Page 20 of Legacy of Danger
Strike that. It was better than before he'd left. At least now, every workout session didn't involve spending the first hour sobering up.
"Where have you been?" One of the older fighters and gym owner, Earl, crossed his zero-body-fat arms. "Heard you're all uppity now. Big-shot city guy, fighting in the concrete jungle. Too good for the common fighters out here in the boonies?"
"It's not like that at all. I had to leave town for a while."
He sized Vaughn up. "How long are you back?"
"No idea. A week, maybe more."
"You stay fight ready?" Earl nudged one of the other men, and they snickered.
What gave? "Sure, why?"
"Want to take a fight on short notice up in Lander?"
A surge of adrenaline made Vaughn's heart thud. He hadn't fought on the local circuit for several years. Being in jail repeatedly put a cramp in his training regimen and fight appearances back in the day. But now, with the opportunity to pound the crap out of a real live human being? Hell, yeah. He'd take that fight any day of the week ending in the letter Y.
Vaughn's power to avoid danger buzzed. "Depends. What weight?"
"Light heavyweight." Earl pinched Vaughn's nonexistent love handle. "You're soft, like butter. Can you make 205 by this weekend?"
Fifteen pounds in five days? Wouldn't be a problem. "Sure. Who am I fighting?"
"Looks like you'll fight Lincoln McDowell, the regional champ."
"Linc."
"You know him?" Earl asked.
The opportunity to flatten that asshole's face almost gave Vaughn a hard-on. "Yeah, we've fought before. Many years ago. He's a dirty bastard." Split decision in Linc's favor. One of the few fights Vaughn had lost. But call a spade a spade: Vaughn didn't do himself any favors by rehydrating with Jim Beam after weigh-in. If he almost beat the guy while sloshed, imagine what he could do sober.
His hands curled into eager fists.
The owner grinned. "That's why you two would be a match made in heaven."
"Why doesn't Linc have a bout lined up?"
"His opponent got injured last week and had to pull out of the fight. Angelo Martinez, the fight promoter, would give anything to keep that card filled. If I send him a replacement, he'll be more willing to put my gym's guys on fight cards in the future."
"Are you certain of the fight?" Angelo was the shrewd promoter for most of Wyoming. The guy worked hard to elevate fighters to the next level of MMA. He worked even harder to make bank on every event, too.
"No. This is secondhand information. But I'll tell Mr. Martinez to call you ASAP. I bet he'd be very interested."
"Fair enough." He shook Earl's hand. "Well, I have work to do. Can I take a bag home for the week?" He motioned to one of the Everlast punching bags hanging by a chain.
"Don't see why not." Two of the men took the bag down and left to stow it in the back of the truck. "You also want something for ground and pound work?"
"Yeah. Give me the heaviest grappling dummy you can spare. I'm going to need it. Hey, maybe I'll see you guys this weekend in Lander."
Marcus hollered, "Hey, pansy, make sure you bring your A game. Linc's gotten better over the past few years. That bastard is scary as shit."
"Understood." Throwing on a sweatshirt, Vaughn pushed through the front door and into the bracing night air.
No more snacks for the next week, then. So be it. He curled his fingers around the steering wheel as a smile pushed the edges of his face. A live fight. This trip back to Wyoming was turning out to be therapeutic as hell.
