Fierce (4 page)

Avery slid his bag off his shoulder and set it down gently on the deck. The guys were making sense in a way he really hated. A coward’s sense. He wasn’t about to argue with their logic, but he didn’t have to like it either. This was a stable for fighters, not pussies. You took chances to get what you wanted because no one was going to hand it to you, not in this life. On the contrary, they’d line up to take it away from you, just like they’d done to Gunny and Rico and that lanky kickboxer, Marshall Eversmith. All ballsy fighters. But they’d let their careers get taken from them. They hadn’t grabbed that motherfuckin’ stick and beaten the bearer to death with it. No, they’d taken a dive instead.

“Let’s not get carried away,” said Avery. “Wait till Luca gets in later. He’ll give us the full story, and we’ll talk it over till we have a solution. I can promise you that.”

The new assistant, Ross-something, blew his nose at the worst possible moment. The noise blared out and echoed like a damn foghorn. Everyone looked across at him in disgust. They didn’t much like him anyway; he was a stiff, didn’t really interact with anyone, and tended to come out with snooty, sarcastic shit whenever anyone made a dig at him. Avery didn’t like him either, but for another reason, the first objection he’d had to Luca hiring the stiff in the first place. He was a total weed. For someone working in a gym, he had no strength whatsoever. He struggled carrying the equipment; he couldn’t really hold the pads for the guys to hit, and he looked like the mop might get the best of him in a fight. He was, frankly, an embarrassment to Wright Hook’s. If Luca hadn’t backed him so strongly, the stiff wouldn’t have lasted a day.

This was his fourth.

“Let’s carry on as normal for now, and if you’ve got any urgent concerns, I’ll see you one at a time in the office. Ross, you can sit in with us.” Avery knew that was what his brother would want. The stiff was Luca’s pet project. He’d seen something in him he liked, something that reminded him of the two of them fighting their way out of Michigan—though God only knew what. Ross Whats-his-face couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

Murmurs of dissent turned all eyes toward the stiff. He flushed red, and his eyes narrowed at the taunting remarks, but he kept his anger in.
Smart
. Instead, he lashed his gaze at Avery, as though he felt he was owed some protection. As an employee, he probably was. But Avery didn’t feel particularly charitable today. The kid would have to man-up if he wanted to survive in this line of work.

“I ain’t sayin’ shit if he’s in there with us,” announced Sy Vargas.

“Then don’t,” replied Avery, walking over to the office.

“How do we know he’s not spying for them? Dude hardly ever speaks, just watches us the whole time. Gives me the creeps.”

Avery ignored that but knew he shouldn’t. This whole situation was getting away from him, but he also knew that if he did get into it with the crowd like this, he’d lose his shit. One-on-one, in the office, he could defuse their anger. Taking them all on at once, he’d probably make it worse. He’d always been the hothead brother, quicker with his fists than with his mouth.

“Who said that?”

Avery spun round and saw his brother leap up into the ring. A mixture or relief and shame hit him, and a part of him wanted to slink away into the office and wait there till the whole scene was over. He knew exactly what was coming.

Sy Vargas unwisely spoke up again. “I did. I think it’s a fair question. This guy starts work here, and almost the
next day
one of our best fighters gets done for taking a dive. Is that coincidence? Or is he a fucking spy?”

“Don’t be a dick, Sy,” replied Marlon. “This is the third time it’s happened. Or do you wanna blame the new guy for what happened before he got here as well?”

“Keep talkin’. Y’all can’t see what’s happenin’. We’re being gutted from the inside out. I’m tellin’ you, we’re bein’ watched close. Those people got spies everywhere. Only this one’s so obviously a stiff y’all can’t see the wood for the trees.”

“Where’s your proof?” asked Marlon.

“How’s this for proof? If he stays, I go.”

“Then get out!” yelled Luca, more angry than Avery had seen him in a long time. “Get your shit together and get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back. Ross has done nothing against any of you; he’s trying his best to help us out and I’m glad I hired him. Anyone who doesn’t like it—there’s the door. I don’t wanna hear any more of this paranoid shit. And the next person who says a wrong word against any employee of this gym will suck asphalt after I knock his fucking teeth out.”

A deathly silence gripped the gym. The only sound was the distant clattering of locker doors—Sy Vargas’s temper tantrum in the locker room. Gino finally spoke up and said, “Jesus, Luca. We should put the gloves on you, man.
I
ain’t sparring with you, though.”

“Very wise,
muchacho.
And the rest of you guys, just get back to what you were doing. Please. Come and see us one at a time if you feel the need, and we’ll go through any concerns you have. Okay, have at it.” Luca motioned for Ross and Avery to join him in the office. Once inside, he closed the door and said to Ross, “Sorry about that. It should never have gotten that far.” Then, he shot Avery a stinging glance and said, “I don’t think it’ll happen again. They know you have my full backing.”

