Page 4 of Risky Fight

That life — the vultures, and the betting, gambling and all that goes with it is not a place for a wee boy. I can start over here, away from all that pressure, working for my family, earning good honest money. Well, maybe not honest, but I won’t be getting the shit kicked out of me on the regular. There will be no bookies threatening me, and I won’t be hounded by women trying to get ten seconds of fame being photographed with me.

Family is important, and I might have been living my life but I have missed mine while I was gone. There’s nothing in the world that can replace family, not fame or money — there’s a love that comes with family. No money can buy that.

I have been back almost a week, and for the first time tonight I ventured out, not to go anywhere in particular. I just took a drive through the neighborhood where we’d hang out back in the day. Five years haven’t been kind to the place, things look tired, rusted, and older. I guess we’re like the city, nothing stays the same. We change, and age isn’t kind to everyone. I’m lucky I’ve had to stay fit and healthy to compete — some of the dad bods I saw at my family gym remind me I’m not a kid anymore. My friends are dads, I am a dad now. Even if it’s not what I planned or wanted, a lawyer showed up at my home with a paternity test and a kid who had lost his mam. My kid. Now I have to make up for being a shit father for three years, by being his only parent now.

I fell in love with the lad the minute I looked in his eyes, I didn’t need the paper to tell me he was mine. It was there in his eyes, my eyes, looking at me through tears. I left him with my stepsisters tonight, and they’re loving on him. Trying to make up for the fact he’s lost the only woman in his life that matters to young boy. It’s a lot for him, and me.

I just needed a moment alone to breathe, to let it all sink in so I am able to do what I have to. My phone buzzes nonstop from somewhere in the car, I don’t actually give a shit where it is, or who it is. It’s either my manager, my lawyer, or some reporter wanting a scoop because I missed the World MMA Awards yesterday where I was being honored. I just couldn’t face it, none of it. The idea of winning a trophy when I had just found out I have a son I have sorely let down, just felt wrong.

I take a turn towards where Lou used to live, I am sure she’s long gone by now. Moved on to the life she wanted, without me. It’s funny the only woman I ever talked about having children with was Lou, and now I have a son and no one to share that joy of being a family with. I’m crawling down Main when I see people fleeing the local dive-bar.

The sound of police sirens getting closer is a clue as to why they’re all running. I’m driving slowly because I don’t want to knock over a drunken pedestrian. It’s a flash, but I think I saw Lou, a guy was pulling her along by her wrist. He got mad when she stumbled, but I can’t be sure, because I never expected Lou to still be here. The stress could just be making me see shit, the thought of someone manhandling Lou makes me irrationally mad for no reason.

I have to slow down when the police come flying down the road, and when I look in my rearview mirror she’s gone, whoever she was. The cops have caused a traffic jam and I can only turn one way, a familiar old shortcut through the alley to the block where Lou lived. My car is slightly too big and I have to drive slowly to avoid hitting rubbish bins, and over debris that’s left in the darkness to waste away.

When my headlights shine down the narrow little space, I have a flashback to kissing Lou up against the wall of this alleyway. Unable to wait long enough to make it across the road to her place, we were feral with lust, pulling at one another’s clothing. Desperate, needy, and utterly obsessed. I could never get enough of her.

I’m turning out of the alley when I see her again, slamming the door of a car too fancy to be in this part of town. I’m not seeing things. My heart feels her. That’s Lou, my sweet fucking hellion. She’s still here, some things don’t change. I drive slowly past her, and for a second our gazes meet. I see the flash of recognition, followed by the anger that only Lou would get across in a fleeting glance.

There’s no point, I don’t blame her. I know Lou will never forgive me for running out and leaving her to chase my own glory. She’d probably kill me in my sleep if she got a chance. I made an epic mistake walking away from her. I knew it the minute I shut her apartment door that morning. Why is Lou still here? What happened?

Her life was meant to turn out differently, she had big dreams and goals — with me. That’s what happened. I left her here to rot away in this soul sucking part of town. It’s my fault, and I cannot shake the feeling I broke Louise when I left. She looks angry, alone, and miserable. Her nose was bleeding and even then, she was still as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I drive off, there’s so much baggage here, maybe I should have gone somewhere else and started over fresh with no past. The bar around the corner is shut down, no doubt that’s how she got a bloody nose. But I need a drink. Five years living clean, and I am here five minutes and I am drinking again. I floor it, taking the corners from muscle memory, as if I never left, to Abby’s. I know they’ll be open — my old man is probably there.

The instant familiarity and comfort of the bar that hasn’t changed at all, it hugs me as I walk in through the squeaky wooden door. The bell rings above my head and no one even looks up. If they notice me they do not show it, in here my privacy will be respected.

This is a place where the mob meets, it’s our head office and there’s a few gentleman’s rules that apply inside here. Like Vegas — what happens at Abby’s, stays at Abby’s. We don’t talk about it. Not outside anyway, there are rules and breaking rules gets people killed or hurt. I have grown up enough to respect that now.

