Flawed Justice Read online

  “Sorry, be right out.” Tugging on his work jeans, he buttoned them up as he left the bathroom barefoot and shirtless.

  Curtis noted his half-dressed state and turned away. “Garet left his books on the kitchen table. I put them in his room.”

  The spare room, which had been off limits to Matt during the first two days of his stay, had been given over to Garet with Matt’s blessing. He’d slept in worse places after his father had kicked him out. Having a couch to crash on was a luxury as far as he was concerned.

  Matt ran his hands through his hair, using the motion to banish the bad memories. “Sorry. I’ll talk to him about it.”

  “Not a big deal.”

  Matt studied Curtis’s back as the man shoved two pieces of toast in a toaster and reached for some honey and butter. A liberal smear of each would go on the nearly-burnt toast, Matt knew from watching Curtis over the past week. The idea of the charcoal-laden sweetness made Matt’s tastebuds want to run away screaming, but so long as he didn’t have to eat that crap, he didn’t much care that Curtis did.

  The set of Curtis’s shoulders said he was uptight about something. Possibly even angry. Given how little the guy held back about anything, however, Matt couldn’t picture him biting his tongue now if Matt or Garet had been the ones to piss him off. Maybe it was pre-fight jitters. Though Curtis hadn’t said anything about it, Matt had heard the gossip around the club about a fight between him and Lawson. Apparently, the match was set for tomorrow night. From what Matt had heard, it wasn’t an impossibility that Curtis might win but, given Matt’s recent experience, he didn’t exactly envy the man.

  Pulling his T-shirt on, Matt mentally ran over his to-do list for the day. “You need anything before I head downstairs to work?”

  “Nope. Knock yourself out.”

  Matt blinked at the phrase. Apparently, Curtis did too, because he turned around, his apology written across his face. Matt held up a hand, not wanting to hear whatever might come out of the man’s mouth. “I’m fine and I don’t want or need your pity.”

  Curtis nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Matt pulled on his socks and work boots before leaving Curtis to his breakfast, which judging by the smell had just reached a stage where future scientists would be able to perform carbon dating calculations down to the millisecond, and made his way downstairs. The bar was quiet and the sun had risen high above the treeline, so Matt wasn’t surprised that Lawson had left his stool at the end of the bar and gone wherever it was that he got off to during the day. This morning not even Reed was in the bar, so Matt made his way behind the counter and poured his own coffee.

  Sunlight glinted through the new windows he’d helped install on Thursday. They were a special safety glass that allowed light in and kept prying eyes out. Bulletproof and impossible to shatter without a battering ram or a bunker buster, they’d protect the members much better than the painted-over glass that had once passed for windows. The difference with all the light coming into the bar was pronounced.

  Wood Matt had sanded and sealed gleamed next to the bar’s brass fittings. His gaze lingered, satisfaction tipping his mouth upward. He’d done a really good job. Better than good. Applying the many layers of polyurethane had been a helluva job, but with each coat he felt as if he had paved over the ugliness that had happened here. Wide-planks darkened by a century of use stretched across the expansive space, as beautiful as the bar’s curved sleekness. Cleaned up, it was a really special place. Special enough that, beyond the hateful, disgusting things that the gang members had spray painted for their so-called group initiation, Matt could understand why the club’s members were likely never to forgive him or Garet for supposedly destroying it. Hell, it was a minor miracle Curtis and Reed hadn’t killed them both on sight that first day.

  Leaning back against the bar on his elbows, Matt held his coffee and contemplated the next item on his to-do list. His gaze passed over the straw-filled crates that contained the new pool tables. He had tried to get access to what Reed had referred to as the play space yesterday to figure out where they were supposed to go, but had been told he’d need a key and that Lawson was the only one who had one.

  Delaying the inevitable, he decided to head for another space he’d been avoiding all week. The fight club. He crossed the room, not giving himself time to think, and paused outside the door to listen. Laughter greeted him from the other side.

  Garet?

