longed for it.

I was afraid if I tasted it again, I'd never stop.
 I'd go over the edge.  I'd need it, like some kind of junkie.

"Well?" Blaze asked, grinning.
 "It's pretty fucking fun, I'm not gonna lie."

I shook my head.
 "No," I said.  The word came out slowly, languid, like I was forcing it.  It was a lie, and we both knew it.  I turned away from the fighters, looked at Blaze.  "What's the job, Blaze?"

"This isn't the place where the fights happen, obviously," he said.
 "We're not set up for that kind of shit here.  This is just for hobby purposes, training for the couple guys who are doing it."

"So it happens at Benicio's locations."

He nodded.  "Yeah.  He's got some warehouses he's using for it.  Takes bets on the outcomes.  It's small shit here, honestly, but the Vegas ones are getting to be more...lucrative.  The chapter out in Vegas is acting as muscle at the fights, but he wants an additional layer of security."

"Cameras?" I asked.

"Something like the casinos use," Blaze said.  "Eye in the sky or some shit like that.  Make sure no one's pulling out a camera phone and recording or anything.  Shit that would be used as evidence.  You know how people are.  We do patdowns, make sure no one has a camera, but it's easy enough to hide something if you're motivated."

"When does he need it?"
 I still wasn't sure I wanted to get involved, however tangentially it was, in any more club bullshit.  Even if it was more of Benicio's thing and less of a club thing.

And even if it involved this fighting shit.
 
Especially
if it involved this fighting shit.  I needed to stay far, far away from that.  I could feel it in my bones.

"As soon as you can do it," Blaze said.
 "It's Benicio, so you know he's not exactly stingy.  He'll pay you fair.  Cash.  You have to keep it separate from anything else you're doing, that goes without saying."

I tossed Blaze a dark look.
 If that fucker thought something had changed with me, that retirement had somehow made me disloyal, then maybe I fucking needed to remind him of how loyal I'd been to this goddamned club.  

"I thought you might be interested, since this is your area," Blaze said, interrupting my thoughts.
 "Easy cash, in and out, no questions.  Figure I'd rather give the job to someone I trust, a brother, than outsource it somewhere else.  Benicio's on board with it, didn't have a guy of his own that came to mind right away, so I told him you might be willing."

I felt my hands relax as he talked, unfurl from their tight clench.
 Blaze didn't think I was disloyal after all.  He still counted me as a brother.

"You head
ing back to Vegas tonight?" he asked.  Then, before I could answer that I was, he said, "You should stay.  Prospects are going to grill, got a party going on, some low-key shit though, nothing crazy.  But those guys are gonna go at it.  For practice."

I nodded.
 "All right," I said.  "I'll stay."

I
t was fucking strange being at a club party after being away for two years.  Strange and familiar all at the same time.  I didn't know some of these guys, but most of them were old friends.  People I'd considered friends a long time ago.  

A bro
ther named Gunner clapped me on the shoulder.  "Hammer!" he said, stopping when I looked at him the way I did.  "Oh shit, is that not cool?  I thought you knew that's what everybody's been calling you."

I took a drag on my beer.
 "No, you fuckstick," I said.  "I didn't know."

He laughed, a sound that came from deep in his belly.
 Truth be told, I guess I did miss this guy.  Just a little.  And maybe I missed the club a little bit too.  All of this, the chaos and din of the clubhouse, the friendships I'd had...I hadn't had any of that in well over two years.  My life was quiet now.  Too quiet sometimes.  But all of this had been tainted by April's death.

I felt someone beside me, and the sensation jolted
me out of my thoughts.  Gunner was still talking about something, but I hadn't heard a word of it.   Then he laughed, and I looked beside me at the topless girl who had attached herself to my arm, her bare tits pressed up against me.  She leaned in and purred, her voice close to my ear, "Hey, baby, you want to play?"

"Hey man," Gunner
said.  "Have at it.  You're retired, not dead."

I felt the familiar stirring of arousal, and slid my hand over one of her tits.
 
Shit.
 I hadn't been laid in a long time.  That part of me had been dead for a while.  "What's your name, darlin'?"

"April," she said, leaning into me as she slid her hand down the front of my shirt toward my pants.
 I caught her by the wrist, pulled her away from me, filled with anger.

"Is this some kind of fucking joke?" I
asked, looking from her to Gunner, whose face was chalk white.

"No, man, I don't know what the fuck," he said.

Her wrist felt tiny in my grip, and when I squeezed it harder, she yelped, her face contorting in pain.  "What the fuck?" she screamed.  "Let go of me, you psycho!"

I couldn't.
 "What the fuck do you mean, your name is April?"  I heard my voice, loud even to my own ears, and I was aware that people were starting to stare at me.

She began whimpering.
 "All the girls here tonight - we're the months.  April, May, June, you know?  What's your problem?"

"Did someone tell you to say that?"

"Yeah, man."  She struggled, trying to pull her wrist from my grip.  "Our fucking pimp."

I looked at Gunner
, who shook his head.  "It wasn't on purpose man, just coincidence."

Not on purpose.
 Just a shitty piece of coincidence.  Like the rest of the shit that happened with this fucking club, right?

I felt my grip on her wrist loosen, but my anger didn't dissipate.
 She yanked her arm from my grasp, and I heard her yelling about "fucking assholes" as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the other hookers.

Blaze walked up beside me.
 "You okay, man?  I didn't know about that."

I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my body.
 I was ready to lose it on someone.  
Fuck no, I was not okay.
 What I needed was to get the hell out of this clubhouse and away from all this shit.  The reminders of what was everything to me at once was too much.  I couldn't take this.

"I need to get the fuck out of - "
 I didn't even finish the sentence.  I turned to leave, get the hell away from this place, and right in front of me stood that fucking prospect, the mouthy one from earlier who made the comment about me driving up here in a cage.  Except he wasn't wearing his cut, he was dressed in athletic gear, prepping for a practice fight. His cocky smirk just sent me over the edge.

I took one look at him, and rage took over.
He saw it too and tried to dodge, but I punched him square in the jaw.  He went straight to a knee, but stood up on wobbly legs, full of fight.  "Cheap shot," he said, and in a blur, he was coming at me, swinging wildly, not controlling his delivery, and full of rage.

I stepped back, clear of his swings, and then went forward with a jab to his nose and upper lip that resulted in a gush of blood. 
He was stunned momentarily, then turned back at me with a roar and lunged into me. We hit the floor hard and he got in a few good shots on me, but all he was doing was keying me up even more. It felt like child's play, brought me back to my high school days, all the brawling I did.  Part of me was enjoying beating on this little punk.  It was only when he hit my with an elbow to the side of the head that I started to lose control.

E
verything went blurry, and the only thing I was aware of was that feeling of all-consuming rage again, the same thing I'd felt before when I beat Tink.  I didn't give a shit about anything, except what was happening right now.  I didn't give a shit if I lived or died.

I felt hands on my back, pulling me off of the prospect.
 "Hammer!"  someone yelled.  More hands.

"Hammer!"

I could see Blaze from the corner of my eye, his expression grim.  "No more," he said.  "You're going to kill him.  I don't need a dead prospect to deal with."

Kill him?
 I was confused.  We'd barely been fighting for a few minutes, and he was talking about killing him.  This prospect had to be a real sack of shit if he couldn't take a couple of punches.  Shit, I was more torn up than he was, my knuckles raw.  I could feel blood dripping from my nose, and my face throbbed.