“What if it does happen again, when we’re not here?” asked Avery.

“That won’t be for a while. There’ll be at least one of us here at all times until this situation gets resolved. And by the way, don’t ever let that happen again.”

“What? You’re blaming
me
for that?” Avery knew he was protesting too much; he really should have stuck up for their new employee.

“You said nothing, bro. You could have defused that situation before it got out of hand, but you said nothing.”

“It’s okay. I can stick up for myself,” said Ross.

“That’s the point. You shouldn’t have to,” replied Luca. “This is gonna be a difficult time for us, and we need to have each other’s backs.”

“Why do they hate me? I can’t see what I’ve done wrong.”

“They don’t know what to make of you,” said Luca. “Just give it time. Maybe put yourself out there a bit more, get to know them, interact. If you can talk to them the way you talk to me, they’ll be alright with you. And when you’re more familiar with the fight scheduling and hotel booking and all that behind-the-scenes stuff, you can do the one-on-ones, give them the skinny on where they need to be and when. That’s probably the best part. You can’t beat that camaraderie before a fight. We’ve got their backs every step of the way, and they know it. They need to know it. In the ring and outside the ring, they’ve got us in their corner. It might sound like hooey, but I really think it makes the difference. It’s what we always try for, right, bro?”

“All true. Except the Kumbaya part.” Avery had never really thanked his brother like he should have—for that optimism, that never-say-die attitude, all those great blustery motivational speeches to psyche him up before a big fight. Luca might not be the fighter Avery was, but he was a better man in just about every other way.

Adopted or not, he was a brother for life. Avery would kill to protect him.

“What do we do about the match-fixing?” asked Ross, opportunistically including himself in that sentence. Despite Luca’s stubbornness, Avery honestly couldn’t see Ross lasting till the end of the week. All this talk of camaraderie and support and having each other’s backs meant jack shit if the guy didn’t fit in, and he hated to break it to Mr. Motivator, but Ross Whats-his-face was just wrong for Wright Hook’s. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why it was obvious, but he was. He was like an actor playing a role he’d been totally miscast in, the awkwardness stood out a mile, and the whole gym saw it except for Luca.

“Well, it’s trickier than we thought, and I’ll tell you why,” said Luca. “A couple of fighters over at Springbok have been caught taking a dive as well. Yep, it’s true. A guy and a girl. The guy’s lost his license, the girl’s on probation. So whoever’s behind this thing is probably local.”

“Maybe it’s time we got Tyler Culver in here, see what he has to say,” said Avery.

“No, don’t do that—” Ross stopped himself before he finished his sentence, took a step back and turned white as chalk.

“Don’t do what?” asked Avery. “Kid? You alright?”

Ross recovered quickly, cleared his throat. “Sorry, I thought you were talking about someone else. I got the names mixed up. Culver’s the owner of Springbok, right?”

“Right.”

However, Avery sensed the kid was holding something back. He hadn’t got anything mixed up. He knew Tyler Culver somehow and, for whatever reason, didn’t want him showing up here.

“Do you want me to get his number for you?” asked Ross, already reaching for the phone book, a little too eager.

What is he hiding?
thought Avery.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll do it later,” said Luca. “I’ll have to be careful how I word it. We’re not exactly on Culver’s Christmas card list.”

Especially now that Avery has officially broken up with one of his precious daughters
, thought Luca.

“And vice-versa,” added Avery.

“But for this, I guess it’s worth mending a bridge or two.”

Um, good luck with
that,
bro.

There was a knock on the door. When Avery opened it, he saw a line outside, at least eight pissed-off fighters queueing to hear Luca’s hooey.

He’d best have plenty in stock.

Wright Hook’s was entirely the wrong place to be for a girl experiencing an identity crisis, but Rose hung in there. She clung to Luca’s goodwill for dear life. He wanted her there, but he was the only one. So she listened to the gym members gripe about this and that and took notes when appropriate. Some were testy; some were polite and level-headed. Luca and Avery did all the talking. They were a seasoned tag-team by now, and between them, they knew exactly what to say to defuse a problem, or at least postpone it so they could “go a few rounds with it before next time” and persuade the fighter to “try not to tap out just yet.”

When the last fighter left, Rose, who’d been dying for a pee for about an hour, sneaked off to the bathroom. She dashed into one of the empty stalls, quickly wiped the toilet seat with tissue paper, and shivered with joy as she relieved herself. The joy was short-lived, however, when someone began whistling the theme tune to Jurassic Park—right outside her door.

The urinals were there, and she heard the trickle. Rose pulled her pants up but didn’t flush right away. She wanted to wait till he left, whoever it was. However, he didn’t leave. He took his time at the sink nearby, whistling the same tune over and over. She crouched to peek under the door, to see who it was and what he was doing.