  He pressed the door ajar, loathe to interrupt his brother’s happy moment, but unable to convince himself that anyone might be enjoying the space that had come to haunt his dreams. Inside the gymnasium, the scene today was nothing like his personal hell. Garet, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, faced off with Reed in the ring’s center and repeatedly jabbed at Reed’s mitted hands.

  “Good. Try crossing them over now. One-two. Faster. You got it!”

  Garet’s mop of hair fell into his eyes and he tossed his head. “Doesn’t that hurt your hands?”

  “Nah.” Reed moved Garet’s target and circled around, facing the door where Matt stood. “It’s a little jarring if you have someone as big as Noah coming at you, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “I’m not small though…”

  Matt bit his lip, feeling like a voyeur, wondering if he should leave, but Doc stalked in from the locker room with a book in his hand. He spotted Matt and nodded in greeting. “Good to see you, Matthew.”

  Reed smiled and waved just as Garet aimed a punch at the glove. The hit landed on Reed’s left pec, making him stumble back. Matt winced, but he had to hand it to Garet. His kid brother could pack a wallop.

  “Sorry.” Matt stepped fully into the gym, letting the padded steel door swing shut behind him.

  Without the anticipation of a fight, the place seemed…well, almost friendly. Its cage lights illuminated rather than projected shadows, and the scent of sweat had a less-stale tang.

  “Take five, bro.” Massaging his chest, Reed stepped closer to the ropes.

  Garet left the ring and loped to meet Matt halfway. “Guess what?”

  “What?” Matt smiled, some of his worries evaporating at seeing his brother look less like a street thug already and more like a normal teen on the edge of adulthood. There was a sparkle in his eyes that Matt had rarely seen. Not even at Christmas.

  “I’m learning to defend myself as part of my homeschool PE program. And Doc is going to tutor me for tenth-grade biology. I might even be able to graduate on time!”

  The smile turned into a grin and Matt looped his arm around Garet’s shoulder in a hug. “Nice.”

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about Doc giving anyone lessons in how to wield a scalpel but standing by the ring in dark jeans and a polo, black-rimmed glasses on his nose, he appeared nothing more bizarre than a handsome geek.

  Garet crossed to a sturdy table where his water bottle perched and snatched it up. Holding it aloft, he squeezed, and water streamed over his dark-blond hair, making it glisten. He shook his head, sending droplets across the dust-streaked floor. Matt cast a critical glance around the room. It really did need cleaning, but that would have to wait until after Garet finished his PE class.

  Reed, hanging his arms over the ropes, gazed down at Matt. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Um. Good.” Matt motioned vaguely with his coffee cup. “Thanks for this.”

  “No problem. Garet’s a good kid. Besides, Noah’d want me to pay it forward.”

  As soon as Matt and Garet had arrived back at the club, things had changed, beginning with Curtis installing Garet in the spare room and game planning how to keep the kid out of The Ravagers’ reach, culminating in a decision to have Reed oversee a homeschooling program for Garet. Curtis hadn’t given Reed much choice, but the bartender didn’t seem to mind.

  An awkward silence fell as Matt glanced around the room, trying not to look at the place on the blue mat where he remembered falling.

  “First time back in here?”

  Matt’s gaze snapped ba
ck to Reed’s face. “Yeah.”

  “It’ll get easier.”

  The bit of wisdom coming from a guy wearing a Kung Fu Panda t-shirt and a pair of red disco shorts seemed incongruous to say the least. Matt half wondered what damage the odd getup Reed gravitated toward hid, but figured it was none of his business.

  Glancing to Garet, Matt found him engrossed in conversation with Doc, who flipped through the textbook with him. There was something he’d been meaning to ask Reed all week, and now seemed as good a time as any.

  “About it getting easier...” Taking the opening, Matt ran with it.

  “Yeah?” Reed untied his yin-yang bandana and flipped it over to rest the drier side next to his forehead.

  “I don’t really want it to be easy. I just want to do what’s right. Pay my and Garet’s debts.”

  Hands behind his head, mid tie, Reed stilled. He scrutinized Matt’s face and seemed to come to some conclusion.

  “I hear you.” He finished tying the bandana and dropped his hands to his sides. “But they’re not your debts to pay.”

