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CHAPTER THIRTY

Jigsaw

I’ve been swinging by Strike Back most mornings when Margot’s tied up with work. Not to hover. Just to check in on Cain.

So far, he’s holding it down. Making me proud. Not that I’d say those exact words to him. Don’t wanna make it weird.

Kid’s been through enough.

Jezzie’s got finals wrapping up soon. Once that’s over, I think I’ll finally pull the trigger and get them together.

They deserve to know each other.

But I need to be the one who decides when and how that happens. If Jezzie ends up mad about it, I’ll take the hit.

Cain’s wiping down one of the benches when I walk in, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. He’s got a solid rhythm going—cleaning each piece of equipment with the preciseness you’d find in a medical lab.

And it looks like he’s put on some muscle working here. I make sure his fridge is stocked every week. But this? This is his own doing. He’s been filling out. Building strength. Absorbing tips from Sully and Jake.

“Damn,” I say, nodding at the weights. “Look at you bulking up.”

He glances over, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Gotta get ready to humble you in the cage one day.”

He’s got a sense of humor too. “You wish.”

He tosses the towel on the bench. “You come check in on me every day just to talk smack?”

Before I can answer, Sully steps out of his office, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You harassing my employees, Jigsaw?”

Look at him. All protective over my brother like he’s known him forever.

Shit, I’m glad this is working out.

Even if it means I have to admit Wrath was right.

“Nope.” I clap Cain on the back, the sweat on his shirt seeping into my palm. “Just checking in. Making sure everything’s running smooth.”

I meet Sully at the front desk and lower my voice, leaning in closer to him. “Seriously. Everything good?”

“Yeah.” Sully exhales like I just asked him if gravity’s still a thing. “He’s a hard worker. Was shy at first but he’s warming up to the regulars.” He rolls his eyes. “Especially the ladies.”

I duck my head, laughing under my breath. “Naturally.”

“Follows directions. Doesn’t half-ass anything. Never late.” His gaze shifts to Jake, who’s in front of the mirror knocking out a clean set of Romanian deadlifts—form locked in, shins vertical, face unreadable. “Unlike my own brother.”

“To be fair,” I laugh, can’t believe I’m defending him, “Jake’s commuting from Empire. Cain’s walking four blocks.”

Sully lifts one shoulder. “Still. I haven’t hired anyone in five years who hasn’t bitched about weekends, cleaning, hours, something. Cain’s a good kid.”

Guilt tangles around my throat, paralyzing my vocal cords. I bob my head up and down a few times before saying, “Thanks.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance. “You could thank me by telling Wrath to stop poaching my best walking advertisement for this place.”

I duck my head, dragging a hand over the back of my neck. “Bro, we both know I don’t control Wrath. Or his business. Or his mouth. He’s just trying to help Griff win that fight.”

“Uh-huh. And soak up some free publicity from that dumbass show.”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” I shrug. “I’m going to Vegas to watch Griff’s back. That’s as deep as my involvement gets.” I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his stance. “Jake and Wrath work together—have your brother talk to him.”

“Eh.” He waves it off. “I don’t want to put Griff in an awkward position. He’s still been doing some promo for us.”

Then why are you bustin’ my nuts about it?

He lifts his chin toward Cain. “He says he might be interested in learning to fight.”

Great, just what my brother needs—cauliflower ears and brain damage.

I curl my arm and thump my bicep. “What can I say? It’s in his blood.”

“You still taking fights at The Castle?”

“Not recently.” I shake my head. “Remy hasn’t been hosting any, far as I know.”

And I’ve been too busy wrapped around my little lady death to give a fuck about cage fights.

Has she managed to tame the violence right out of me?

“Griff’s a talented fighter,” Sully says. “Had a once-in-a-million shot with that show. Now every kid who walks in here thinks they’re gonna be the next Supreme Underground Fighter pick. No clue what a clusterfuck it actually was.”

“Ain’t that true of just about everything?”

“What I meant was, I don’t mind training Cain if he’s interested. But…” He hesitates, then lifts an eyebrow. “He says he’s planning to go to JCCC in the fall?”

“Far as I know, yeah.”

“Good. I told him I’ll work around his schedule.” He glances toward the weight room, lips twitching into something damn near fatherly. “Told him fighting’s fun, but he needs a stable fallback in case he doesn’t hit the big time—or, God forbid, gets hurt.”

This prick just keeps serving me emotional gut punches.

If only Cain and I had a decent father who gave half the shit Sully seems to give about a kid he barely knows.

The buzz of my phone saves me from spiraling too deep. I check the screen. “Ha. Look who it is—our favorite SUF star.”

Sully snorts. “Tell him to stop fuckin’ around at the garage and get his ass down here on the treadmill.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He slaps my shoulder—firm and final—then disappears into his office.

I thumb the green button. “Royal, what’s so important you couldn’t put it in a text?”

Griff lets out a shaky breath that’s supposed to pass for a laugh. “Trust me, you don’t want this in writing. Can you and a few of the guys come to Jerry’s garage? There’s an urgent...situation I could use your club’s help with.”

Fuck.

Griff doesn’t rattle easily. And he sure as hell doesn’t ask for help unless he’s out of options.

“I’m on my way.”