Page 2 of Invisible String (The Underground #1)

MAX

Seven years later

T he room echoes with each repetitive, powerful thud.

My fists hit the punching bag, and my feet dance lightly on the ground.

My muscles are tense and flexing with each striking blow.

Sweat rolls down my face, my eyes fixed on the bag, and my mask of determination delivers a punch of pent-up frustration.

Stepping back, I grab a hand towel, wipe the layers of sweat trickling down, and head to the boxing club showers. Then head to my shitty job that starts in an hour at Garden Nursery.

I park my rusty silver Nova in the parking space I took from my deadbeat father.

Giving him a couple of bills in exchange for liquor will do the trick.

It runs like a dream but desperately needs to be pimped.

It’s the end of May, and the Vegas heat has begun.

The nursery is crawling with patrons picking up plants, vegetables, and trees as if they’re going to survive in this heat, anyway.

“You’re late,” Dillon snaps.

Glancing at the digital clock by the entrance, I see I’m only two minutes behind schedule. Big deal. I walk past him, making sure to steer clear.

“Don’t act like you can’t hear me.”

“I’m going to clock in.” It’s the same every day when I come in.

There’s always something he barks about.

Just because his father is the owner, he thinks he can treat people like shit.

We’re the same age. Going into the lunchroom, I punch in.

He trails behind me. I’m positive he wants to get me fired, always trying to pick a fight.

Every day, I have to control the urge not to knock his teeth out.

“A load of gravel is coming in. We need it dumped.” Dillon shoves his hands in his skinny jeans. I should say tries because they don’t fit. His dark, ragged hair falls to the side.

“All right.” That’s all I say as I walk out the back doors of the nursery.

I stand next to Martín, an older man. “Did he give you shit when you came in?” He lifts his head at me, pointing toward Dillon, who watches us.

“Yeah.”

“I think you intimidate him. Then again, he should be scared shitless. Your biceps are huge, and you’re, what, six feet?” He unwraps a stick of gum. “You have patience. I would have thought you’d have knocked him out by now.” He chuckles.

Me patience? Not a bone in me has it.

“I need the job. Finding one is tough.”

He nods.

I currently live in an apartment with a guy I stayed in contact with from one of my foster homes.

Mike is a year older than I am. He’s an okay guy.

He stays out of my business and knows I keep my circle tight and my walls up.

We split the rent. He comes from money. He could live at home if he wanted to, but he wants a place to party.

There’s no way I could afford a place on my own.

A dump truck pulls up, filled with gravel. I direct them to unload it onto the existing pile. Once I’m done, I help Martín replant lime trees. “Here comes the pendejo .” Martín peers at Dillon, marching toward us.

“His daddy probably sent him.” A snarl escapes my lips.

“What the hell? Didn’t I tell you to fill it into the work truck? We have a customer delivery.”

Has this dude lost his mind?

I raise a brow. “Nah, you said to dump it like we always do.”

Dillon steps closer. If he thinks I’m going to let him punk me, he has another thing coming.

He steps into my space. I’ve had countless individuals invade my personal space, inflicting harm on me.

I’ve suffered abuse more times than I can remember.

I’m no longer the young, defenseless boy I used to be.

“Back the fuck off.”

He laughs. “You’re not as ignorant as I thought. You said more words than you ever had. I guess your mom taught you how to talk?—”

My fist jabs him in the jaw, knocking him back into a bed of wildflowers. “Never speak of my mom.” I toss my leather work gloves at him and walk off.

“You’re fired,” Dillon shouts.

Mierda

I gathered that much. He’s lucky I didn’t send him to the hospital with broken ribs for speaking of the one woman who gave me life.

After driving into my apartment complex, I walk up the stairs and find the door wide open. Mike’s packing a couple of things, and he doesn’t have much. He lifts his head from the bin, and he drops clothes in.

“Where are you heading?”

“Shit. Sorry, man. I was about to call you. My grades slipped, and Mom and Dad said they wouldn’t pay for my school if I didn’t get myself together.

If I drop out, they’ll kick me out of the house, and I have to pay for my car payment.

So, my only choice is to move back.” He sucks in a breath.

“I hate to leave you hanging.” He adds textbooks to the bin.

