FIGHT Part 1 (2 page)

Chapter 2

Eddie

The day isn’t going as planned. My fucking computers are acting up, and as much as I know about technology, nothing I’m doing is helping them go any faster. This shit isn’t good for the job. Add to it the girl that fucked with my mind last night and I’m really off key. I have too many jobs to complete for this shit to be happening today. I turn them off for now, maybe all they need is a break from the constant running they have been doing as of lately. The shit with the Delany’s a few months ago almost fried one of my systems from overworking it. I’m happy all of that crazy is over, for now at least. Any time you are involved with the Savages, you never know when business is going to get crazy, but the break is nice.

Slamming the door behind me, I head downstairs to grab lunch. Typically dining in, today is so frustrating being in that apartment that I have to get out. My apartment is above a bar, but I never really spend much time there. I drink, but not with the college crowd. I grab a beer and sit at a booth by the wall. Luckily I have one laptop that works, and the connection here is as good as it is upstairs, so I am able to get some of the small scale work done that I need to while I order and wait for my food.

I not only work for the Savage family, but I also lend my services to the government and do private investigating for a few law firms in the area. The majority of my work comes from Al, with his operation pulling in the most money at any given point in the year, but the government doesn’t need to know that. Al knows I have helped out the police, but I’m not so sure the police would be willing to look the other way at some of the things I’ve helped Al do. Either way, I’ll never walk away from that family. Not after everything he has helped me with through the years.

I can’t get the girl from last night out of my thoughts. It’s never fucking happened like this, but she keeps invading my every thought. I even dreamed of red fucking hair last night! One look, that’s all it took. One look showed me a life I thought I never wanted, a life I fought against ever building. I couldn’t have a happily ever after, not with my genes. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a decent lay in a while, but damn if that girl wasn’t the best thing I had ever laid eyes on. Shit, this needs to stop.

Plugging in my headphones I get to work. Currently, I’m tracking a few cheating wives for the PI firm. It isn’t as glamorous or dangerous as working for my other sources, but it brings home a pretty good paycheck. Sure, it meant going out and stalking people every now and then, but I was pretty damn good with a computer. Most times I have been able to nab a cheater just by records alone, not even needing any photos. This time the wife thinks she is being sly, going to ‘work’ during the day. They pay is coming in, sure, but the husband is smart enough to know that the company doing the direct deposits into their account isn’t a factual company. This crazy woman has been having her lover add money to her account twice a month to make it look like she’s been going to work, when in all reality she’s been in his house with him the whole time. I’ll never understand how people can think they can get away with this stuff, but it’s not my job to understand. It’s my job to collect everything I can and send it along.

I complete the file with an added account statement linking the lover’s account to the fake account that has been sending money into the woman’s account, then hit send. Wiping my hands clean of yet another dirty love case. These women, don’t they know divorce is way easier before they are found out to be cheating? Especially when a shit ton of money is involved? Oh well, not my problem anymore.

I pull up my email and the familiar ping tells me I have new messages. Every time I hear it I think it could be from her, but it never is. I’ve been trying for months to find my sister, but as good as I am with computers I feel she is ten times better. She is practically untraceable. Every time I open my e-mail I hope it’s a message from her, but it isn’t. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that I’m not sure if I’d notice her if she walked in this bar right now. I don’t hate her, though I’m sure she thinks I do. The way she left in the middle of the night with no note and no way to find her should have made me furious. Instead, I completely understood and when I was old enough I did the same thing. Somewhere along the road I got word that my father lost the house and was living on the streets. I really don’t care if he were dead at this point, but I can’t stop wondering what happened to my sister.  It’s a strange feeling knowing that someone is out there, someone you shared a childhood with, someone you shared both great and awful memories with, and you wouldn’t even be able to recognize them if you had to. It makes a part of me feel incomplete, not knowing if she is safe or not. Hell, she could be dead for all I know, but I’ll never stop looking for her. Not until I know the truth.

After deleting a few junk e-mails and throwing a few others into files to save for later use, my food comes and I dive in. Typically, lunch for me was a sandwich, or sometimes a protein bar. Today, the juicy burger is exactly what I need. Add to it the fries on the side and I will definitely be stopping by the gym later today. Maybe I can squeeze myself into Dave’s schedule today as well. Let him work some magic on the scene he started on my back. Maybe that will take my mind off of the red headed vixen that won’t leave my thoughts. I shoot him a quick text and finish up my beer right as the door dings.

Ever since I was a kid I’ve always paid attention to my surroundings. My mom used to tell me to make sure I knew exactly what was going on around me at all times, that way if I was ever taken I’d know how to get back. Thinking back, that may have been a little too harsh to say to a kid, but she was a worrier. I know why she was the way she was, though. My dad made her paranoid, he made her believe there was no good in the world.

              I glance up out of habit, just to see how many people walked through the door, when I see the tiny figure of a girl pulling the door shut.

              “Jesus it’s windy out there!” she exclaims to no one. It was the middle of September, but a cold front had recently moved in and turned our typically warmer weather into a 60 degree tundra. Texas is known for warmer weather, so it’s a little bit strange to have it this chilly this early in the year.

