Page 31 of Back in Black

GETTING Dickey settled took a lot longer than it should have, especially since he came around enough to offer up a lot of protest. He wanted his keys, he wanted to go find his girlfriend, he wanted to tear up the streets . . . he wanted to do a lot.

But Drew stood in his way.

He had no problem with fighters partying hard, and if that included getting smashed, no big deal. Far as Drew was concerned, the guys worked damned hard, and they deserved to let off steam—unless it affected the SBC.

If Dickey made an even bigger ass of himself, it’d come back on the sport. Even more importantly than that, the dumb-ass could end up injuring an innocent. No way would Drew let him drive when crocked. And with his judgment impaired, Dickey could get caught up in a street fight. Even plastered, he’d annihilate an untrained man.

But Gillian didn’t want Drew to just knock him upside the head. No, she wanted him to be understanding.

What do I look like? A fucking babysitter?

Dumb as it seemed, Drew didn’t want to disappoint her. Luckily, the tattoo artist wasn’t unreasonable. He apologized for bothering Drew and assured him he was a big fan of the sport. As such, he’d hesitated to call the cops, and he had no interest in contacting the papers for a big scoop.

For that, Drew was damned grateful, enough that he promised the guy a couple of expensive floor seats at an upcoming fight. The last thing the SBC needed was more bad press.

For years it felt that with every two steps they took forward in mainstreaming, someone wanted to knock them back one. It infuriated Drew, as much for the effort and dedication of the fighters as his own time and energy spent building the organization.

Every sport had its pitfalls; on occasion, an athlete fell from grace with a DUI or a disorderly conduct. Some chump wouldn’t pay his child support or his taxes . . . shit happened, in football, baseball, basketball—hell, in every professional sport. No one approved of athletes shirking responsibility or behaving badly, but let it happen in the SBC, and politicians went right back to comparing them to human cockfighting.

“Did he show up here hammered?” Drew asked the tattoo artist. If Dickey had driven there drunk . . .

“Nah. He had a buzz going on when he came in, but he wasn’t wasted like this. I tried to talk him out of the tattoo, but he was pushy about it.” The guy held up a fancy silver flask. “He guzzled this down after I finished his tat.”

“What a dumb-ass.” Drew took the flask and put it in his pocket. “Did he pay you?”

“Not yet.”

At the moment, Dickey sat in a chair, his head back, his eyes closed as if in pain. Pathetic. Drew couldn’t imagine letting a woman twist him up like that. If Dickey’s ladylove didn’t understand the importance of what he did, the necessity of training at different camps, then to hell with her.

But Dickey apparently disagreed, given his morose posture.

Shaking his head, Drew decided against searching out Dickey’s wallet. “How much does he owe you?”

The artist sounded apologetic as he named the price.

The fancy tattoo design, used to cover up Dickey’s girlfriend’s name, had cost a pretty penny.

Drew ponied up his credit card without too much grumbling. “Give yourself a twenty percent tip for being discreet.”

“No way, man, that’s okay.” The artist held up his hands and shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“You fucking earned it, dude. Don’t worry about it.” He nodded toward Dickey. “I’ll make sure he pays me back.”

After they settled up, Drew bullied and badgered Dickey out to his car. But what to do with Dickey’s ride?

“I can follow you in his car,” Gillian offered.

“Fuck that.” It looked ready to storm, and besides, Drew wanted Gillian with him. “I’ll have it towed.”

Propping her hands on her shapely hips, Gillian rejected that idea. “No, you will not. I’ll drive his car to wherever you’re taking him, and then you and I can leave from there together.”

God save him from independent, outspoken women.

A cold wind cut through Drew. He watched Gillian pull her wrap tighter around her and he wanted to rage at the way things had unfolded. “Night of your life, huh?”

Despite the dropping temps, she gave him a sultry look. “That remains to be seen.”

Okay, maybe he liked independent, outspoken women. “Is that a dare, Gillian?” He caught her upper arms and saw her smile as he pulled her in close. “By God, I think it was.”

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