Flawed Justice Read online

  If people didn’t like looking at the mess, they could damn well stay home.

  He would’ve called in a crew to clean up and let the cops deal with the scum if Curtis wasn’t having so much fun with his twink captive. Since the morning after, he’d made the bastard work long hours cleaning up the graffiti, sipping a beer while watching him struggle to haul out broken tables and huge construction-grade garbage bags full of glass and debris.

  The man who co-owned the bar with Lawson was a bit of an asshole, but they’d come to an agreement to keep the peace. Lawson didn’t interfere with Curtis’s business.

  So long as the man stayed out of his.

  Pulling out a new stool and sitting at the knife-scarred, but still intact, bar Lawson nodded when Reed held up a bottle of whiskey. While Reed poured him a glass, Lawson rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles there, though he still couldn’t unclench his jaw. The scent of paint and harsh cleaners spoiled the more welcoming one of cigars and wood polish that he was used to. The lighting was uneven with half the bulbs shattered. And the paintings that had hung on the wall behind the bar…

  All destroyed.

  The damage done had cost much more than the price of repairs.

  Reed noticed him staring at the dark squares on the walls where the paintings had hung and sadness stole across his usually carefree features. Loose, light golden brown curls spilling over the sides of his face, he filled a shot glass with Goldschläger. The bite of cinnamon wafted through the air as he downed the drink, then set the glass on the bar. “Noah will make more. He might get out early, then—”

  “Be quiet, Reed.”

  Eyes narrowing, Reed leaned forward, his tone harsher than it ever was when speaking to Lawson. “That night was hell for all of us, so don’t fucking tell me to be quiet. I’m grateful Noah’s still alive.”

  Holding Reed’s angry gaze until the other man lowered his, Lawson considered him for a moment. They weren’t exactly friends, but Reed was family, much like the other new permanent resident of the club from that night, twenty months ago, when blood had covered the walls outside almost as liberally the spray paint The Ravagers had used in their most recent attack.

  That ‘resident’ was barely sixteen now and shouldn’t have been here. Not that the knowledge did anything to assuage Lawson’s guilt. Both were safer under the watchful eye of the club—no one would risk either of them getting hurt again. Besides, the younger one was smart enough to stay out of Lawson’s way during moments like this.

  If only Reed had the boy’s sense of self-preservation.

  “At least Noah didn’t have to see the place he thought you and your brother would be safe marked up with the same shit spit at him while our guys were bleeding out on the pavement.” Lawson’s tone was dead-calm, which seemed to unsettle Reed as he began wiping down the already clean bar top. “But sure, let’s look on the bright side. He can paint us some new pictures to hang on the walls if he ever gets paroled.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Drop it, Reed. I won’t tell you again.” Lawson turned to watch a few of their regulars come in, walking by the wreckage as though they didn’t notice a damn thing and heading to the tables that had been set up in the cleaned-out space at the far end of the bar.

  “You just made me a hundred bucks.” Reed refilled his glass, looking much too pleased with himself, but wisely changing the subject and not sulking at being put in his place. “Curtis didn’t think anyone would show.”

  Lawson arched a brow. “Blood, money, and sex. No one cares how it’s served.”

  “True dat.” Reese tossed back his spicy, candy-flavored drink. “You being in the lineup tonight doesn’t hurt either.”

  He’d expected as much, which was why he’d put out the word that he’d take any challenger. Ever since Noah, his best friend, a man he’d fought with and fucked for years before opening the club, had been arrested, Lawson had focused more on the business-side of running things. Leaving the rest to Curtis, a few of their regulars, and whatever new blood could be vouched for. The bar wasn’t open to just anyone, and neither was the dungeon on the second floor.

  Those were perks for the fighters, and those who’d bet insane amounts on their favorites, coming back every weekend to watch men battle it out in the ring until one either gave up or was knocked out. Challengers paid anything from five-hundred to ten-thousand dollars to buy into a fight, depending on the popularity of who they were up against. Whoever wanted to fight Lawson would pay the latter.

  The money would be enough to replace a few of the destroyed pool tables.