I eye her walking towards the bar, wondering why a college girl would need a drink in the middle of the day. I shake my head at the thought, wanting to go over and tell her to go home, tell her that alcohol isn’t going to help her pass her classes. She can’t be more than a sophomore in college, she’s so small.

I glance down to pack up my things to head out, and when I look up she is gone. Interesting, though possibly more interesting is the fact that I am actually thinking about it. Why should I care? Shit, maybe I really do need to get laid!

As I’m walking towards the door I hear a heated discussion coming from the room behind the bar. I slow my steps, making sure I wasn’t leaving someone behind that would need my help. I’m not sure why I feel the need to help people out, but ever since my mom I think that maybe my one act of kindness would be the reason they lived to see another day. It’s silly, but I’ve been living by this rule for a long time.

I only have a few rules for myself, rules that I live by. Rules that I have mostly grown up living by. Rules that I take very seriously, because I know if these rules are broken I could very well turn into the man I hated growing up.

1.                
   Treat everyone with kindness, unless otherwise deserved.
   

Be fucking nice. It shouldn’t be hard to do, but sometimes it really was when the person you are trying to help is an asshole about it. The only exception to this rule is when men are known to rough up their girls. No niceness when it comes to that. None.

1.               
   Never fight.
   

Fighting never brings about anything good. Whether it’s professional fighting, or bar fights, fighting is not the way to solve anything. There is no winner in a boxing match, there are definitely no victors in MMA, because both people end up getting the shit knocked out of them. The only way they decide a winner is by who can stay vertical the longest. It’s insane, why someone would want to willingly get the shit beat out of them, but people do it. Not for me. Ever.

1.               
   No falling in love.
   

Ever. I know my genes, I know what I could turn in to. There is no reason to subject any female to the kind of monster I could become.

That’s it. Three main rules that I live by, and they couldn’t be easier to follow. I never have had the urge to fight, I’d like to think I’m a genuinely nice guy, and I’ve absolutely never even had the urge to be in a long term relationship with a woman. Never. That is, not until Red walked into my fucking life and turned things upside down. It wasn’t until she graced my vision with her bright red spiky hair and glowing hazel eyes that my mind started playing out a future that I didn’t want and definitely didn’t need.

The discussion in the back room seems to have heated up. I’m standing almost at the door to the bar, the only person in here right now, and I’m not sure if I should go back there and check things out or if I should leave. Instead, I don’t fucking move. Wrong fucking choice, because three seconds later all hell breaks loose.

It starts with a loud crash, then more yelling. I thought it was just two dudes in there, but now I’m thinking otherwise. I see who I assume is the manager storm out of the room first, followed by...oh shit. Red. It’s fucking her! Damnit!

“Stop! Randy would you fucking stop walking away and let me explain?!” She screams after him, not taking her eyes off his back as he storms off. I’m not sure if she knows I’m here or not, and I’m honestly afraid to move.

“Gwynn, that was the last straw. You have been flaky for the last three years around here. I get it, you had a loss. Well we all have hard times. Find another bar to drown your sorrows in. You’re out!” He points towards the door, towards me, but neither of them make a move. She starts laughing, walking slowly towards him and stops an inch from his face. Shit she’s insane! That dude is ten times bigger than her and angry as piss. I’m too far away to stop him if he wanted to grab her, but it didn’t look like he was making a move.

“Don’t fucking forget who I am, Randy. You kick me out, the money flow stops. I’ll take it to another bar, another ring, but you will FUCKING listen to me. I haven’t had a drop since he died and you know it. That night had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with me protecting a friend. Stop being a twat and leave me to my bar.” She laughs at his earlier comment as if he didn’t just fire her. He’s pissed, and I’m still standing here, like a deer in the headlights.

As soon as the words come out of her mouth, he raises his hand so fast I almost miss it. He was primed to strike, but before his hand makes it to her she has it twisted and behind his back.

“Don’t fucking mess with me. Go home, sleep it off. I’ll be here keeping your dingy ass bar afloat.”

She shoves him and he trips his way to the door, huffing past me, muttering obscene words towards her. I think I’m in shock. Tiny is actually tough! And holy SHIT if that isn’t hot!

“Enjoy the show?” She asks as she takes her jacket off and stores it under the bar. Shit, I’m still standing here aren’t I? Fuck, now I need words.

“Uh, sorry. Just making sure he wasn’t giving you a hard time.” Fuck Eddie, grow a pair and talk to her! Maybe if I took her upstairs for a quick fuck I could get her out of my system.

“Sure. He does. Nothing I can’t handle.” She shrugs, still not making eye contact with me yet she grabs a towel and starts wiping the bar. “You stayin for a drink or headin out?” That voice doesn’t belong to the girl I’m looking at. That voice is sweet, light, and innocent. Not the voice of an inked up, spiked hair, rocker chick. Who is this girl?

I stare at her, wondering what her story is a moment too long. As I’m staring, taking in her beauty, she looks up at me waiting for an answer. Those hazel eyes land on mine and things implode once again.

Fuck me
.

Chapter 3

Gwynn

Must. Break. Eye contact.