  But that was just the thing. They were. Matt might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar, and backing out on a deal wasn’t something he’d do willingly, or lightly.

  “You could argue that, but I made a bet and I lost.” Matt gripped the bottom rope and stared up at Reed. “Besides, I said I would clean this place, even before you guys put us up. Knowing that Garet didn’t participate actively in the vandalism doesn’t change that. He was there.”

  Reed leaned down to grab his squeeze bottle and contemplated the top as if it held the answers to whatever truth he sought. “I get that.”

  The money, Matt could deal with, eventually. At least as long as he could continue to work at The Asylum. The rest, well, that was what had been eating at him. “What I don’t understand is, how come Lawson doesn’t want to take the full payment from me?”

  In the act of pressing the squeeze bottle tip to his lips, Reed paused. “Because your deal was with Curtis.”

  “Not for the usual it wasn’t.”

  Reed choked and spat. Some of the droplets landed on Matt’s shirt, but most spattered harmlessly to the floor, turning the dust a muddy brown.

  “Dude. Seriously.” Reed thumped his chest with one fist, coughing. “You don’t have to worry about that. The Law’s got standards. He won’t take the usual from you.”

  Heat streaked Matt’s cheeks.

  Standards? The guy had standards about who he’d let pay back a debt? Fuck that shit. Whatever Lawson’s usual bet with the club’s members was, Matt intended to pay it. In full. Hell, whatever it was, it couldn’t be as bad as ten g’s and an ass kicking. Determination made Matt clench his jaw.

  “Hey, you alright?”

  “I gotta—” Unable to meet Reed’s eyes, Matt hooked a thumb toward the door. “Speaking of Lawson, do you know where he is?”

  Reed straightened from the ropes. “Probably upstairs checking the equipment for the Friday night players.”

  Matt touched two fingers to his temple in a vague salute, already headed toward the door. “Thanks.”

  At least he wouldn’t have to ask Lawson for the key to the upstairs rooms. How he’d get the pool table slate up to the second floor, he had no idea, but maybe the guy would have a suggestion for that too. Being able to talk work the first time they saw each other would make things easier, he told himself as he washed and dried his coffee mug behind the bar. Maybe he’d even find an opening to broach the subject of his outstanding debt.

  Running the conversation over in his head, Matt climbed the stairs to the second floor. A wide landing culminated in a doorway that had been locked every time he’d passed. Studying it, Matt decided not for the first time that it was an odd piece of work, even for a game space. A thick, oak door hung ponderously in a brick wall, broken only by a smaller door made of iron that had been installed at eye height. Glancing at it now Matt wondered if members needed a password to enter. The large keyhole, reminiscent of those Matt imagined were found in a Medieval castle keep, was empty; and his push against the door resulted in nothing but light muscle strain. Looked like he would have to find Lawson for the key after all.

  Matt turned, intending to do just that, and met a different kind of barrier. Namely, Lawson, who stood at the top of the stairs. In one hand, he dangled the iron key that matched the lock, and in the other he gripped a bottle of leather cleaner.

  “Um...” Matt took a step back.

  Lawson’s brows rose, his expression expectant. Clearly, he wondered what the hell Matt had been doing trying to get into the game room. Play space. Whatever. In Matt’s limited experience, Curtis and Lawson didn’t tend to communicate much. Lawson probably had no idea what Matt’s schedule for the day was. Which, under normal circumstances, Matt would prefer.

  “I’m here to look at the space for the pool tables.” Damn him if every time he opened his mouth he didn’t sound like a complete idiot.

  Lawson’s brows drew together as he glanced over his shoulder and back to Matt. “Space for the pool tables?”

  “The ones downstairs waiting to be brought up here and set up?” The man couldn’t possibly have missed them. Matt practically tripped over the crates every time he came downstairs.

  “Those stay down there.” Interest lighting his dark green eyes, Lawson leaned one shoulder against the wall. “But I’m curious why you would think they’d go up here?”