“I spent last month’s rent money on beer and liquor. ”

I run my fingers through my hair. It’s not like shit is going well for me, either. We’ve lived together for five months. He’s had numerous amounts of parties and women.

“I punched Dillon,” I blurt, needing to let it out.

He stops what he’s doing to peer at me. “Oh, shit. Finally. That dude is a prick. I’m assuming you lost your job.”

“Yeah, I was sick of him. There’s only so much affliction I could take.” Slumping on the torn-up sofa, I lean back to rest my head.

“Although you lost your job, it wasn’t okay for him to treat you that way.”

I shrug it off. There are a lot of assholes in this world, especially the ones I’ve encountered throughout my life.

“I know you need my half of the rent, man, for this month and next, but my mom didn’t give me any money since I’m heading back. I can ask her.”

I won’t take handouts from anyone. His parents are kind, but they see me as a bad influence.

Honestly, I don’t blame them. I would sneak out of the house and return hours later.

I moved in with Mike’s parents when I was sixteen.

It had been a while since I had gotten along with anyone since Drake and Sol.

Mike was the first person since them that I got along with in a long time.

It lasted for six months until it was time for me to move homes.

His parents decided they didn’t want to foster anymore.

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll find a cheaper place. I need to find a job first, stat.”

“Look, if they evict you, you can stay at my parents’ cabin. You just have to be out by the end of summer because they rent it out. My parents planned a family trip to Cabo and Europe, so they won’t use it this summer.” He unhooks the key from his key chain and hands it to me.

Mike’s a good guy. He’s tried to get me to open up to him about my childhood, but I won’t. There’s only one person who knows about my life. He tries not to make a pity face at me, but I see it. He frowns, then his lips go in a straight line.

“Getting out of town sounds like a good idea.”

“We’ll have to meet up for drinks,” Mike suggests.

Standing, I help him load the bins into his pickup. “It was fun hanging with you, Mikey.”

He laughs. “Always good times. Take care of yourself.”

When he drives off, I head back inside to my dump apartment. All I have in the room is a mattress and plastic bins where I put my clothes. Starved, I pour some water into a cup of ramen and pop it into the microwave.

Three minutes later, the microwave dings, and my phone rings. “Hello.”

“Max, sorry I missed you this morning. Are you at work?” Carlos, my trainer and a father figure in my life, cracks a pistachio with every word, the clink of the shell falling into the glass bowl he has in his office.

It’s something he does repeatedly when on a call or when I sit in his office with him.

Slurping the last of my noodles, I answer him. “I’m home. They fired me when I punched the little bitch in the face.”

“They didn’t press charges, did they?” He sighs.

“Not that I know of.”

“My offer still stands. You can train the kids.”

He’s been wanting me to work at his boxing club for a while. “You know, I’m not much of a talker. I’m not the right person to work with kids.” I’m not soft, and that type of man.

Clink. Chew. Clink. “I understand, Max, but it could help some of these kids who might relate to you.”

“There’s no way I would want anyone to have any relation to my past or even now,” I say this earnestly.

“Come down. We can spar. You can release today’s pent-up frustration.”

With a frustrated sigh, I toss the flimsy plastic fork into the sink.

The clatter echoes in the quiet kitchen.

I trudge down the dim hallway to my room, my mind heavy with worry.

Clothes spill out of open bins as I shove excess items into an old suitcase, along with my mom's wedding ring, which I took from my dad months ago. A crumpled late notice sits accusingly on my unmade bed, reminding me that the rent was due a week ago. I had hoped my paycheck would cover my portion, but the numbers didn’t add up, leaving me short for both rent and utilities.

“Sounds good, Carlos. I could use it.”

Clink. “Good, see you soon.”

Pulling over a hoodie, I unlock the window, readying myself to climb out. “Where are you going?” Mikey yawns from his bed in the room we share.

“Out. I’ll be back. Cover for me.”

“You’re not going to get into trouble, are you?”

I shake my head. He stands and searches for his shoes. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, that will get us both into trouble.” I duck my head and slip out.

He sucks in a breath and closes the window slightly.

I jog down the gated community and head toward the main street to a boxing club I had seen while driving by the other day.

The streets of Vegas lurk in danger at night, but that’s the only way I can break into the club and practice.

I won’t ask my new foster caregivers for money to fund it, and I doubt they would want me to learn to fight. God forbid I’m a danger to the family.