Page 6 of Beautiful Lies
“Nah, they don’t wanna run a shop,” Jared said, tossing his cigarette. “Think about it. You’ve got a week until I start considering other offers.”
I followed him inside, ignoring Claudia’s heated gaze as she came out of the restroom, her tits practically falling out of her low-cut black top. She licked her lips and fluttered her eyelashes, sending a message that was loud and clear. Claudia was hot, with long dark hair and curves in all the right places, but she didn’t do it for me.
“Someone’s been spending a lot of time in the gym,” she said.
I turned my back to her before she got a close-up view of my chest. Claudia was our receptionist and piercer, and had offered, on more than one occasion, to suck my dick. I had to hand it to her for being direct, but I never took her up on it, and I never would.
I closed the door, effectively shutting her out.
“Mind if I watch?” she asked from the other side of the door. I shook my head, but it wasn’t necessary. Jared knew I didn’t want an audience. Eden had been an exception.
“I need you on the desk,” Jared said.
She huffed out a breath and I heard her heels clicking across the black-and-white tiled floor.
“You going there?” Jared asked, dipping the needle into cyan ink.
“Nope.”
No more words were exchanged while Jared worked on my tattoo which gave me time to think about his offer. Part of me was saying that I wasn’t ready for this kind of responsibility. The other part of me was saying that it was time to step up to the plate and prove myself.
I stared at the pressed-tin tiles on the ceiling and let my thoughts drift to the girl with lavender hair and silvery gray eyes. Ava Christensen had been the best thing in my life, but I ruined us.
* * *
I parkedmy Harley on the sidewalk in front of Defiance MMA & Fitness and locked it up. The gym closed fifteen minutes ago so I was hoping to catch Killian on his way out. I pushed through the front door of the converted warehouse, surprised it wasn’t locked yet. Killian was in the cage with Nico, a kid he was training, and I stood back to watch them grapple.
In my early teens, I’d spent hours watching Killian’s training sessions at a gym in Bay Ridge. While he’d trained, I’d drawn, and created a comic book that my old man had found hidden under my mattress. Turning Seamus Vincent into the evil villain of my graphic comic hadn’t been one of my brighter ideas. He’d burned my sketchbook and punched me so hard my ears were ringing for a week. Killian hadn’t been home that night. If he had been, he would have intervened. I was thirteen at the time, and a sick, twisted part of me took pride in the fact that I’d taken that punch to the head.
I watched as Killian got Nico into a chokehold he couldn’t free himself from. “Tap the mat, Nico,” Killian said. Reluctantly, Nico tapped his hand on the mat and Killian released him. They got to their feet and faced each other.
“Tapping out isn’t the same as losing,” Killian said. “You did good today.”
Nico nodded, but I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t convinced.
“Nico,” Killian said, willing Nico to listen and believe his words. “You did good.”
“Yeah, man. Thanks,” Nico mumbled. He climbed out of the cage and we exchanged a greeting before he headed to the locker room.
“I’m closing up now,” Killian said.
“I’m not here to work out. You got a minute?”
“Help me clean the mats,” he said, shooting a look at my motorcycle boots. Killian’s always been a stickler for rules, attempting to give structure to a world of chaos. Wearing shoes on the mats was forbidden. “And I’ll give you more than a minute.”
I kicked off my boots and lined them up against the wall under the black and red gym logo. Killian returned from the supply closet with brooms and Swiffer mops and we got to work, sweeping the jigsaw mats.
Nico came out of the locker room in jeans and a T-shirt, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, and followed the path around the mats, careful not to step on them in his street shoes. “You need help cleaning?” he asked.
Killian shook his head. “Get some rest. Drink plenty of water. And if you need me foranything, you call me.”
Nico nodded, and I wondered if he knew how lucky he was to have Killian in his corner. I was tempted to take Nico aside and caution him not to squander the faith Killian had in him. But maybe this kid was smarter than me. “Thanks,” Nico said.
Killian walked him to the door and clapped Nico on the shoulder, saying something in a low voice I didn’t catch. A pep talk, or words of advice, maybe. Killian had taken Nico under his wing nine months ago when he opened this gym and I got the feeling Nico wanted to follow in Killian’s footsteps. Once upon a time, Killian had been a UFC champion. When his opponent, Johnny Ramirez, died of his injuries two years ago, Killian walked away from his MMA career. It had been an accident, but Killian’s guilt ran deep, and he vowed never to step foot in the Octagon again. Instead, he coached guys like Nico.
After Nico left, Killian joined me on the mats.
“How’s Nico doing?” I asked, knowing he came from a similar fucked-up background as we did.
