Down and Out(38)

That’s what I’ve heard. Jury’s still out on whether or not it’s true. Could be one of those false rumors that work in your favor and you don’t particularly want to dispel it.
But I wouldn’t put it past him. Don’t let the designer suits and good looks fool you—Jimmy’s a cold motherf*cker when he wants to be, and I wouldn’t be surprised if those hard baby blues had witnessed a murder or two.
Shit, I can’t let him get his hands on Kerrigan before I do. . .
“Hang up the phone,” I tell Marcus, slowly walking around the bed.
He frowns and moves the mouthpiece away. “What?”
I shove the glass at his chest. “Hang up the f*cking phone.”
“What the hell, man?”
Water splashes on his gray shirt as I brush past him and make my way to the bathroom across the hall as quickly as I can. I’m about to piss myself over here.
“If you call Jimmy, all you’re gonna do is get Kerrigan banned from The Pit and possibly killed,” I say, kicking the door shut with my foot.
Marcus’s voice drifts through the crack in the almost-closed door. “And?”
“And I want my revenge in public, not dealt out by some pretty boy millionaire in a Prada suit.” Lifting the toilet seat, I pull myself out of my boxers and almost groan in relief as the stream lands loudly in the toilet. “I want to be the one to take Kerrigan down—in the ring, in front of hundreds.”
Oh, would you look at that? I’m pissing blood.
Lovely.
Sighing, I tuck myself back in my boxer briefs and flush. “I’m not some f*ckin’ narc, Marcus, and I can’t take the * way out, not when I can crush him in a way Jimmy can’t.” I swing the door open and meet his stare.
Kerrigan’s a prideful son of a bitch. Getting the shit beat out of him in front of a giant crowd will hurt his ego more than a bullet to the head in some dark alley.
Marcus’s stare bores into me as he leans against the doorframe to my bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. “And how do you think Jimmy’s gonna take it if he finds out about Kerrigan’s little stunt? He’s gonna be pissed at you for not bringing this to his attention.” His jaw works under tense muscle. “You sure he likes you enough to spare you his wrath?”
That I do not know. I shrug, aiming for a confidence I’m not a hundred percent sure of, and walk past him, back into my room. “I’m the biggest name in that organization. I make Jimmy a lot of money. I think he likes that enough not to alienate me.”
“You damn well better hope so, bro.” Marcus sighs and pushes himself off the doorframe. “So what am I supposed to do? Call Jimmy and ask him to reschedule?”
“Yeah.” My face screws up as I climb back into bed. “Tell him I got into a bad car accident or something.”
Marcus sets the glass of water back on my nightstand. “He’s not gonna be happy.”
I grit my teeth and sink back onto my pillows. It’s not like I’m thrilled, either.
“So when should I ask him to reschedule this thing? A month?”
I shake my head. “A couple of my ribs are most likely broken.” Him and I both know it’ll take longer than a month for those to heal. Probably six to eight weeks.
“Shit.” He grips his phone in one hand and runs the other over his shortly cropped hair, pacing beside my bed. It looks like he’s trying not to throw the thing across my room. “So we’re looking at twelve weeks total?”
“Yep.” I can’t train while I’m healing, and after a potential eight week hiatus, I’ll need another four to get me back in fighting shape.
Marcus shakes his head slightly and holds up his phone. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”

One abysmal game of Battlefield later, Marcus walks back into my room. “We’re set,” he says on a long sigh. “Twelve weeks from now. Jimmy said he’d get back to us with a firm date and he’d let Kerrigan know.”
“How’d he take it?”
Marcus shrugs. “Better than I thought he would. Guess he likes you more than I realized.” He sits on the other side of my king-sized bed and smirks at me. “You been blowing him on the side or something?”
Flipping him off, I look back to the flat screen mounted on the wall across from my bed and toss him my controller. “Your mom’s been blowing me on the side,” I mutter, grabbing the extra controller from my nightstand.
I see him shake his head out of my peripherals and I have to stifle a grin. Marcus hates it when I talk smack about his mom, the friggin’ momma’s boy.
Eh, I probably shouldn’t be raggin’ on him. Hell, I’m sure I’d still be a momma’s boy if I had one.
After several seconds, he quietly asks, “Do I even want to know why Savannah answered your door this morning?”
Damn it, I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t notice.
My teeth bite down on the inside of my bottom lip as an overwhelming sense of defensiveness washes over me. Marcus is like a brother to me, but it’s none of his business why Savannah was here, and the last thing I want to hear right now is that I’m being stupid when it comes to her. I already f*cking know that.
“She found me last night as she was leaving the gym. Helped me up here and called Blake,” I say, my words terse.
“Shiiiit.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “How’d you get her not to take you to the hospital? Wasn’t she freaking out? I mean, Christ, if you look like this now, I can’t even imagine what your sorry ass looked like last night.”