  He’d take a look at the books and figure out how to cover the rest. There’d been renovations planned for months that would have to be pushed back now, but with a few successful nights the club’s earnings would be back in the black.

  “Shit, looks like you win, Reed.” Pulling out a stool at Lawson’s side, Curtis sat facing him, wavy blond hair in a careless style, an unreadable smile on his lips. He rested a muscular arm on the bar. “Tonight’s gonna cost me.”

  Lawson followed Curtis’s sideways glance to where his new little errand boy stood. A stubborn expression on his face, the young man fisted his hands by his sides. Golden-blond stubble had grown along a nicely defined jaw and strong chin, sweat slicked back blond hair a few shades lighter, leaving those fucking gorgeous bright blue eyes and the rage within exposed to anyone who looked his way. Much less pitiful than he’d been the morning he’d given Lawson that pleading look, restrained by Reed while Curtis dealt with his accomplice.

  He’d probably expected Lawson to come to his rescue. Likely hadn’t known Lawson was simply irritated that Curtis hadn’t left him in jail to rot. Hard labor was a decent punishment, but even seeing the bastard covered in dirt and sweat wasn’t enough. Nor was the beating Curtis had clearly been ready to give him before they’d reached an agreement.

  The place Lawson had built with Curtis and Noah, where they could fight and fuck and not deal with homophobic or racist assholes, had been trashed by those very people. Being locked behind bars and forgotten would’ve been ideal—Lawson had ways of making sure a light sentence turned into hard time. But he couldn’t fault Curtis for wanting to see to it himself that the man suffered.

  The smirk on Curtis’s lips said he had something else in mind. “Go ahead, Matt. Either ask him or start hauling broken shit out to the trash. The mess is fucking embarrassing. We lose any members because of that and I’m adding it to your tab.”

  Matt folded his arms over his chest and hiked up his chin, staring at Lawson. “One fight and I can leave?”

  His voice still sounded as swollen as his nose looked.

  Curtis smirked. “If you win.”

  “Great.” Matt gave Lawson a slow, assessing once-over. “Then let’s get this over with.”

  Whatever game Curtis was playing, Lawson wanted no part of it. He motioned for Reed to bring him another whiskey, sparing Matt a brief glance before shaking his head. “No.”

  “Afraid?”

  The boy has spunk, I’ll give him that. He tipped his whiskey to his lips, ignoring the schoolyard taunt.

  Then Matt let out an irritated sound and knocked Lawson’s glass out of his hand. The glass shattered against the bar. Reed’s eyes went wide.

  Curtis let out a low whistle.

  Well then. Lawson straightened and turned slowly. I guess we’re doing this.

  “In fifteen minutes. Ten thousand dollars.” He dismissed the young man. Nodded to Curtis. “I imagine you’re paying?”

  Inclining his head, Curtis put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, tightening his grip when Matt tried to jerk away. “He seems determined to let me own his ass.”

  Bringing Lawson another drink, Reed hesitated, then gave Matt a sympathetic look. “You’ve got some moves, man. Pick someone else to fight and you’ll pay off the debt faster. I’m telling you now, going after ‘The Law’ won’t end well.”

  Shaking his head, Matt pulled
off his sweaty T-shirt and used it to wipe his face. “Can I get a glass of water? I just want this shit over with.”

  As Matt gulped down the water from the bottle Reed handed him, throat working with each swallow, Lawson took the opportunity to really look at the other man. His shirt and jeans were a little too big for him, which hid a wiry body sculpted with well-honed muscles under smooth skin, still gleaming with sweat. His jeans hung low enough to reveal the sexy dip of his pelvis, beneath defined abs and the lightest brush of golden curls that matched his hair.

  Maybe Curtis’s interest in keeping the man around made sense after all. Lawson might have been missing out, avoiding the areas where Matt had been working for the past few days. From the hint of red on his shoulders from too much sun and the strangely alluring scent of some kind of tropical suntan lotion, this wasn’t the first time Matt had taken off his shirt here.

