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When nothing happened, my guardian angel seemed to be on permanent lunch break, I knew I couldn't stay in that café much longer.
In the end, I didn't have a choice. I couldn't sleep on the streets and I couldn't involve anyone else.
Even though it was probably a suicide mission, I had to make it back to my own place.
I wasn't stupid, my house would be the first place they would look for me.
But it was a chance I had to take. I had a little bit of cash stashed away and I needed different clothes.
The reality sucked but what choice did I have?
This was real life, not a feel-good movie. No one was coming to save me and no one was going to stand up to Davonte.
It was either submit to that disgusting pig of a man or die trying to get the fuck out of Detroit.
Chapter 7
Damon
I left Davonte’s place feeling like a piece of shit but at least I was alive.
That was something, right?
Everyone was someone else’s bitch, that was just life.
Survival was something I was used to.
Same shit, different day, that’s all this was.
So why did I feel like I’d just slathered myself in raw sewage for the promise of moldy bread?
Charlie.
I shoved the mental image of her curled in my bed, looking like a sweet morsel that my mouth wanted to devour.
Yeah, she was hot.
I got why Davonte was hard for her.
But there was something deeper than pure lust that got men twisted like Davonte was over this woman.
I knew this because I felt it, too.
I knew it the minute I saw her.
That spirit, that innate glow.
It made simple men like me want to bask in that light, roll around in it, in the hopes that some of that beautiful energy might rub off.
Not that it was possible.
Men like me, like Davonte, just tainted things that were pure.
No wonder Charlie didn’t want anything to do with Davonte — the man stank of corruption.
And now I was going to bathe in that rot, too.
I wouldn’t say that I suffered from an abundance of conscience but something kept pinching at me.
Get your head out of your ass, I grumbled to myself. I had to find Charlie or I was dead.
That was the long and short of it.
Davonte was giving me one week to return his prize girl and I was going to deliver.
No matter what my misgivings.
What a fucking time to grow a conscience.
But where to start? I didn’t know a damn thing about the girl, except she had an exceptional rack, a pert ass, and the most beautiful red-hair I’d ever seen.
Chances were someone in The Underground knew who she was. I’d start sniffing around the gym rats and see if anyone knew anything of value.
She looked young — maybe early twenties, if that.
Which made me feel like a dirty pervert.
At thirty-five, I was an old fucker on the circuit, much less standing next to that sweet little thing.
Fuck, if I looked old, Davonte had to be like a fossil.
I mean, Davonte had to be about sixty-something.
But his age had never been a deterrent to the fresh pussy he always had at his beck and call.
I swallowed the bile splashing my throat at the thought of Davonte’s thick fingers touching Charlie’s soft skin.
That was damn near criminal.
And most definitely disgusting.
But fuck, Davonte had the cash to make women drop their panties willingly.
So why did he have to pant after the one who didn’t want him?
Maybe it was the chase.
Davonte fancied himself the King of Detroit.
And kings took what they wanted.
No matter the cost to anyone else.
I climbed into my beat up truck and headed for The Underground gym, McConnell’s. Someone would know Charlie there. A girl like her…she got noticed.
And I was counting on it.
Davonte could’ve helped me out, given me a name and address to go from but he was punishing me for breaking his nose.
I didn’t doubt that he half-hoped I would fail just so he could put a bullet in my brain for the sheer pleasure of it but at the end of the day, the man was all business.
If he could make me an asset…he was going to do that.
I walked into McConnell’s and breathed in the familiar scent of sweat, old leather, and the lingering odor of copper as it assaulted my senses.
This place — to anyone else might think it stank like shit — but to me, it was home.
McConnell’s, with it’s worn out, duct-taped equipment, dingy walls, and faded posters, was the place where I’d finally found where I belonged.
I rubbed at the sudden sharp pain in my chest.
This wasn’t my home anymore.
I spied Manny in the corner chatting up two young bloods, their eyes bright with hope and dreams, their tight bodies still unmarred by too many rounds in the ring.
Shit, I was riddled with scars and injuries.
But I’d held my own, won a few rounds. Even started to gain a following.
Until that fucking injury to my shoulder took me down with it.
And Manny had dropped me like a bad habit.
Just like that. See ya, fucker.
I cut my glance away. Fuck, get on with it, Damon. The pity-party is getting old. Nothing worse than a fighter past his prime always trying to relive his glory days, right?
Yeah, sad as fuck.
My pride wanted to send my feet walking straight outta that gym but I didn’t have that luxury so I forced myself to interrupt Manny’s spiel right as he was about to close the deal.
“I need information,” I said, blunt and to the point.
“And I need you to get the fuck outta my gym,” Manny returned, his gaze as hard as his soul.
“Davonte sent me.”
Magic words.
Manny’s mouth firmed with the words he wouldn’t dare say and motioned for me to follow him into his office. “Shut the door, will ya?” he instructed as he dropped into his chair. Once the door was closed, he said, “What the fuck you talking about? Davonte sending you? What for?”
I ignored Manny’s questions. I wasn’t here to satisfy Manny’s curiosity. “There’s a girl…her name is Charlie. Red hair, short, big tits. Where can I find her?”
Immediately Manny knew who I was talking about. “Charlene ‘Charlie’ Williams,” he said with a slow grin. “Yeah, she rings a bell. Hot little number. Barely legal spitfire if I remember right.”
That sounded like her.
“What do you know about her?”
“What does Davonte want with her?”
“Just answer the question,” I deadpanned. “You know where she lives? Hangs out? Friends?”
“Jesus, what do you think I am, a stalker?”
I ignored his rhetorical question. Manny knew everything about anyone who stepped into his gym.
Manny shrugged, giving up the game early. “Alright, alright, yeah I know some things about her,” he said. “She’s the older sister of Tommy Williams.”
That name rang a bell.
“Tommy Williams…wasn’t that the kid who died in the ring a few months back?”
“Yeah, real tragedy.” Manny nodded absently but there was zero emotion in his eyes. “Some kids just ain’t cut out for the ring.”
I remembered thinking that the kid never should’ve been paired off against his opponent. The kid had been outmatched in every way. The fight had been rigged from the start.
“He was out of his weight class,” I said. “He never should’ve been in that ring with Julio. That was some fucked up shit.”
“The kid wanted to prove himself. I warned him it was a bad idea,” Manny said, gesturing as if his hands had been tied. “But you know, some kids with that wil
d ambition, they do things that are stupid.”
“And then there are gym managers who look the other way when they’ve been told to,” I countered, calling Manny on his bullshit. Davonte had made that fight happen, knowing full well, the kid was going to be pulverized.
