Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) (15 page)

"Just a fight man," I said.  "Nothing but a fight.  And don't think I didn't hear your fucking Tink comment, cocksucker."  I turned and looked him in the eye, and he backed off.

"Man, I was just throwing a little motivation your way," he said.  "You seemed a little tied up in your head out there, and I was a concerned, is all.  And besides, I put a nice chunk of cash on you winning tonight.  So don't get all pissed off crazy on me.  I made enough tonight to get
a brand new sled."

Pipes rolled in and gave me a slap on the shoulder.  "That was some of the most savage shit I think I've ever seen, man. 
He's breathing again by the way, just in case you wanted to know."

I
shrugged.  I guessed it was good I didn't kill him.  I knew I should be glad I hadn't.

I
felt a twinge of pain in my shoulder.  Probably just a strain or something.  Doc, one of the brothers who used to be some kind of military EMT - I didn’t exactly ask him for his fucking credentials- noticed my grimace and squatted down beside me where I sat in the old beat up chair in the back room of the warehouse.  He probed my shoulder with his hands, manipulating it, and I groaned involuntarily.  

“Shit, quit fucking doing that, Doc,” I said.

“Just need to make sure you’re not dislocated,” he said.

“Well, I’m not.
 It’s my nose that’s the goddamn problem,” I said.  “It’s been broken before, I’m sure it’s broken now, so let’s get this shit over with.”

When he reset my nose, I nearly punched him. "Fuck!" I yelled.
 "That hurt like a sonofabitch."

"Sorry, man," Doc said, stepping away from me.
 "You could have gone to the hospital.  You know, if you wanted to be a pussy."  He grinned.

Pipes
handed me a bottle of cheap whiskey, and I took a swig of it, grateful for the alcohol after the fight and getting worked over by Doc.  I looked at Doc. "Be glad Pipes gave me this, or I would have beat your ass, too."

"Anytime, brother," Doc said, but there was no malice in his voice.
 And there shouldn't be, shit, with as small of a guy as Doc was.  He sure as hell hadn't been an infantry guy in the military.  He was on the short side, with a smaller frame.  It would be no match between the both of us.

"Brother," I said.
 "I haven't heard that in a while."

"Shit, man,"
Skunk said.  "You need to think about coming out of retirement.  Come over to the clubhouse, bring the bike this time, and seriously, any repairs are on me."

I nodded.
 It felt good to be called brother.  Shit, it felt good to kick someone's ass.  I just didn't know about getting back on the bike.  It felt like if I did that, I was right back in the club, and I didn't know about that shit.  How the hell was I going to be a good father to MacKenzie if I was back in the club again?  I needed to get her back from Puerto Rico, and getting wrapped up in a bunch of club bullshit wasn't going to be the way to do that.  "Yeah, well, thanks man.  I'll think it over."

All of the pain was setting in, and my body was sore.  My face hurt.  My head was throbbing, now
that the adrenaline rush had subsided. I was tired too, dead tired, and all I wanted at that moment was to sleep.

I
was going to look like a hell of a mess going to work tomorrow, which I was sure was going to raise some questions.  By now, my work knew I wasn't exactly like all the other fucking hackers in the office, these pasty white tech geeks who sat under fluorescent lights and  subsisted on a steady diet of caffeine and sugar.  Those guys saw daylight on the way to their vehicles, if they even left work.  I think most of them slept at the office.

I wasn’t one of them and they were fucking terrified of me.
 I saw the glances and raised eyebrows.  It didn’t exactly help that my boss was a contact of Benicio’s, and when Benicio heavily suggested you to do something, you did it, whether you liked it or not.  So, the boss was a little scared of me too.

Anyway, fuck it.
 This shit, the beat up nose and all the rest of it, would only add to my legendary status around the office.  I liked the guys I worked with, but it was also kind of fun to fuck with them.

It couldn't have even been thirty minutes after I was done with the fight when Big Mike barged through the door.  "Hey Hammer," he said.  "Helluva fight, man.  You and me should get together sometime.  I'll go over some technique with you."  He gave a nod to the guy standing beside him.  "One of the high rollers here wants an audience."

And there he was, the fuckstain I'd just seen holding onto her arm.

Her.

The girl from the casino.

I found myself looking past him, looking for her.
 She wasn't there.  Why the fuck did I feel disappointed all of a sudden?

"You," the man said, not moving from where he stood, wearing his designer jeans and a polo shirt.
 