  He was only a bit smaller than Reed. If he was going to fight, they should get him suited up properly.

  Nodding to the bartender, Lawson stood. “Let him borrow a pair of your shorts. Then put on some of those chicken wings I like. I want them while they’re still hot.”

  Reed snickered, reaching behind the bar, grabbing his sports bag, and pulling out a pair of white shorts with sparkling gold stripes along the sides. After tossing them to Matt, he headed toward the door to the galley. “I better put them on now then.”

  The red that stained Matt’s cheeks was cute. Even more appealing was the way he stood his ground when Lawson stepped up to him, meeting his gaze, head held high.

  But Lawson couldn’t forget what the man and his friends had done to the place he called home. His jaw hardened as he leaned close, speaking low. “You’re going to wish you took whatever ‘out’ Curtis gave you, boy.”

  Matt wet his bottom lip with his tongue. “And why’s that?”

  “Because he’s the nice one.”

  Chapter Three

  Matt tipped his head back to stare Lawson down. The irony wasn’t lost on him. With at least four inches on him, the guy had a broad build backed up by a fuckton of solid muscle that Matt envied. When he wasn’t working on his phone or scribbling in some ledgers at the end of the bar closest to the stairs, he cast a critical eye over everything Matt did. The man never talked to him, issuing any directives through Curtis instead in a way Matt might have found hot if they’d been given to him rather than spoken over his head. Ever since the morning he’d walked away, leaving Matt and Garet to Curtis’s not-so-tender mercies, he’d wanted to break open that cold exterior and make Lawson notice him. Now, he’d get the chance to do just that.

  With his fists.

  Ten years of martial arts lessons, only a little rusty from lack of use, gave him a good chance of winning this fight. His sad performance on the police station steps notwithstanding. He’d been too emotional, his attention half on Garet. Today, he wouldn’t be so easy to knock down or out.

  “Don’t think you’re gonna win just because you’re bigger.” Only fair to warn the guy.

  The man laughing at him, or coming back with a dismissive insult, Matt was prepared for. Instead, Law inclined his head, his expression never changing. “So noted.”

  There it was again, that almost blank coolness. Matt balled his fists. There was nothing to push against with this guy that didn’t leave him feeling like a flailing teenager in his first schoolyard brawl. Fuck that shit. He’d laid out bigger guys before with one well-placed kick. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t fought in a tournament in years. Today he wouldn’t have half of his attention focused on protecting his kid brother. Lawson would never see him coming.

  “Hey.” Curtis poked his head through the double doors that led to the only space on this level Matt hadn’t yet set to cleaning or repairing. It had been padlocked since he’d arrived. “Come check out the ring.”

  Check out...what ring?

  Holding out his arm, Law motioned Matt forward. Maybe Matt was desperate to find some kind of emotion in the man’s face, but there seemed to be a tightness to his jaw that hadn’t been there before. As though letting Matt in that room was the last thing he wanted to do. Damned straight. If the man couldn’t take the heat, he needed to stay out of the kitchen.

  Shoulders tight, Matt made his way past Curtis, who had a chilling, satisfied smile on his lips. In the bar, members poured in, and Matt heard murmurs of “Law” and “Here for the fight.” Apparently, this was going to be a club event, though how the men had gotten the word out so quickly he didn’t know.

  Matt shoved through the doors, his angry “What, you got fifty blood-thirsty gay boys on speed dial?” dying on his lips as he stumbled to a halt.

  What he saw inside soured his confidence, and his stomach. A full professional boxing ring complete with four ropes and a bell held pride of place at the room’s center. Caged lighting hung by industrial-grade wires from the gymnasium ceiling, illuminating the ring but throwing the rest of the room into harsh shadow. Metal chairs that Matt had a feeling weren’t used much were folded and stacked against the wall. The air had a stale, closed-up scent that vaguely reminded Matt of a locker room.

  Arms by his sides, forgotten gym shorts in his hand, he stared, dumbfounded. “What the actual fuck?”