Jesus, I couldn’t look away if I had to. I should, this is going to bring about nothing good. Men that look like him never do, but fuck if he isn’t easy on the eyes. Way easy on the eyes. Buzzed hair, tattoos covering most of the skin that’s showing (and let’s be real, I wish there were more of it showing), piercingly bright hazel eyes. Expressive eyes. Eyes that tell me he is feeling it just as much as I am from this one look. One look that’s lasting way too long.

He finally turns and looks out the window, taking a deep breath before answering me.

“Nah. Thanks, though. See ya.” He lifts his arm in a wave and walks outside, making sure the door is safely closed from the wind before walking down the street.

I can’t help but feel a little let down that he didn’t stay. Sure, he was packing up and leaving before that little display happened, but he could have stayed. If he were to come back at another shift change I’m sure he would have seen yet another one of our famous fights. Things like that are always happening around here. I’ve been threatened more times than not, but nothing has ever come of it. They need me, especially now that my name is getting out there in the fighting world. I’m not big headed, but I know people come here to see me.

I still don’t get why he didn’t stay. I’m not that bad looking. I don’t bite and he definitely couldn’t have found me intimidating since he has probably triple the amount of ink that I have. Some people look at my tattoos and immediately come to the conclusion that I’m a hardcore bitch before even talking to me. I’m not sure why there are still people out there in the world that look down on people with tattoos. I say ‘more power to ya!’ if you want to get inked. I never thought twice about it before my dad died, but I also never knew how just sitting in that chair and zoning off could help ease my mind as much as it does.

I need to get my mind in a better place. I have the next ten hours or more to be behind this bar, and I need to make it good. Tips on a weeknight aren’t normally great, but with fall break coming up maybe we will start to see more business. For as long as I’ve been working in this bar, I have been the girl bartender on weeknights. One time they tried throwing another girl in here with me, but that was just too many tits taking up space back here, as she had zero talent actually bartending. Her talent all rested nicely in her size 34DD cups. Sure she got tips, but we were forced to split so the few days I had to put up with her back here were at least worth it for me.

Tonight is no different than any other week night. The normal guys drop in, a few dart players are playing in the corner. There is an old man at the end of the bar named Sam. Sam is here every night for exactly three hours. In those three hours he rarely speaks. White long hair down to his shoulders, sunglasses always on, and sometimes a headband of some sort adorns his head. He is the reason we keep Stag on board still, because he drinks two and a half of them every night, and every night he gets up and lays cash and a tip on the bar when he leaves. I hate Stag. My dad always used to drink it, and now every time look at it I’m reminded of that night. It’s been years, but sometimes when those memories are triggered and it’s hard to crawl back out of the darkness.

Three kids are standing outside the door smoking, trying to decide if they have the balls to come in and test me or not. What I need to do is go out there and kick them off our property, take the cigarettes and trash them. I’ll never understand why teenagers think it’s cool to smoke and drink before it’s legal, but I’m not going to aid to that. These kids can’t be more than seventeen, but there are about five of them and they don’t look like the nicest group. I could go out there, I’m sure I could take them all, but I really don’t want another reason to have Randy pissed at me.

Deciding to wait until they try their hand at coming inside the bar, I pull out the remote and start scanning the channels. There is no one in here that is paying attention to the TV, so I find a replay of the most recent match and turn up the volume. This one is from last weekend, with a girl who is just starting out in the league and one that has almost moved up levels. The match isn’t very fair, and when they start going at it, newbie doesn’t last very long. Two rounds and she’s down. Shit just watching this is getting me ready to go. With everything that my mind has been trying to work out lately, I need a good fight. I still can’t believe that bitch thought that Jase loved me. Ha! In all of our years he has never made a move and always played the ‘friend’ card when we went places. She’s nuts! Add Mr. Dark to the equation and my mind is working overtime. Who was this guy that kept showing up here? Should I be worried? And why did my mind constantly go back to him and his muscles..and tattoos..and oh my this needs to stop. 

The fight ends on TV and I switch the channel to local news. I grab my phone to have three new messages from Jase.

Jase: Hey, you up for hanging out after work?

Jase: Hello?

Jase: I’m coming over if you don’t respond to me Gwynn.

Shit. I type out a fast response so he doesn’t have to travel all the way across town to check up on me, then make my rounds checking on what few customers are still here. It’s almost midnight and I’m ready to call it a night. Just two more hours, thank God. The kids outside have left and the lights out front are illuminating the sidewalk. It’s started raining, making the sidewalks gleam from the lights. As I’m staring out the window, daydreaming about my next fight, I see a figure run through the water, splashing as he runs. Wait, I know that figure, my mind has been replaying the last time I saw it all night. That’s him. The guy from the fight out front, the one who walked out of the bar just a few hours ago. What’s he doing back here?

I see him stop and look in the window of the bar and our eyes connect. I raise my hand to wave as he does the same. I get a smirk out of him this time, then he tucks his head under and turns away. He doesn’t go far, though, as I watch him unlock the door for the upstairs apartment and head up. What the fuck? Why is he heading up to my apartment?