Christ, a polo shirt.
 He looked like he should be playing - whatever the hell rich people played - cricket or something.  I glanced at the brothers, who stood there in the room, their hands crossed over their chests, unmoving.  I thought I saw Skunk roll his eyes.

The man s
poke again.  "You cost me eighty grand."

I shrugged, felt the twinge of pain in my shoulder again.
 I didn't know who the fuck this guy thought he was, or what he wanted, walking in here like he owned the place.  Christ, did he want me to fucking apologize or something?  "That's what happens when you bet on the wrong guy."

A slow smile spread over his face, but there was no pleasantness in it.
 I knew this guy’s type, without even needing to think about it.  Some rich guy, slumming it here by watching real men beat the living hell out of each other.  I didn’t fucking like it, and I wasn’t in a desperate position here.  
At least not financially,
I thought.  
Emotionally was a whole different ballgame.  
But I wasn’t dependent on this fighting shit to survive.  So I wouldn’t be easily intimated.

Oh, hell, I wouldn’t be easily intimidated even if I were broke and fighting to survive.
 It wasn’t in my nature.

"Eighty
grand isn’t exactly something to laugh about,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure someone like you won’t exactly have to live on the street tomorrow be
cause you lost a bet,” I said.

He ignored what I said.

“So you’re one of Benicio’s fighters.”

“Who’s asking?”
 I wanted the name of the guy who was with her.

“Aston Roberts.”

I repeated it in my head, committing it to memory.  He looked like he expected me to recognize his name, but I didn’t know who the hell he was.  I hadn’t exactly been around Vegas long enough to know who the important people were and besides, I wasn’t exactly having drinks with the mayor.

He waited a minute, then asked.
 “And you are?”

I opened my mouth, “Joe” on the tip of my tongue.
 Instead, I heard myself speak.  “Hammer.”

“Hammer,” he said, nodding.
 “What you did to my guy out there, you were a beast.  Better than anyone I’ve seen in a long time,” he said.  “You get the right training and you could do well for yourself.”

“Thanks,” I said.
 “But I’ve got a job.”

Aston laughed.
 “I’m sure whatever it is you do, the purse on these fights will be worth it.”

Whatever it is I do.
 
I stifled a laugh.  I wasn’t exactly in the poorhouse, doing the kind of security work I was doing.  “I don’t need a job.”

He scowled, and I was certain it was because he wasn’t used to being told
no
.  He reached into his pocket and withdrew his business card, handing it to me.  I didn’t take it.

“I don’t think I stuttered,” I said.
 “Did I?  I said, I already have a fucking job.”

He glared at me through narrowed eyes, then slipped his business card back into his pocket.
 This pretentious douchebag rubbed me the wrong way, and not just because he was with the girl from the casino.  I didn’t fucking like his attitude, walking in here like he owned everyone and everything and could purchase me.  Especially at one of Benicio’s places.  
Fuck him.  

Aston’s eyes drifted around the room to each of the men standing there, and then toward the door.
 “I’ll be seeing you around, Hammer,” he said.

“Count on it.”

When he exited, I looked past him in the doorway, searching for a glimpse of her.  It was an automatic response, something I did without even thinking about it.  I knew I didn’t like that guy, and I liked the idea of her being with him even less.

It was my weekly ritual, one of the few things in this life that gave me a moment of peace.  The monastery stretched out before me, the grounds a reflection of their Thai and Burmese influences.  The buildings were trimmed in gold, characteristic of the temples that were so common in southeast Asia.

The first time I'd come here to the monastery, it had seemed strange, the idea of a Buddhist monastery in Las Vegas, a city dedicated to everything that a monastery was not- sex, gambling, drugs, and alcohol.
 But I quickly realized that all of those things were precisely the reason this monastery existed in this town.  It was a refuge, an escape from the harsh, gritty, ugly realities of life in Las Vegas.

Of life in general.

At least, this is what it was for me.  Even though I had never come here for a retreat, and only rarely to meditate, I still thought of this place in much the same way I suppose people view their own houses of worship as a place of refuge, a sanctuary from all of the things in life trying to harm me.

For me, it was also a place to atone.

I did not believe in the idea of heaven and hell.  To me, there could be nothing worse than the hell through which I had already been, the hell through which my sister and my son had been put through.  If there was a hell, it didn't scare me.  I had already been through far worse, and I was still alive.

Even so, I felt the need to atone for the things I had done, the things I was forced to do while being with Aston.

And the things I planned to do.