  He’d thought he was supposed to fight Lawson in the parking lot. Maybe upstairs in a larger game space he’d heard a few of the patrons chatting about. Anger at himself for not guessing, and at Curtis for playing him for a fool, made him round on the two men. A knowing smirk had settled across Curtis’s face, but next to him Law stared at the room as though greeting whatever ghosts had been imprisoned behind its doors for however long he’d stayed away.

  “What is this place?” Matt tilted his head at Lawson, who hadn’t moved from the door. “You guys beat the crap out of everyone who comes through here for kicks or something?”

  It was Curtis who answered. “If that’s what you’re into? Maybe I’ve been handling you all wrong. You enjoy getting roughed up, boy? Because you know I can do that. I’ll even take it slow since it’s clearly your first time.”

  Matt opened his mouth to say fuck you, thought better of it, and snapped it shut. Anything he said seemed to give Curtis the opening to a one-liner that only made Matt’s blood boil. Right now, he had bigger problems. Like how to best Lawson, who—given the set to his jaw—had clearly been in this room many times before. And not as the referee. Nobody owned a setup like this without being dead serious, and Matt should know.

  “Where do I change?” Matt held up the shorts.

  Curtis flicked his gaze to the white wad of cloth and shrugged. “Here. That is, unless you’re worried we’ll see that you’ve shit yourself.”

  Teeth gritted, Matt unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, daring either man to look away. They wanted to start something? Fine. He’d finish it. He kicked off his shoes and let his jeans fall to the floor in a messy wad, not giving a damn that he had been going commando for two days. It wasn’t like he’d brought extra underwear with him, and Curtis hadn’t let him out of his fucking sight except to use the john.

  Yanking on the borrowed shorts, he straightened. “Satisfied?”

  “Not yet, but you’re adorable when you’re pissed off.” Curtis turned to Lawson. “The usual, of course, but he taps out and you let me get his sorry ass out of here. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

  Lawson’s brow rose. “Are we done with the theatrics? Get your boy in the fucking ring.”

  Matt growled to hide his anxiety. “What? No audience?”

  It was one thing to go toe-to-toe with this man and pretend not to have just thrown the emotional equivalent of a two-year-old tantrum, and another to do it in front of the men who had begun to fill the bar. Through the cracked door, Matt could hear the bets being exchanged. Rowdy laughter thickened the air with anticipation.

  “Since you asked so nicely, sure. We’ll let them watch.”

  “That’s not—” Matt began.

  Curtis pushed op
en one of the doors. “Fresh meat, fellas. Come and get it!”

  Chairs and stools scraped back in the bar, and conversation and laughter reached a fevered pitch.

  “Fuck.”

  Matt trod to the ring, scooping up his jeans and shoes on the way. Whatever the usual was, Matt wanted to be well ahead of it and on his way home before Lawson got in a punch. Since nobody had mentioned rules, Matt planned to start with his feet and not his fists. If nothing else, he’d get the satisfaction of seeing the surprised expression on Lawson’s face when Matt deviated from the boxing rules his mom had taught him. Matt would have to apologize to him later, but it wouldn’t stop him now. Not when he was out of sick time and his boss had told him if he didn’t show at work tomorrow he shouldn’t bother showing up ever again.

  He had to get home. He had to win. And he had to do it in a way that wouldn’t send Curtis gunning for Garet. He’d find a way to either pay for or repair the damage to the place after he made sure he still had a paycheck. Any guilt he felt not keeping to the original deal had been annihilated when he’d walked into the room and seen that Curtis had clearly set him up.

  No matter. The man wouldn’t be adding ten grand to Matt’s debts today.

  Climbing the stairs, Matt ducked between the ropes and crossed the ring to the opposite side. He heard the crowd pour into the room and his feet began to sweat so they stuck to the mat, leaving darker patches on the blue canvas. He could do this, he told himself, ignoring the warning bells that suggested maybe he was in over his head.

  “Here.” Reed came around to hand him a bottle of water.

  Matt passed him his clothes and took the plastic container, grateful to have something to do besides turn to the crowd. He cracked the cap and followed his swig with a swipe from the back of his arm.