Page 52 of Forgotten Comeback

Little did I know this was the strike of the match that would burn our entire world to the ground.

Chapter

Twenty-One

Gavin

Shaking away the ghosts of the past, my knuckles rap on the door, and I’m beckoned inside. Inferno’s seated behind his desk without the mask, and I still have to fight the urge to look away, despite all these years. Behind him, a copy ofThe Divine Comedyisprominently displayed on the bookcase. He’s always had a flair for the melodrama.

I sit in a chair across from his desk next to John, who looks ready to unload.

Preemptively, I hold up my hand. “I know this is about last night, but hear me out. I’ve been a journeyman long enough. Why can’t it be my time?”

John shakes his head emphatically. “If anyone were to find out Inferno’s connection to you, it calls into question the league’s fairness.”

“It’s a fucking underground operation. Since when are we concerned with fairness?” I counter.

“The more attention you receive, the more likely someone digs into your background,” John argues.

“So what? It’s been scrubbed,” I point out.

“Exactly. And they’ll keep digging. It’s too much of a gamble, especially when we’ve come this far,” he says.

“I’ve played my part. Always done everything that’s been asked of me, but dammit, I’m asking for this. I’m not getting any younger,” I point out. “Most boxers hang up their gloves in their early thirties.”

“You don’t wear gloves,” John says.

I cross my arms. “Missing the point. I want my shot at the championship, fair and square.”

“I say we let Gavin fight to win,” Inferno interjects, and I almost forget he was in the room with us.

“And the revenue we lose from throwing bouts?” John challenges.

“God forbid we actually put money on me winning,” I snipe.

“Everyone loves a good comeback story,” Inferno answers John. “More drama, more ticket sales, more booze, more bets. Anyone digs, then we dig a shallow grave for them,” he says darkly.

“I’m overruled. Gavin, we’ll get you a new trainer,” John tells me.

I smile victoriously.

“We’re counting on you. Where are you, mentally?” he asks, treading lightly.

“I’ll soon have a new trainer who gets paid to be on my ass; you can take a break,” I tell my eldest brother.

He and Inferno exchange something silently. Twins are annoying like that. “We worry about you,” they say in unison.

Arms crossed, I inform them, “If there’s something to worry about, I’ll let you both know.”

John’s phone notifies, and he checks it. “I have a meeting with the Casino Control Commission. Everyone’s on my ass about the delays with the Diamond project.” He sighs heavily. “We solid?”

“As a rock,” I say, and Inferno dips his head in agreement.

“I’ll be in touch.” John rises and walks out.

Inferno waits until we’re alone before he pins me with his hard gaze. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night, what with disposing of two bodies.”

I run my hand over the back of my head. “I owe you one, brother.”