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Dustin

A fter a sleepless night, I throw off the tangled covers at four a.m., foggy with a headache pulsing behind my eyes. The one thing still clear is I’d rather fight the Hulk with my hands tied behind my back than go on a work trip with Tina fucking James tagging along as my new assistant.

Sharing this small town with her is distracting enough. Having her within reach daily is a temptation I don’t need.

I shuffle naked to the hall bathroom, giving my balls a good scratch as I go, because why the hell not? No one’s here to care. My two older brothers are off living their best lives. Married with kids, houses filled with noise. The lucky bastards. My twin Colin is on his honeymoon in the Caribbean, no idea where he’ll crash when he gets home. I should be used to it. Everyone leaves. My parents died. My best friend died. Tina…

Nope. I’m not thinking about her.

After relieving myself and washing my hands, I brush my teeth and stare at the shadows under my eyes in the mirror—something else to blame on Tina. Once back in my room, I pull on a pair of boxers from the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. I sniff the clothes on the floor from yesterday’s workout, yank them on and head downstairs reading my messages on my phone. There are a few messages in the group chat with my buddies, Tucker and Raul.

RAUL: See you at Jack’s gym in five.

TUCKER: Make it ten. Had a wild night.

RAUL: Pussy.

TUCKER: Why, yes. There was pussy involved.

ME: I fight tomorrow.

My dad’s friend Christian and his friend Lucius opened the gym in my dad’s name six years ago. I’ve been religiously training alongside Raul and Tucker, with Lucius as our trainer, for most of those years, winning every fight I entered. And now my trophies hang alongside my pops’ on the walls.

In the week leading up to my fights, I concentrate on cardio, agility, and strength, using my research on my opponent to focus on their weaknesses. I’m not risking an injury climbing into the ring with either of those two bozos this close to a fight. Like tapping my pops’ plaque every time I enter the gym, wearing my lucky shorts every fight, and doing my rope work warm-up pre-fight, I stick to what works. Superstitious? Maybe, but my undefeated record speaks for itself.

RAUL: God, I’m surrounded by pussies.

TUCKER: Funny. Me too.

He attaches a picture of his hairy legs framed by three smooth shapely pairs. It looks like an octopus that ran out of razor blades. Thankfully, he left out his junk this time.

I shake my head. Tucker’s bout was last night, and he takes full advantage of his willing groupies afterward. Raul used to be the same until he met Ben, Christian’s secretary. Going on six years strong, they’re happily living together now. No more pussy for him. I’m laughing to myself as I trot down the stairs.

My phone chimes with a text from Christian, which I ignore. He deserves to stew after the shit he pulled yesterday in his office. His words play over in my head while I make my protein shake.

“It’s non-negotiable,” he said, pulling his CEO card that felt like a loaded gun aimed at my head. He’s beyond a cool dude, a father figure even, but in that moment, I wanted to punch him in the throat. For his part, he sat behind his massive desk, clueless of the shit he was stirring bringing Tina back into my life.

If my dad was still alive, he’d be proud of what his best friend has made of his sporting goods company Lemmy. Having multiple branches was a dream of my pops’. Having one of his sons oversee it… yeah, he’d be thrilled.

I’d be proud of Christian too if he hadn’t added, “Either she goes with you or neither of you go.”

Twenty-four hours after his ultimatum, I’m still weighing the pros and cons. Spending a week in Vegas—the fight capital of the world—wouldn’t be too shabby. The major con is sharing the time with Tina. The trip itself isn’t a bad gig. Opening the new Lemmy office and a new location for Jack’s gym is a cushy assignment and a much-needed distance from the constant reminder of the past. The trouble is, it’ll be hard to outrun the past when it’s attached to my hip.

I grab my duffle bag and head to the gym, calling Colin from the truck. If I’m to get mentally ready for my fight, I need to purge these negative thoughts swirling. “Christian can shove this assignment up his tattooed ass,” I say after filling him in on the fucked-up situation.

Colin doesn’t just share my face; his bark of laughter sounds like a soundtrack of my own as it comes across the line. He sounds groggy at seven his time and I wonder if he’s in bed still. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to witness you saying that to his face.”

I don’t tell him I said much worse with Tina present yesterday at the office. In my defense, I didn’t know she was standing behind me when I told Christian she could assist me by sucking my dick. Admittedly, not one of my finest moments. I did, however, enjoy her audible shock. A cute little squeak left her mouth before she blocked those plump lips of hers with a hand. I could’ve done without her scent though. It’s been ten years; you’d think she’d smell different by now, but that fresh citrus smell somehow seeped into my clothes, clinging to me all day. I might have to burn them.

There’s little traffic at this hour, so I make it to Jack’s in under thirty minutes, listening to Colin talk about how great his honeymoon is so far. I park in my usual spot and the call switches from my truck to my cell as soon as I turn off the motor. I burst through the gym’s entrance, my duffle slung over one shoulder, and head straight for a punching bag, tapping the memorial plaque for our pops hanging on the wall as I pass. My noise-deprived soul fills at the sounds of clanking weights from the few guys lifting before work. Tucker and Raul shout a greeting from where they’re training in one of the boxing rings. It’s all like music to my ears and I take the first easy breath in hours.

I toss my bag to the right and brace my phone with my shoulder. “No way am I traveling to Vegas with Tina in tow.”

