Page 9 of My Undead Heart

As soon as Zig’s cook shows for his shift I hightail it back to my gym and the rest of my day flies by in a blur of private training sessions, group classes, and planning out a budget so I can keep things rolling for another month without cutting staff. I stay until it’s time to lock up for the day, and barely have time to scarf down dinner and grab a shower before I need to head back to Zig’s for the evening shift.

As busy as I am, I can’t get the woman from the bar out of my head. The chick with the blood and guts painted over her skin. Unusual, because it isn’t like me to think much about any woman after parting ways. Back in the day when I first started fighting and began to gain fame, I exploited my success for random hookups, but that grew old fast. Sex without connection is fun in the moment, but once I realized all the ways it could strip away my success—an unplanned pregnancy, an STD, or even an unwanted relationship—I stopped living it up and focused on fighting. Maybe that sounds selfish. It sort of is, but I’d rather chase goals, not women.

However, the zombie girl with the soul striking fire for eyes dances in and out of my mind the entire day. Thoughts of threading my fingers through her long crimson hair while I yank her lips to mine—it’s only the beginning of my fantasies. It’s too bad I’ll never see her again. The slim chance she’ll show at Zig’s again has me more excited than I should be for working my shift at the door late into this Friday night.

Pulling on a hoodie to camouflage the T-shirt I’m wearing with Zig’s logo screen printed on the front and “Security” block lettered on the back, I lock my one-bedroom apartment and jog down the stairs to catch the train.

My cell vibrates with an incoming call, interrupting the music streaming through my earbuds. My uncle’s name pops on the caller ID and I press the green button to accept his call.

“Uncle Jimmy.” There’s a warmth for the man in my greeting despite his shortcomings. He’s always been good to me and my brother, even when our father tries to cause havoc.

“My second favorite nephew! How are you, Matt?”

“Grinding, man. How’s business?”

“Business is rolling. You know I do all right for myself.”

“That I do.” I chuckle. For all his antics, at least he’s never called for bail money, or a favor. Never tried to drag me or my brother into the family biz, and I can respect that.

“Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was indisposed.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”

“You don’t, kid. You really don’t. But my guess is you didn’t call to shoot the shit. What’s up?”

This is one of those moments when I have to swallow my pride. I don’t have a problem putting in a hard day’s work. Shit, it’s how I got by growing up. But once I ask Jimmy for this, it will be a matter of days before Pop comes calling. As much as I don’t need that negativity in my life, I need money more. And Jimmy’s never had a problem paying in cash.

“I was wondering if you had a spot on the crew. Temporarily.”

“Things okay at the gym?” His tone holds worry.

“Good. I’ve got a fighter, Xavier Johnson. He’s the next lightweight champ. Just a little cash flow issue and I’m trying to stay on top of it.”

“I can loan you—”

“No. I’d rather work for it. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, kid. I always admire that ’bout you. Yeah, I could use some help on a painting job. It’s over near Michigan Avenue. Big job. Bid was accepted and I’m just waiting on a permit before we start, but it should be soon.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Uncle Jimmy.”

“What about the gym? Who’s gonna teach your classes?”

“I have some trainers on staff now. They can cover the mid-morning and noon classes. We shut down until four.”

“Impressive. Sorry, I haven’t been by since you opened up.”

“It’s all good. I know you support me.” And I do. I also know Jimmy would rather eat pizza than work out at my gym, so I understand why he doesn’t come by much.

“I do, kid. Always. I’ll text you the address once we’re good to go. Job should be two to three weeks once we start. I can pay you in cash? Twenty an hour.”

A sigh of relief leaves my lips as the train brakes squeal with the slowing cars. “You’re the best, Jimmy. Thank you.”

“Anything for my second favorite nephew.” He chuckles at the joke that’s been running for almost twenty years, since back when I was a punk ass teen trying to prove myself to my delinquent friends. I was tagging a brand new Buick in the alleyway near home when Uncle Jimmy stepped outside an apartment door and busted me. I didn’t know it was his car at the time, and spent my entire summer working on his crew to pay him back. Still, he’s never let me live it down.

“Yeah, maybe I can work on getting bumped back to first place? Hey, I’ve gotta run. Getting off the train now.”

“Later, Matt.”

---