Oh my God.

The Light Heavyweight Champion of the World is right there…and he is buck naked! About to take a shower. Towel and shower gel at the ready.

But he was texting on his phone first—a long, glorious message that gave Rose ample time to gawp at every inch of him.

The guy might be a bottom-shelf a-hole, but
damn
, he was top-shelf hot.
Unbelievably hot
. She’d seen boys naked before (and slept with two of them), but that was all they were next to Avery Wright—boys. Just the thought of what he could do to her—if he knew her real identity—left her clenched and trembling. Her face and the tips of her ears felt molten hot. The flutter in her tummy became her new center, a source of strange and not-yet-coined hints and possibilities all swirling from a tiny pinpoint that she couldn’t quite locate. Now it was lower, more erotic. Now it was higher, making her heartbeat test the limits of her chest. Now it was back where it had started, making her feel all weird and outside herself.

He put his phone away and strode into the shower room, out of sight. When Rose got up, the blood rushed from her head and she went faint. She had to compose herself before she left the stall. In the mirror, she saw how red she’d become. and it worried her a little.
How long can I keep up this act if the sight of naked men affects me like this?
Correction: ridiculously hot naked world champion fighters. Hmm, might make for an interesting Google search later. After my midnight training, which would be
fierce
tonight.

Today had been one of the most stressful, frustrating days of her life; it needed a good kicking.

When she got back to the office, Luca was on the phone to Tyler Culver.
Great, another nightmare I had to somehow avoid.
A few years ago, Tyler had taken Rose to the hospital after his two daughters, the Twitches, Ashley and Lena, had beaten the living shit out of her in the restaurant parking lot near the Culver’s house. The Twitches had actually been picking on Cate, Rose’s younger stepsister, but Cate never answered back and didn’t have a violent bone in her body. Rose, on the other hand, had argued and fought with her stepdad on a daily basis, usually coming off worst, and it had left her with a short fuse. Protecting Cate meant everything to her. So when she’d seen the Twitches in full-on bullying mode, Rose had leapt in and set about them. She’d fought hard, even when they’d taken turns bloodying her face and kicking her ribs to splinters.

Cate’s cries for help still haunted Rose to this day. Mostly they were indoors, coming from her bedroom when Mike got angry and took it out on her because she was the nearest and easiest target. But that day, in the parking lot, her cries had echoed far and wide, the exaggerated clarity in Rose’s ears as she lay battered on the ground making every noise seem twice as loud and twice as close. They were dear to her, those cries, because they were for her. Only one person in the whole world cared about her enough to cry like that, and that was important.

She would do everything in her power to get Cate away from Mike. In a few months’ time, Cate would turn eighteen and she’d be free from his custody. When that day came, Rose had vowed to be there, to make sure her stepsister left for good. And if Mike tried to stop her, he’d have to contend with someone who trained every night at an MMA gym.

“Sure, come over tomorrow. We’ll combine forces. Afternoon? Yeah, that’s okay. Sometime around two.  Works for me. Okay, see ya then. Later.”

Luca hung up the phone but didn’t let go right away; he appeared uncertain about something, pensive, as though Tyler Culver’s story didn’t quite scan and Luca had only just realized it.

“We’re on for tomorrow,” he told Rose. “Culver’s a real piece of work, but we’re in the same boat on this. He’s suggesting we hire a P.I. to find out who’s behind it. Not a bad idea, I guess.”

“It kinda makes you wonder how many other fighters are losing on purpose,” she said, “only they haven’t been found out. They’re just better at faking it.”

“Best to not even think like that. It crushes the life right out of the sport.”

Rose thought about asking for tomorrow off. Culver recognizing her was a possibility she didn’t want to risk. He might even bring one or both of the Twitches with him. However, if she asked and Luca said no, she couldn’t very well call in sick in the morning; it would be too obvious. So she decided to just wait till the morning and take the coward’s way out. Today had been rough, tomorrow could potentially be much worse.

“Right, I’m out of here,” he said, zipping up his gym bag. “Don’t stay too late. It’ll be another long day tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“Later.”

“Later,” she replied, adrenaline already coursing through her at the thought of another thrilling workout. She collected all the wrestling mats, rolled them up and stacked them, then gathered the various pads and helmets. All the while she looked ahead to the VIP training time in her own private gym. Tonight, she’d rock the weights, work on her all-round strength. Being wiry was great for running and keeping fit, but she’d never get the better of anyone until she had a little brute strength behind her moves.

And speaking of brute strength, the fully-clothed world champ punched one of the heavy bags on his way past her. “Have a good one,” he said, perhaps the nicest remark he’d aimed in her direction so far. “Hit the showers after if you want. No offense. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Thanks. I might just do that.”

But after he’d gone, she spent the next half hour trying to work out why he’d said that.
Politeness, or is he trying to tell me something? Am I sweating too much during the day and soaking through my shirt? Scary thought.