He says something in response to a sleepy feminine murmur before a door softly closes in the background. “Ask Christian if it can wait until I get back and I’ll do it for you.” Out of the four of us kids, only Colin and I decided working at Lemmy was for us. Anderson and Bryce went their own way career-wise. Anderson focuses on his PT work and Bryce works at the mortuary in town.

“Nah, man. You don’t need to take on my workload. Go back to bed. Tell Stacy I’m sorry for bugging you.” Stacy is one of the sweetest people I know, but if I keep calling and bugging her husband about work, she’ll kick me in the nuts when they come home.

He sighs. “You know, Dad would be pumped about the whole thing, and being the one to do it is pretty cool.”

Fucking hell. “You had to go there, didn’t you?”

A seagull cries in the background and I picture him staring out at his oceanfront patio. “Works every time.”

After we hang up, Colin’s words play over and over in my head as I work the punching bag. The leather helps absorb what’s left of my frustration. Within minutes, I’m so far past the point of pain I barely notice my sore muscles, settling somewhere in the welcome numbness the familiar routine brings.

I’m in the zone, sweat dripping into my eyes, and everyone who wants to keep their teeth stays clear. Most everyone anyway. Lucius steps away from the shadowy recess of the wall like he just materialized from thin air. I blame my intense focus and the music playing in my earbuds for not noticing him sooner. I’ve always thought he moved like a panther—calm and with purpose, striking only when the time is right. A skill that comes in handy in the ring and no doubt at his club, Velvet Rope, where he lords over the exclusive back rooms.

He cocks his head, studying me with a blank expression. I’ve come across a lot of different fighters in the ring over the years. Some broadcast their every move, making it easy to get the upper hand. Some are better at hiding, but none have had the kind of bottomless stare that tells you nothing, yet commands everything, like Lucius does. It seems to penetrate flesh and bone until it reaches deep into your soul.

I run a hand through my mop of dark hair—probably smearing blood through the strands because I’ve been too distracted to wrap my hands—then gesture to the general area of his face. “A look like that could come in handy. When will you teach me your ways, master ?”

His dark eyes flash at my teasing about his Dom status and I laugh. But the joke is on me because instead of taking the bait, I find myself on the receiving end of one of his probing stares again.

Thankfully, my attention is drawn towards Raul when his whistle pierces the air. He spreads his arms wide, egging me on. Beads of sweat dot his shaved head. Scars decorate his flesh like a map of rough roads traveled. I lived a somewhat sheltered life growing up—one where gang violence and poverty didn’t register—so when I first saw the damaged flesh on my friend, it freaked me out some. Seeing it now, though, it’s just part of his story.

We all have one. Some are just more visible than others.

Beside Raul, Tucker’s pretty-boy smirk flashes. Where Raul is rough around the edges, Tucker has sun-kissed skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. “Come on, Chippy, it’s not too late to join us.” I stop just short of rolling my eyes. No one likes to mock my nickname more than Tuck.

“A chip off the old block,” Christian said when I won my first fight four years ago, and the nickname stuck. Tuck’s just butthurt because I’m undefeated and he’s… well, not . A fact I like to point out often.

I flip the asshole off, ignoring his cackles, and face Lucius again. I don’t jump, but I come damn close when I find he’s only a couple of feet away now.

He tosses me a towel, nodding towards my damaged fists. “Should’ve wrapped them.” I almost laugh. My bloody knuckles are the least of my problems. I drag the terry cloth fabric down my face, wishing I could wipe the past twenty-four hours away just as easily. “Is all of this about the Vegas trip?”

“Partly.” I scoop up my water bottle and gulp half in one swallow.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Christian mentioned he’s sending an assistant with you?”

I drop my water on top of my bag. “Stop with the mind-reading powers already.”

His lip twitches in an almost smile. “I just pay attention.” It doesn’t hurt that he has a rare photographic memory. Personally, never forgetting stuff sounds like my idea of hell. What memories I do have are bad enough.

“Tina James,” I supply, trying to remember the last time I said her name out loud. Now I’ve said it twice in less than twenty-four hours. It feels weird on my tongue, like biting into a fresh strawberry only for it to taste like bitter failure.

Lucius hums. “Not a big fan, huh?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Ah… high school crush?”

“Seriously?” I make the sign of a cross. “Stop. It’s creepy.”

His smile is smug as shit. “Am I right?”

I huff. “More like a disaster.”

All through high school, I was madly, desperately, deeply, in love with my best friend’s girl. And no, his name wasn’t Jessie. It was Connor Parker. The golden boy. The chosen one. The dude everyone loved. I loved him just as much as everyone else, maybe more. Which is why I kept my feelings to myself. Even after he died in the same car pile-up that killed my parents, leaving all of us shattered and jagged. The bitterness churns in my stomach when I think of all the times Connor used my feelings for his girlfriend to his advantage. Sometimes it’s hard not to think ill of the dead. Especially when everything’s bubbling to the surface thanks to this damn work trip.

Lucius nods like he’s no stranger to catastrophes—not that anyone around here knows what his demons are. Just when I think this might be a sharing moment, Raul’s sister, Rosaline, sticks her head out of the office where she manages all things gym-related, like fight schedules, travel plans, and new memberships, to name a few. She scans the gym, zeroing in on Lucius, curling a finger as she beckons him.

“Aren’t they all,” Lucius mutters before heading her way.