Destroyed(8)

Slamming to a halt, I pinned him with my stare. With one steady finger, I dragged it from the top of my right cheekbone all the way down my face to my chin. I barely felt it—the scar tissue desensitized to anything but brutal force. Once I’d traced the contour of the scar, I dragged the same finger across my throat in the universal sign of ‘you’re dead’ and pointed at him.

“He may be a douche, but he’s a client.” Oscar groaned. “Fox. Stop that. You can’t scare off all the clientele. What sort of business model are you following?”

Muttering under my breath, I answered, “A damn good one if I don’t have to deal with little shits like that.”

Oscar sighed. “Whatever, mate. He’ll f*ck himself up without your help. Who do you want to go after? Him or Everest? You can’t do both.”

I didn’t need to think. A jacked up meth-head wouldn’t last five seconds against me. At least Everest had some small chance of hurting me. Not bothering to answer, I bee-lined for the boxing ring.

Fighters parted for us like I was the messiah, and they were a rolling tide. Looks of awe and fear lit their eyes even as their ripped, sweaty bodies tensed in preparation.

It seemed my reputation preceded me. Again.

I summoned every rage existing in my blood and slammed to a halt in front of the mountain of a man. My heart beat faster as I embraced the part of me I pretended didn’t exist.

“We need to f*cking talk.” I crossed my arms. I wasn’t small, but this man made me look up. His arms were bigger than mine, his torso thicker. Everything about him screamed sloppy and fake, whereas me? I seethed with reality. Mess with me and pay the consequences.

Everest, also known as Tony from the Wasps Motorcycle Crew, wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy hand. “Well, if it isn’t Scarface and his bitch, Barbie.” Sniffing in distain, he added, “Come to congratulate me? Come to get some pointers perhaps?”

A couple of men behind Everest snickered. He always came with an entourage—never comfortable on his own. A complete joke considering he cultivated a rumour that he killed men on a daily basis. I knew killers and this f*cking idiot wasn’t one of them.

My spine stiffened as my body soaked in adrenaline. Oh, I would enjoy this. A whole f*cking lot.

I looked to the right where the man who’d fought and cheated counted his winnings. Another one of Everest’s little minions. Fisting a pile of hundred dollar bills, his grin was full of greed.

Nodding at the evidence, I said, “Pity your plaything didn’t win on merit and not on fakery. Didn’t realize times were so tough you had to cheat to pay your bills.” Stepping closer, I snarled, “You and your idiots on bikes think you’re the law, threatening my club for payoffs, cheating under my f*cking roof. Guess what? I’ve had enough. I’m calling your debts, Tony. And I’m done having your filth tainting my rings.”

Obsidian was a registered business. It didn’t matter that documents lodged with Inland Revenue said it was an upscale recreational gym. The government didn’t need to know about the illegality or the fine line of bribery we walked to keep local enforcers away. However, I refused to pay a cent to MC’s and mob members who wanted to acquire it.

I wasn’t a *, and I’d done far worse than any of those fakers had ever done. I’d like to see them try.

Everest rippled with anger. His eyes darkened until his pupils looked gigantic. “You’re a f*cking dead man, Fox.” Shoving a hand in the direction of the man holding the cash, he snapped, “That there? We earned that fair and f*cking square. Go back to your throne and enjoy your last night of sleeping without having to watch your back.”

I threw my head back and laughed. It wasn’t merriment or intimidation—it was cold and calculated. Everest glared, then tensed as I locked eyes with him. “It’s not me who has to watch their back. You. Me. In the cage. Now.”

Everest slapped his legs with meaty hands. “Ha! You think I’d demean myself by entertaining a little wannabe in the ring? No chance in hell, Scarface. I’m not fighting you. Leave. We’ve got another set to win.”

“To cheat you mean.”

He spluttered, sending his large neck wobbling with indignation. The f*cker had a receding hair line, looking like a juiced up freak past his prime.

I took a step toward him. “I saw the knuckler duster, you *. This isn’t a negotiation. Get in the cage.”

“Better listen, Tony. Fox doesn’t make idle threats,” Oscar said. His arms stayed tightly crossed, flanking me like a bodyguard.

Everest puffed out his large chest, standing to his full height. His body threatened with impressive size, but I’d long ago lost the ability to fear.

“You want to repeat that, Fox?” Anger blazed in his eyes, looking like he wanted to hammer me into the ground like a rusty nail. “I. Don’t. Fucking. Cheat.”

Loud bass and sombre beats of music pulsed through the club, intoxicating my blood for violence.

Goddammit, I needed a fight.

A punk kid, who stupidly didn’t see my scorching anger, sidled up close. “Wow, I didn’t know you were here tonight.” He bowed his head looking star-struck. “It’s an honour to meet the legendary Obsi—”

Everest snorted. “Oh, give me a f*cking break.”

I glanced at the kid. Half-naked, he had traces of blood coming from his mouth. Someone had decked him hard.