When fabric got wet, it clung, revealing what was underneath.

Like a
sports bra
, for instance!

She dashed to the bathroom, checked herself out in the mirror. No sweat patches that she could see—well, not
now.

But earlier...when everyone had been feeling the heat…?

No, my secret is safe.

The shirt she wore was dark, baggy, and too thick to see through, even when damp.

And if he was hinting that I smelled, well, sorry Mr. Asshat, but I am the one person in this stinkpot who doesn’t. End of story.

She went back to work. And when she’d finished, she got to work.

***

Half as any people turned up to work out the following morning, and it worried Luca a little. He and Avery had done the best they could, but the news of Gunny Maxwell’s disgrace had sent bigger shockwaves through the clientele than they’d anticipated. If things continued on like this, Wright Hook’s would probably go under. It didn’t help matters that Avery hadn’t had a fight in over four months; he was obligated to defend his title, but there just weren’t enough qualified challengers around at the moment, and those that could feasibly take him on seemed to be scared of him. He’d already defeated the very best, and Luca was scouting for someone worthy
and
hungry enough to share the ring with the great Wright Hook.

Tyler Culver showed up early for his meeting. Rose had tried calling in sick, but Luca had insisted he needed her today, unless she was on death’s door. So she’d relented, partly because he sounded desperate, partly because she didn’t want to risk losing this job, this opportunity. Culver was younger than Rose remembered, early forties, and in terrific shape. He wore jeans and a white polo shirt. His long hair and unshaven face made him look a little like Nicolas Cage in
Con Air
, except he wore glasses. Luca shook his hand, but he wasn’t his usual affable self. Avery joined them in the office a few minutes later.

Meanwhile, Rose checked the cleaning rota and made herself busy wiping and polishing the exercise bikes and rowing machines. She ached all over after last night’s weight training and was stiffer than she’d been in a long time. She barely managed to hold her end when Marlon Washington asked her to help him hang one of the kickboxing bags. It was the first time they’d interacted, so she took the opportunity to ask him a question. “Did you know Gunny?”

“Yeah. He was here when I first started. We sparred together. I got my ass handed to me so many times until he showed me how to block. But I never got close to putting him down, not even when Avery cross-trained me in Jiu-Jitsu. Some guys are just born mean and unstoppable. But he’s a sweet dude outside the ring when you get to know him. I’d never thought it could happen, him taking a dive like that.”

“What about the other guys? Rico and Marshall. Did you ever get to speak to them after it happened to them?”

He shook his head. “You don’t get involved in that shit. When it’s done, it’s done. They disappear and you move on. You don’t wanna get tarred with that brush, believe me.”

“I wish there was more I could do,” she said, “to find out who’s behind it, who’s turning decent guys like that. Fighting’s tough enough as it is. I think we owe it to you guys to figure it out.”

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way—I’m not against you like those other pricks are—but you’ve got this all wrong, Richie.”

“Ross.”

“Ross, yeah.” Still clinging to his bag and inching round it so he could keep an eye on the office, Marlon lowered his voice to a whisper. “Here’s the thing: it’s not about fighting or training or bad management or any of that stuff. Avery’s a good guy, a helluva coach, but he’d be nowhere without his brother. He’s got this laser focus, but he can’t see the big picture. He needs his brother to take care of the politics. And this is all about politics. It ain’t got nothing to do with boxing or MMA. It ain’t sports at all. It’s done by guys who think bigger than sports. It’s the same people who rig elections and bribe cops, or break kneecaps when you miss a payment. Luca and Avery won’t get near them until they can step back from the sport. The IMMAF and those idiots are useless because they’re hung up on rules and regulations. If you wanna figure who’s behind it all, you can either get in with the police, find out what they know, or find yourself a local leg-breaker and work your way up the pyramid from him. Either way, you’re gonna end up on somebody’s radar, somebody you wouldn’t wanna fuck with. Jus’ saying. You don’t wanna get tarred with that brush.”

“And if I did?” The wheels were already spinning in Rose’s mind. One person she knew for certain was connected with unpleasant guys further “up the pyramid”; he was also someone she could easily picture breaking kneecaps when someone didn’t pay. Maybe not the bribing cops or rigging elections part—he was too dumb and small-time for that. Mike, her stepdad, fit the profile to perfection. He might have thrown her out of his house and left her to fend for herself on the streets of Mitre, but there was nothing stopping her from visiting while he was away.

At the very least, Cate would be glad to see her.

“You don’t though,” Marlon reiterated. “Trust me. And look at you. No offense.” He held his gloves up in apology. “You might want to bulk up a little before you even talk about meddling in that shit. Seriously, get Avery to put you on a program—diet and exercise. And who knows, these pricks might not give you so much grief if you kicked some ass.”