“Roark,” my dad says, waving me over to the table where he’s surrounded by a few of his men, “glad to see you out, you can’t hide forever. Nolan with your sisters?” I nod, and stop myself from correcting him, they’re my step-sisters. I’m an only fucking child, but I do not want to fight with him anymore. I just want to make things right, with everyone.

“Can I get a whiskey? The good stuff. Three blocks of ice, and you might as well bring three.” I order a drink from a passing server before pulling up a chair to sit with them at the table. “You are right, I can’t hide forever,” I say to my dad, “I can however be of use, so what are we working on?” I do not plan to wallow around and do nothing. I have money but it’ll not last forever, especially not raising a kid. They are expensive little things, and I do not want my boy fighting for scraps in life.

“That’s my boy.” My dad slaps me on the back, and I throw down my first drink since I left here all those years ago. “We have been working with the Russian, he has underground fighting and he needs a place off the grid to host them. Some big ones, some private invitation only sort of things.” I know who he’s talking about, I hear the man married Rory. Poor soul. I wonder if she has tried to kill him yet. I met him in Las Vegas when his girl won the women’s title, he’s a very serious guy.

“We have the right infrastructure for that, and our connections mean we could draw crowds if he wanted that. I have met him a few times. He has some very good legit fighters too, and they control all the big bookies and online bets. He’s a big fish for us to work with. It could be very lucrative.” I am not a fool. I might have been in the UFC, but I know where the real fights go down. This is a big money industry; betting, racketeering, match fixing, trafficking. It’s like I never left, they just got deeper into even darker things, aligned with worse partners, and it should upset or scare me. Instead, I am fucking excited — my heart is thumping with adrenaline.

“Well, now with you home, we have an even bigger resource to keep him interested. The shifty bastard isn’t hanging around though. So we are meeting him tonight at the docks on the old fishing boat. He’s interested in reprising it. Apparently international waters mean no laws apply.” Oh, that is smart — and risky. It’s just crazy enough to intrigue me.

“I’ll come with.” Some of the guys look unimpressed, but my old man smiles at me. “I’m back,” I say it so they can understand it, “that means I am here to work with the family. As my father’s right hand. If anyone has a problem with that you best get it out right now, so we can avoid any problems later.” There’s silence at the table, they expected the boy that left. I am a man now, and I have seen the underside of the world, it’s uglier than I ever thought. So I am not innocent, or soft.

“Roark is my son, and there will be the respect that goes with that. If he’s home for good, then he will be taking over.” Not today, but part of me knew all my life I’d replace him one day. “Any bullshit and I will deal with it. Are we understood?” He’s sensed the same vibes I did. They are not happy about me being back. “Next order of business, the O’Neill boys. They haven’t paid up, and they are avoiding me. We need to send them a little message. Maybe give them an ultimatum. It’s not pocket change.”

It’s Lou’s brothers — they’re in trouble with my dad. That is not a good place to be, but I am not sure I can get involved in that one. It’s too personal. I sit back and listen to them discuss the debt and agree to pay the boys a visit in the morning after we meet with the Russian. Fight boats is a fucking genius idea. This could be bigger than just a once-off deal. I learned about the ‘long age’ while I was away, and about setting things up to last.

Chapter3 - Lou

“Damon you filthy fucking bastard! This place is a tip,” I yell at my brother as I step over the mess littering his living room floor. The debris of whatever they did last night is scattered throughout the whole place. “You fucking partying on a weeknight again? This is gross! God, you are a siff thing.” There’s not even a groan, the silence is actually more alarming than if he’d still been partying. I look closer, and there’s more evidence of a fight than a party.

My body kicks into hyper-vigilance, and I ball my fists ready to defend myself at any given moment. I scan the place to see if anyone else is here — hiding away, waiting to ambush me.

“Damon. You filthy cunt. What is going on?” I know there’s something wrong when he doesn’t even defend himself from my insults. Pulling out my phone I dial my other brother, Malcolm, but is rings straight to his voicemail. So I slowly walk through the chaotic mess, noticing things as I go. There’s blood on the floor and in the kitchen sink, like someone tried to clean up a nosebleed or a knife wound. The fridge door is open, and there’s a broken glass in front of the island. “Are you here?” I swallow down my panic and choose fight mode not flight.

The overturned dustbin is in my path and I have to stretch to step over it without standing on broken glass. There are no lights on down the hall, and it’s gloomy. The air is thick and humid inside. The AC is off and it smells like ass. My brothers are gross creatures but this isn’t normal. When I push his bedroom door open with my foot the entire place has been completely tossed.

Damon is unconscious, duct-taped to the wingback chair by the window. Someone has kicked the shit out of him, I’m afraid to check if he’s even alive. I slowly move towards him, still looking over my shoulder making sure no one is still here.

“Shit,” I whisper kneeling in front of my brother, fear starting crack my hard shell. “Damon,” I whisper scream at him. “Wake the fuck up. What happened?” I rip the tape off his mouth and stick my finger under his nose to see if he is breathing. I try calling Malcolm again, and when he doesn’t answer I fear worse may have happened to him.

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