Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(15)

As if he had read my mind, Deacon came around the table and sat beside me. “Is there some way to hire a tutor or something? You know, someone who could come here and teach Willow? Then you and the authorities could get off my back.”

Over the years, I’d had a couple of students have to go on homebound services for lengthy illnesses. I’d been more than happy to go teach them after school. Besides the occasional relationship or get-together with friends, I didn’t have much going on outside of my classroom. There was no husband to be home for, no dinner to get on the table at a certain time, and sadly, no kids to take care of. Besides my brother and aunt and uncle, I was pretty much on my own. My students were my life.

“I could do it—I could come after school to teach Willow.”

Deacon eyed me with a skeptical expression. “You’d really be okay with that?”

“Sure. I’d love to teach her.” Nibbling on my lip, I contemplated what needed to be done logistically to make that happen. “Since she isn’t sick or suffering from an injury, she wouldn’t qualify for homebound services from the county.”

Deacon’s brows creased. “What does that mean?”

“It just means my salary wouldn’t be covered. You would have to pay out-of-pocket.”

A gleam burned in his eyes. “I know I might look like a low-life biker, but I can assure you I can provide financially for whatever Willow needs.”

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and I quickly ducked my head. “I apologize if I offended you. I certainly wasn’t implying anything. I was just trying to work this all out in my head.” After drawing in a deep breath to calm my nerves, I barreled on. “I’ve done homebound services before, so I know what all it entails. It also makes sense for me to do it since I would know exactly what Willow would be doing if she were in the classroom.” Leaning forward in my chair, I jerked my head up to give him a tentative smile. “If you’re not sold on me, I could recommend someone else for the job. But I can’t imagine Willow being comfortable with just anyone.”

“No, she wouldn’t. And for some reason, she’s really taken a serious f*cking liking to you.”

“I assume that was a compliment?”

The corners of Deacon’s lips quirked. “Yeah, it was a compliment. Willow doesn’t interact with anyone outside our club. And even though she’s spoiled f*cking rotten here, she doesn’t react half as much with us as she did out there with you.” He shook his head. “And, man, the fact she was talking, too.”

“I’m glad she’s bonded with me. I care about her very much.”

“Enough to come here to this hellhole every afternoon?”

I nodded. “Yes. That much.”

Deacon rose out of his chair. Thrusting his hand at me, he said, “Well, I guess you have yourself a job, Miss Evans.”

Rising up to meet him, I let him take my hand in his. “I accept, Mr. Malloy.”

“Then let’s go tell Willow the happy news.”

As I followed him to the door, I could never have imagined in that moment how being a part of Deacon and Willow’s world was going to change my life.

“That’s it. Give me your best, you *!” I antagonized, dodging the punches that whirled at my head. Adrenaline thrummed through my veins, pumping energy through my arms and legs. No drug or drink ever got me as high as fighting. I dug the feel of my fists connecting with the hard bone of the jaw or the soft flesh of the abdomen as things escalated quickly into a whirlwind of hits.

My boots dragged across the canvas of the boxing ring as I made quick footwork. They didn’t make the best choice for sparring, but when I had come down to the Raiders Gym to check on business, I hadn’t expected to fill in as the chief second, or the head trainer, for Bishop.

While I’d learned to use my fists to survive on the streets, Bishop had honed his fighting skills in the ring. Before the Raiders bought the gym, Preacher Man had often brought us here to work off steam. It wasn’t long before Bishop was knocking out seasoned fighters. He’d won several division titles and probably could have gone pro, but the higher he rose in the sport, the more people wanted to stick their nose into his private life—primarily the club.

To the average onlooker, the gym, with its boxing and martial-arts training, looked legitimate, but it was all a front. For the club, it was a way to manage interstate gambling on fights and races. Bishop didn’t want to do anything that would bring heat down on the club, so he continued boxing in the lower divisions.

Even as stealthily as Bishop moved across the floor, deflecting my hits and throwing his own back at me, I could tell he was off his usual game. “This is turning into quite a walkover, little bro.”

“Easy fight, my ass! You’re panting and in a sweat,” Bishop challenged.

“These jeans and boots aren’t exactly lightweight.”

Bobbing and weaving in front of me like a cobra, Bishop anticipated my next move. When I remained still, he shrugged. “I just had a late night—that’s all.”

“Dumbass, you know better than to bang club whores the night before a major training day.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then what kept you up?” I asked.

He dodged my unexpected jab and flashed me a wicked smile. “Guess you could say I’m hot for the teacher. I kept jerking off to Miss Evans.”