  Matt shrugged. It didn’t matter to him if the club wanted to expand their play space to the bar. There was certainly enough room down there, and it wasn’t like there weren’t already dartboards and some card tables as well.

  “I figured you’d want them in your game room. I mean—” He rolled his eyes at himself. “—play space. That’s what Reed called it; I think?”

  “Yes, that’s...accurate.” Lawson’s lips slanted. “The pool tables would be rather out-of-place in here though.” He handed Matt the key. “You’re welcome to take a look and let me know if you disagree.”

  Matt took the key, careful not to let his fingers brush the other man’s. The metal was warm from Lawson’s skin. Matt swore at himself under his breath when his cheeks warmed under the man’s regard. He was missing whatever joke had made Lawson smile.

  Correction. Almost-smile.

  Keying the lock, if only to get the tour of the play space over with so he could get back to work, Matt pushed against the heavy door. This time, it opened easily, and he stepped inside. Cool air and darkness rushed outward, bathing his overheated skin. Lawson crossed the threshold and reached to the side. A ka-chunk preceded the flicker of overhead lighting that illuminated a space that was as expansive as it was strange.

  Lawson remained by the door when Matt took a step forward, his mind trying to make sense of what he saw. Slowly, he turned to the fighter behind him. In that moment, Matt couldn’t think of him as anything but, because if he did, he knew naked longing would show on his face. He’d heard about places like this in some online chat rooms, but it was as close as he’d ever thought to come.

  “This is a...a…” Fuck. He couldn’t even say the word.

  “Sex club. Or dungeon.” Lawson didn’t move any closer, but his eyes rested on Matt for a long moment before he jutted his chin at the wide space in front of a row of huge crosses. “I suppose we could put the pool tables there, but they’d get in the way of the whips.”

  The words sex and whips acted like a double punch, sending adrenaline coursing to his limbs. Matt looked over his shoulder and licked his lips. He wasn’t sure what the structures were for exactly, but the handholds and restraints told a pretty clear story. Matt’s mind supplanted pool tables in the space, projecting an image of Matt’s body over one of them, Lawson behind him.

  “I don’t know,” he mused, his mouth getting ahead of his brain. “They might have their uses.”

  “Mhmm.” Lawson folded his arms over his chest. “But that’s true no matter where we put them.”
r />   Picturing the tables in their current location, green baize lit by the warm glow of the bar’s overhead lighting, Matt imagined the interlude. Members were present, drinking beer, placing bets on how long Matt would last, and what Lawson would do to him if he ruined the new tables.

  “I uh…” Matt turned and made for the still-open door, intent on leaving before he embarrassed himself further. “I think they’re better. I mean, I’ve got work to do. It’s all fine.”

  “Matt, wait.” Lawson put his hand on Matt’s shoulder, immediately dropping it when Matt stiffened. “This place is meant to be enjoyed. By those who are willing. You’ll never be forced in here. By anyone. If someone tries, you let me know.”

  At the suggestion he might be welcome in this space, Matt’s stomach did a slower flip, reminiscent of the roller coaster rides he’d loved as a kid. Memories he hadn’t had in a decade flooded back. A fair had come to town every summer and Matt had weeded Mrs. Kennedy’s flower beds to make enough money so he could ride over and over again. He hadn’t been able to get enough of the adrenaline. This place, with Lawson standing dangerously close, brought all those feelings back...except more.

  Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded once and forced himself to walk, not run, out the door. The downstairs toilet seemed a pretty good place to hide. Making a beeline for it, he slammed the door behind him. He stood for long minutes listening to the sawing of his breath and willed his heart to slow.

  He brought his right hand up to his left shoulder where Lawson’s had briefly rested. If the man who had handed his pride and body the biggest beat down it had ever experienced could find it in him to be nice, then maybe things would be all right. Or at least not as horrible as they’d been for so long that he’d stopped being able to remember when they weren’t.

  Lust and safety snaked together, and his body responded to the realization he might be able to be himself here. Stop pretending and let his guard down. For some fucked up reason, the thought made tears spill down his cheeks. He slid to the floor and buried his face against his knees. For five minutes he let himself remember what it was like not to have to be strong.